Ludrik's Saga: THE PROPHECY OF STARS

[GoodGuyMatt 7062]

 

The sun rose above Neu Brandthof, climbing atop the cobbled walls of the city, its rays falling down on the Burghers and Tribesmen below. The town echoed with laughter, chatter and joy, a common day amongst the Reinmaren people. A few warriors brawled within the tavern, others remained on guard duty, the boring, long, guard duty. Lawrence stood idly within the gatehouse, interviewing visitors one by one, his ledger at hand, filling it out after every visitor. So had the day started within the Minitzian city, many having been present for the Waldenic Diet just the day before, few Lords and Ladies of foreign lands having sought food, drink and sleep within the Tavern, cozy as it was.

 

He took a deep breath, before shouting from the top of his lungs. “MOOT TIME” called the Chieftain of Katzak, dressed in his Heraldic attire, the colors of Barclay sawn into the cloth that he wore. Once again he sang the same song, his voice deep and loud, as befitted a Reinmaren Skald. So they gathered, from all around. Businessmen exited their shops, mothers walked out their doors with their children, warriors departed from the training grounds.

 

So gathered the Fifth Brandtian Moot. Many topics they discussed, laws, discussions, problems to address. Ludrik von Katzak stood at the Lawspeaker’s chair, only a Vizekanzler himself. He talked, and talked, informed and queried, told and was told. Finally, the time of petitions came, and one man walked forth. His back was crouched, his hair long and white, his beard bushy and thick. An odd look surrounded him, a face of mixed emotions, evoking calm in some, and discomfort in others. He hobbled over an oaken cane and approached the dias. His eyepatch, and the whites of his eyes indicated that he was blind, but his steps were sure, almost as if he could see. He looked towards Ludrik, sitting atop the throne, almost as if he could see the man. He did not say anything.

 

“An elder comes before us. Let us respect him, as is the way of our people, and give him the floor.” called the throned Katzak, his eyes fixed on the walking Elder. It was practice amongst the Reinmaren people to respect their elders, or any elder for that matter. They represented knowledge and experience, the very experience of life. “Speak, o wise sage. Why do you step before the Sons of Reinmar?”

 

These words Ludrik uttered, unsure of what to expect, yet utterly unprepared of what he was to hear: “Hear you, Ludrik Gelimarsson!” the man's voice echoed across the halls, as if knowing the Katzak personally, yet he had never seen him before. A son of Gelimar Ludrik was indeed, an ilk of the elder of the Reinmaren forefathers.

 

“The dream-signs from your Elder. 

The power lust, you must quench now.

Do not listen to the outlander, who wishes to travel to Adria. 

Tord, he had a strange dream; and foreboding the many dreams were. 

In the spring of the future-past, a voyage will be prepared. 

A power-hungry Thegn rules Riverrock, and will raise the land-levy. 

One-hundred and sixty horsemen, to the Thegn of Einmont they ride.” 

 

So narrated the blind elder, his gaze sat on Ludrik, his blind eyes staring into the Katzak as if they could somehow see it. He was taken aback, unsure of what to expect, yet growing more and more anxious with each word.

 

 

“And Thegn Karl's sons raised another hundred horsemen. 

As they arrive in the Mori lands, the first battle commences.

Thegn Theonus fell, and your son fled.

But Maxwell swore at them; “The King's men, you will meet at the bridge.”

Karl and Ludrik on the next day fare without mail-shirts.

Far ahead the sun reflected off helmets and mail-shirts many.

The Mori-king it surely is, I recognise his banner!

The Reinmaren army was caught off guard, and stopped at the bridge.”

 

“They decide that all men should fight.”

 

“As Ludrik rode down to the army, as fast as he could.

But in order to win time they bade Cisyn to hold the King's men, out there on the bridge.

And long held his ground against the army.

But a spear reached him from below, and so they came across.

As the second battle raged, Karl and Ludrik and all their men…

From horses they ran in order to reach the bridge in time.

Brandt went before his men, and rained blows to all sides.”

 

A gray-goose fletched arrow then flew and became the Reinmaren Prince's bane.

 

“As Karl and Ludrik arrived, fully dressed in chain-mail, for toil and hurry, they barely reached the fight at the bridge.

As the third battle began, Saxton was called.

And many fell, but the Reinmaren were forced to flee.

And so it was that Mori's men from the underground won Almaris.
And Reinmaren law was culled there at the bridge.”

 

So professed the Seer to all, his white gaze meeting each and every man whose name he spoke. His words trembled the hearts of those who heard them, yet excited those of the others, the young ones, those who wished for blood and for glory, these lot welcomed the tale with open arms. Many whispers went around the open Moot hall, some speaking aloud, speaking of loss of sleep for the night, whilst others simply shut their lips. Ludrik was one of these, especially so as the Seer turned to him once more.

 

“Your power-hunger, you must end now, hear you, Ludrik Gelimarsson.

The dream signs from your brothers.”

 

Being addressed directly once more, the Vizekanzler made to clench the arm of the throne, leane back, a calm expression on his face, yet few would notice the anxiety behind the Katzak's face of a mask “Who are you, elder, to tell such tales?” he queried, but received no verbal answer. Instead, the Seer’s eyes went above towards the dark skies. The eyes of all those around followed him, just to notice one of the many skies above fall from the horizon. It was a short, red comet, or at least it appeared so to all. Gasps filled open air, signs of lorraine were crossed by even more. Ludrik had gotten his answer silently, his own eyes now widened at the sight. The Seer turned to him once more

 

“This comet will be the last you see.

And that time will come that you will not see again.”

 

 

“They come across.

Harken my words.

They come across. 

Do not listen to the Outlander.”

 

The von Katzak turned to the Seer then, he furrowed his brows, the words having struck deep, his face filled with anger. He had gambled his eyes in duels many a time, but for his sight he now feared. What was a chieftain without sight? A herald without light to draw. He took a deep breath, just before showing white teeth of anger, jaws clenched and enraged “OUT” he screamed hysterically. 

 

“Your prince shall fall by a gray-goose fletched arrow.” continued the Elder “Do not listen to the Outlander.” he repeated once more, sending Ludrik into a frenzy 

 

“Visions of deceit and of lies, of fear mongering and of plight!” He called, having formed a rhyme without realizing “Our right fight you fight with words, yet you speak without cause” and so it continued. He was too enraged to be doing this on purpose, this was obvious. It was a rather poetic moment, albeit a poetry filled with raw emotions of anger and rage. A poetry crooked, a poetry hysteric. With a nod of his head, the blind seer turned away from the dias, his sightless eyes seeming to gaze into the unseen realm. He moved with an air of quiet dignity, his aged form supported by his trusty cane as he made his way towards the exit of the hall. “You've not me to fear, Gelimarsson, but the stars.” such were his last words.

 

“Are you not an outsider yourself?” Ludrik’s teeth gritted before punching the throne's arm “OUT!” He screamed and seethed again in denial. Once again the Moot hall filled with chatter, many giving their take on the events. The usual gasps traveled around, but it was all those present who remained and witnessed in shock.

 

“Most worrisome..” Karl, Chieftain of Theonus mumbled under his breath, standing just inches away from Ludrik. The Katzak, in turn made to sit up, his face red as an apple, he jerked his hand into a motion of dismissal "The Moot is dismissed. Heed not such lies from mages and seers, these are not words of GOTT, our Lord!” he said in a hurry before storming out of the Moot, whilst all those seated stood up as per common practice.

 

 

To Riverrock he went, his mind distorted and his vision blurred from his mixed emotions. His pace was quick. His foot stepped heavily upon the dirt. To his room he departed, changing his official attire into the traditional Reinmaren clothes, white linen adorned by red markings. As he climbed upon the tower of his Thanage, he eyed the lands of Minitz which stretched before him like the sea stretches before the sailor. Amongst the many houses, and even more trees laid before him, he thought of the Spirit Cave, where all new Minitzers undergo their Trial of Spirit. Something called him towards it, something unspoken, an attraction, much like magnets, light, yet unseen. So he departed, his foot heavy as it was before, his impulses of rage from before having morphed into confusion, weighing upon his heart, for it now felt heavy.

 

He was not the first visitor, for most of the tribesmen had already gathered towards it. It was uncertain, but now they were all there, led by Brandt, their Herzog and Chieftain. Were they brought there by the same pull that attracted him?
 

Spoiler

Big thanks to @MadOnefor the RP and everyone else who was present... this is part one :)

 

[Deets 682]

The Kanzler of Minitz sat upon the benches of the Moot Hall for many minutes after the departure of the Seer. As he mulled over what he had heard and seen, the old chancellor could not help but feel dread. Dread at the possibility of these words, of the end of the Reinmaren. As he followed the others to the cave, he felt a resolve beginning to build with each step he took. He felt determined to stop this prophecy from coming true, whatever the cost may be.

[Sarven 1696]

The Herrenmeister stood right of the Katzak, observing with a lofted brow at the preachings of the old rag of a man. As the declaration of "OUT!" was given, with a simple waft of the hand, ritters went to approach the apostle who spoke of folly.

[Orphvius 423]

A Witch’s gleaming silver cataracts bled starlight as she gazed upon the heavens, the womb of the sky. Lofting a hand to her flank she’d flash an upside down horn symbol with a quick flex of her digits before retreating to her corner of the Wood