[Dark Tidings] Untended Fires

[don dada 579]

 

 

Through the smoke, he sees the silhouettes of many, their faces all familiar slowly being distorted into calls of terror through disfigured maws. His lips split, urging his voice out of a frail disposition, but the words get lost in the chaos. Desperation claws at him as he watched helplessly, unable to reach them.

 

The flames spread, consuming the village, devouring everything in their path. He could feel the heat on his skin, the sears and haze coming closer as if he's caught in the very heart of the tragedy. He reaches for something—anything to hold onto, but it slips away, just out of reach.

 

A sudden, haunting silence falls. The flames stop their roar, but the man remains bereft of any semblance of hope, his village reduced to smoldering ruins. He stands alone in the desolation, the smoke lingering in the air, and the ashes of his homeland settling around him.

 

"Æthelwulf?"

 

✰ The tarot collector's frame idled forth, glancing toward the elder, stood before a depiction of debatably fictional Nordyc history: the Alföðr coming down on Thoromir bearing wings of a twinflame. A prophetic omen for those who were lost, though the face of who she called to spoke otherwise.

 

"Yes?

 

Their helm turned away from the painting, only to be greeted by a shorter, familiar face. His shadow extended over hers, while the elk antlers of her hood threatened anything but her own mobility. Their visage had grown older, but not as old as him—he thought.

 

Ah, Ljùfvina. Hello."

 

✰ Ljùfvina's head inclined forward kindly, observant of the man's newfound furs and fabrics, too the Nornish regalia of the older guard; dragonmaille & copper alloys spanning the man's armor and trinkets. When their people ventured, they always returned with the spoils of the world. This seemed no different to her than it would any other kinsman.

 

"Hail, brœðr. You have changed—some. The goats, cattle, and princesses across the lands have mourned."

 

"That I have, and so I've heard. I returned after finishing my pilgrimage, though none of you would have noticed my own visitations to my beloved, too, our bairn together now. I was greeted by the Konan-Thegn's first born rather than our broður; too were I told that much change has come to both Nord and Norn."

 

❂ The Sólvikingr gestures about, while she earns a visible charter of smoke plumed between gaps of maille, huffed in a short laugh. He bid down the steps to watch the light glide along pillars of stone in the halls of the Red Faith, a warmth dancing along the marble flooring.

 

✰ Ljùfvina's eyes grew weary then with a hand aloft, sights moving afar from the halls. It was a look only surfaced to bear darker tidings, with the growth of her speech a most notable change, no longer as broken and laden in a heavy accent.

 

"Many of the broður have grown old, and-or passed. It would seem that Haraldr's passing stirred something within our people, the ailment of grief, even as he may come to have sons the same as Konan. Even I have a son now, but he is not around as much.

 

Do you plan to stay, brœðr? Or have you yet farther distances for a longer pilgrimage?"

 

❂ Æthelwulf's chin comes aloft to reflect on the totems of their paragons aside. They were not necessarily the gods of the Nornishmen; instead, figures in history cemented forever for their virtues. He stuck a gaze on a particular Tyr, who embodied passion and freedom.

 

"No longer. Though I've outlived many, I feel as if my return would do more good than retiring. Reza agreed as much, while she has regressed into caring for what we have as a home, away from the guises of danger, and deceit. It interests me that I've even heard that our own son teeters with the vestige of taking his own venture, behind my own steps, yet not in its shadow."

 

❂ Æthelwulf turned their gaze to their kinswoman, silence filling the space for a moment. His singular eye examined their younger, slow and meticulate with his next words.

 

"I wonder if you've long since gotten past those grievances decades ago, that ill feeling that wrought your swing, your step, and your words for a time. I've come to understand that it was not only myself that felt as if I had betrayed a pact we once made to one another."

 

"I have mourned Haraldr; or better should I say, I still yet mourn Haraldr. He remains our brœðr, and so does he walk with me-with us.

 

Many are like Konan-Thegn, who grow older by the day. Their bones grow weary, even if their spirit doesn't. We are unlike them, more alike Haraldr and Hrungnir. We would see our broður born, and our broður die. I have learned and understood this,"

 

✰ Ljùfvina's metallic visor remained forever sealed with ersatz emotion, laden only with what was forged into those grooves of her mask, maintaining an uncanny neutrality. There were no reflection of her genuine feeling upon sight nor tone, for while her words became coherent and linear, the common delay and firmness remained.

 

❂ And yet the now-elderly Æthelwulf understood that even as it all came to pass; they would remain haunted by the understanding of the cycle, even as they remain stoic of its pertinence to their way of life. To live, to die—it once eluded the man who stood against Hel's grasps, but now he knew they did not fear either, but that they would see many more go through the ring.

 

"And so what now, I wonder, systir? We tread with dark tidings that find no ending, no matter the man, no matter the circumstance. There is much to gain of it all, surely, as we once clung to the av Arichs fervent pursuance of the ilk of Grendel in these lands. But does the unknown stagnate? Does it end? For it awaits who shall tread its path yet.

 

His grip on the ax lain soft to allow it to rest against his shoulder, while the tainted helm twists in a way to appear expectant without an expression, tilting away from the paragon and the halls of their faith. To her intuition, nothing of his next words indicated contempt, instead a curiosity.

 

I recall when we laid Haraldr, at the top of the world: we were all given the same question, a choice, a mantle to take on. Many of us remained skeptical of this, as others refused to answer, grief stricken in our hearts as we reach the top and sang brittled songs of the Hárfagri's tale.

 

Curiously enough, I recall your voice, your answer. So what much did the decades give you, after?"

 

✰ The silence spoke loudly of that profound gravity to his words, stilling the other in deep thought. It would be, perhaps, the first time she ever considered what much was received from accepting the call of The Mountain, all those years ago.

 

"I do not know, brœðr,

 

A palm, clad in metal, lifted towards her line of sight in keen observation—reflecting on what lied beneath layers of leather and molded iron.

 

It feels heavy. It burns, truly I speak it. As if I were emboldened to place my hand forth and reach for something, yet there are times I do not know what that is. There too, are times where I've some acknowledgement, to understand what my dreams are. For they have meaning, now. They are not my regrets, nor my joys. They are something to solve."

 

❂ There's a soft nod that comes in response, shortly peeling the waraxe off of his beholden shoulder to settle on the floor before the Alföðr. Both palms, one scarred and one pure—yet callous, cross over his chest to let chains, furs and fabrics bicker beneath the space of his arms.

 

✰ Ljùfvina gave a great exhale, dreary in nature in a singular chuff. The consideration continued on in the silence after, up until he'd speak oncemore.

 

"I've spoken to another, similarly, though not the same as you I'd imagine. She could see those that had long passed, speak to them, hearken their ails—as her interests lies in the nature of the soul. What comes after death. And another, who could see what hearkened our vestige and tallied the soil and stone ahead—though it ailed her so poorly that she would be at risk to lose herself in minute silence.

 

The eyes beneath the hollow ports of a helm greet Ljùfvina's face in a long gaze, examining her temperament.

 

And so I wonder what these dreams are, that tempt you to seek the unknown. To solve, than to merely reflect."

 

✰ The systir-Norn's hands found themselves settled at her front, idly fixating at absent error and mistake. Her tone takes on an irony with a chin turning his way, so that she might fully regard the elder now within her view.

 

"They are empty as they are vast. Is it something that interests you, brœðr? My dreams, and what awoke of me on that Mountain? Or is it what they could mean? At times, I find myself attempting to decipher it all. Usually, my stay is within Sólgaard, among our kin. For others who might share the same sentiment, they do not stay in our hearth so openly, or at all. Not anymore."

 

"Interest of unimportant matters has nothing to do with it, systir, I assure you. No gold nor spoils should be merely what indulges another to venture, to explore, to learn and to understand. Only that we are at the start of the steps towards the unknown, and we only need be enlightened by the world—by our hand, of what is here, and what awaits.

 

I believe there is no reason for me not to return home, neither is there reason for me not to travel oncemore. To know what may come of your dreams, what lurks around us in a spun tale of mysteries, otherworldly beings, and strange events: your dreams merely need a direction.

 

There's a smile beneath dragonmaille, hidden.

 

"So enlighten me, Ljùfvina. What is there to solve?"

 

 

 

The air is damp, and the sound of dripping water echoes in the stillness, a haunting rhythm that reverberates through the cavernous halls. Every step they take is measured, for the ground were slick, and unseen pitfalls threaten with every misstep.

 

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, they come upon the tower—a towering spire of ancient stone, its base disappearing into the endless depths of the seas. Above them, the untended pyre burned dimly, casting a dull, fiery glow in an otherworldly dance of shadow and light. The fire’s heat presses against their skin, though the air around them is still cold.

 

As the two sat atop the tower, a whisper came upon the wind; warmth brushing through the bitter cold as the winters chill temporarily abraded at the warmth of whatever it was that watched over them. A presence lingered in the air, stirring with familiarity. It asked:

 

"Are you two explorerkind?"

 

❂ Æthelwulf immediately snaps their head to the presence, slipping off the palisade's edges to let leather greet flooring. He looks to their compatriot first, a deep silence engulfing him with a nod accompanying.

 

✰ Ljufvina, sensing their kinsman's caution, exercises herself vocally as her glance is removed from the elder Norn, the visor of her helm tilting about as to become linear with the blazing pyre momentarily.

 

"We are."

 

"I've been looking for you two,

 

This presence were familiar—but it were far from being known by the pair, new. It had a kindness to it.

 

I have many coming to visit here, in soon time. To uncover the mysteries that lay within. It is for mortalken to discover - nay me. I fear there is magic and spirits bound to this place that, while I may know, it is not my place to solve every mystery. Would you give them your aide?"

 

❂ Though the kindness were not reciprocated, it did render a length of unease at the prospect of being sought upon the elder Norn, though it was not enough for them to take arms. His lips purse to a straight line in silence, refraining from whispering their thoughts—though perhaps it had already ascertained them by now. To this, does he give a second nod to the tarot collector.

 

✰ Ljufvina's clad palm found itself at her belt, an idle gesture without much intent beyond it being convenient. A breath parted from her aureate visor, that vacant and faux expression unmoving. She acknowledged that nod, and finally bid,

 

"We would."

 

There is a lack of change to that response, only a deep silence, up until the voice finally spoke once more, saying:

 

"My name is Eryndor. You will meet them soon."

 

 

 

 

Edited March 25, 2025 by norse
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[DahStalker 3692]

      Her dreams were sporadic now. No longer did the depths of her slumber provide that abysmal aftermath of her scarred boon only; for now, they remain laden with something greater. Visions coerced forth from the pools of an unknown entity, speaking in poetic prophecy of more dreadful omens, and granting a facade of wisdom through vague heeding. As that Norn pondered what those imminent years would entail, she drew in a weary breath. “All-Father guide.” Said she. Ljúfvina soon would join her brother-kin in their travels again, and with a familiar phrase in mind she contemplated the possibility of a more imposing meaning behind it. Knowledge begets wisdom.