don dada 579 Share Posted May 2, 2025 (edited) [ BRŒÐRSLIF ] [x] “ Let a man never stir on his road step without his weapons of war; For unsure is the knowing when need shall arise of a spear on the way without. - the Hávamál “ Men will know misery. a sword-age, Shields will be cloven, a wind-age, Before the world's ruin. - the Edda 3RD OF EIRIKSSTANDA IAÁ 554, AGE OF DRAGONFYRE WITHIN THE HOLLOW CRYPTS OF HALLOWCLIFFE... Blades and shields were blocked and waded as attacks were impeded by the martial strength of the Infernal-Knight, making quick work of the encroaching Iulius Rauðrdrakar, and the Ser Kieran Callaghan's offensive. Slamming their weapon into the Númenedain-Knight's weapon, knocking it away from their hind legs, they ask, "It's rude not to respond when one questions you," they start, with hasty breath, intent on a counter-attack upon the Purifier. They took in a long breath before murmuring, "So answer me, mortals. Why do you—" Ksssshk. Crackle. Their voice falters at a hitch, their pupils dilating as something foreign arrives. Crimson blood accented by swirls of a mauve trail along their unsightly mutations: from the edges of darkened antlers, to the maw of a corrupt buck worn like a trophy. Having deflected the blades of their opponents, surely they'd be unhampered in retaliation; but their body froze, as a searing pain drove from beneath the layers of soft bone-armor and into their form. The drums of Hell. To anticipate an arrival. It reverbs of a plummeting heartbeat. It was not long until the Infernal-Knight took one palm away from their weapon, their opponents all but coming to a halt as cracks on their armor all but shatter. Smoke churns out from the gaps when a silvery blade is recognized to have found itself halfway into their chest. The soft chime of a whine, their connection to the Hells broken, as an eye of gold stared right into them to whom the sudden piercing of the sword was wrought by. That hand sought its edge, but what returned was searing flesh. "L-let me ask—" its plea accompanied a howl of pain. "D—do you think this matters!?" Æthelwulf knew a truth in their words. Even as the spawns of Hell returned to their domain, the soil rattled when they returned to the earths, eternally existing to serve as foil, as foe, to wreak mourning upon Descendantkind. Time, and time again. His blade pierced flesh, tip to remain center of the Infernal-Knight's form. A soft nod given to Knight and Purifier alike, who sought to encircle the trapped foe in anticipation. A boot lifts, and settles heel to the surface of ruined armor, before sword was plunged deeper in its entanglement. "No." The sword-Norn answered. "What matters is that I find you again. Be it in your Hell, or to your maker." He took a long, drawn breath. The distance was closed as the air simmers into a stillness, when their helm closes in towards the demon's deer-maw. An eye of gold. The illumination of a flame. The Infernal-Knight grew limp, the longer they were skewered by the damnation of a radiant blade. They could barely read the runic along bronzen accents of the man's helm, and those drums were heard once-more. Fear took the place of a confidence, and from the fingertips of the Norn's gloves around hilt came, "Yol Zakhrii." Impalement. Immolation. It came for the infernal, a whimper escaping lips, before a scream. The scorching of an infernal body. Iulius bore witness to it for the first time, and soon entered an eerie silence to settle gaze on the Nornish elder. To watch inscription be burnt to plunged blade, and the unending wroth that came after. "Iulius," their staring came to an abrupt end, his attention caught by the call from the man themselves. "Collect their head, or affect, so that you may return and deem your people revenged." Having set the corpse off and upon darkened stone as it quickly began to wither, the man who felled the final blow wandered out into the darkened halls of Hallowcliffe after. Dragomir, who seems to've come dissatisfied from the fleeing of the Infernal-Knight's companion, and the revelation that the third was a hostage rather than foe, dubiously grumbled when he accompanied the rest of the party. Something about trophies, heads, so on mumbled under his helm. A set of antlers. The farce deer-maw. What lingered of it were victory, but of Iulius, a long-lasting memory. 12TH OF INN RÍKISMÁNAÐR IAÁ 558, AGE OF DRAGONFYRE Youth at its core. A warrior to make of descendant. That was what Æthelwulf saw in the servant brought before him by the Iulius Rauðrdrakar, now-Thegn of Vjardengrad. He scrutinized their ears, their hands, the way they carried themselves and the way their hands and arms reacted to gestures of the Nornishman. Floorboards creaked when he leaned towards the son of Malin, and they crunched when he returned upright to gauge the fullness of them. His head turned gently and away to an aside. "I intend to teach him of our Faith, if he doesn't know it already." Iulius spoke up, as Lucis was examined by the Norn-elder. "But to follow or not, shall be his call." "Very well." Æthelwulf gave a small nod, facing Iulius. "You've someone with a keen sense, at the very least. Do sharpen his edge. He'll be wetting his blade soon enough, being around Nord and Norn." As the elven helper sought to assist the elven servant with their tunic, and towel, Iulius returned the nod. "I will. And thank you for your words," he replied. "I already plan on training them, and on giving them arms and armor. My clan is one of warriors, of what my father used to say. My lineage will continue to observe history, and tradition." "As I'd observed." Æthelwulf sought to adjust the hilt of a radiant blade, to tuck it against his hip. "For you are Thegn now, and not merely Purifier, good man. That deems you to account for a strong warband of your own, even as it might be presumed you would look to the rank and file of Vjardengrad." "It is appreciated, truly." — "I am thegn, but I am still Human. That is why I asked to speak with you and the Nornish elders. Your experience would help me grow greatly, and give better service to our people." "If you wished to speak more, we may speak now, if you desire." The offer was sudden, and without hesitation. Quickly seeking his wits to respond in kind, Iulius gestured for the Elder to take to where he desired, of which they do by settling heavy leather into the wooden floorboards across from them. His cloak hid much of his armspan, but the berth of furs gathered along shoulders made him quite an overbearing shadow to be under. The young Thegn sought to stand right where they were, clearing their throat. "Sure." Brief time was given to a silence for thought to birth of Iulius's mind. When he started speaking, it came in amble confidence. "I'd like to hear first, what you think of my work now. If you think the capital is safer, or if there are things in which—my work has been inefficient or lacking." A flaw. A need. It spanned every Man's bone and flesh, every thought that wrung itself around the confines of rationality. Æthelwulf, keeping a keen eye on the other's expression, scratched his own cheek. "I see little inefficiency with your work, to assure you first." A soft creak when the Jötunn leans against the edge of timber support. "In truth, what we are dealing with now is a transition. Traveller, exile, newcomer. I nor Vjardengrad would place the weight of that on your shoulders alone, as would we all carry with it together." "It is our duty to ensure that our Norland, this Norland grows and remains strong. Ever-present in matters occuring and to occur, both of our own lands, of allies, and untreaded territory beyond, as dictated by our tenets." And he allowed silence to return again, in soft contemplation. His features expand when he loosens the tension on his shoulders with a long, frosten sigh. "But we can never be perfect. Naturally, we've exceptions. Those who deem themselves pacifist, or clans who've their own ails, their own trials and tribulations, whether by nature of their predecessors—or simply the circumstances that came before, and during their service." "The Nornishmen are present, too. But without one of proper mantle, we become wanderers. Verily are we separated at times, as we've all our own personal matter, and many of the young are yet to come of age to go through the Rite of Searing Water to be deemed warrior, in the same way Conan-Thegn's sons—Haakon, Matthías, and Isleifr have already." In a time of peace, what sows is a stagnancy. Unavoidable by many. The restlessness for warriors who seek more. "Then we need to reorganize, adapt, and overcome the divisions and hardships." Iulius sought to lay his hands against the oaken divider to adjust it gently, before leaning his side against it. "I believe that a blunt sword can be sharpened, and a wanderer can be returned to the path of warriors if one can stimulate their will." "The youth seem promising to me. Many refugees from the exilic Kingdoms and otherwise are eager to help. I believe the transition is presenting us opportunities, and we cannot remain stagnant into a period of change." — "I am trying to find ways to do so. To make Norland, and our people stay strong, or improve even further." There's a satisfaction in the way a smile grew on Æthelwulf's lips, barely hanging his rows to push himself off the wall and gently pace about the space between them. For a while, a silent thoughtfulness erring the Norn's sway to become a gentle softness upon the floors he walked. He collected his seax, set aside on a table nearby, twirling it about fingers. With the occasional tap to the side of his face, it finally pointed to Iulius passively, and finished thoughts became words. "There is a way," he declared. "Tell me, Iulius-Thegn. How many among the people have you seen battle the kin of Grendel, or the Eitr, the undead, or otherwise?" And as Iulius sought to part lips to speak, the Elder answered for him. "Perhaps in your time, many. But of my return, I've come to a short-ended answer. Not many of the new number residing within our lands have been tested before the eyes of the Aesŕ." "The Norns, as is tradition, rely on trial and tribulation to assess who can be deemed drengr: berserkir, ulfhednar, feða. Sword-Norns as I, Dragomir, Faenor, or Isleifr continue to scour the lands for more, as do many of our kin. In truth, we've plenty fighters, but never enough." "..Will that number truly be what allows us to stand by the tenets of our Faith, in its fullness? To Stand against the Long Dark. Spread the Flame. To Suffer not the Unworthy." "Many of us are well-honed, by now. Older. We will stray oft, for personal matters, or to quest to seek the Dark, those Unworthy, or to cater Flame. We will not always present ourselves available." The words were effective to the Nornish-elder's purpose, to seek contemplation from Iulius-Thegn, who now remained of a long silence. In his memories, there were some instances of what they asked of, but what were some became a lack of many. "Many have not been tested enough, I believe." He agreed. "To be fair to the many of our people, I have seen them fight. A great example was, before your return, servants of the Lord of Pride attacked the city. Many had intervened then, but with the coming changes after your return, I can only agree that there is a lack of a push." "..To this, I intend to test them, beginning with the Purifiers. An idea of mine was to organize periodical patrols of our lands. Not only to secure them, but to hunt those who wish to threaten our people." A glint of recognition from Iulius-Thegn to Æthelwulf, who secured revenge for his people against the Infernal-Knight. "I wish to bring them with me. Into the lairs of the fell-spawn, in their strongholds, where their influence is beholden to the lands of our allies, and those undeclared. They need to see. To fight. To gain experience." — "Perhaps even periodical training, in the Pit to keep them sharp." "..What I say accounts for myself, as well. I try to place myself under constant trial. To become contempt would be ruin." The seax's handle is presented before Iulius-Thegn, of which he took. Examining it with a set of dull grays, he noted the inscription of Nornish, and Nordic engravings. At the hilt, was a name. Æthelwulf's dedication to another. A name to tomb the man's restlessness, Lady Rezalisa, her likeness in the color palette of the blade. His strength, no matter the distance, in a dagger by his side. "It is precisely the mentality that allowed the Adunians to flourish. I recall a time when the host of the Númenedain evoked an ire of the ilk of Grendel. When faced with dangers beyond comprehension, the host of the Waldenians under Lord Robert Stroheim, and the host of the Shugonate under Kato Oijin, and too, Atsuko to come to your aid was a sure victory." "..To see the Nornishmen and Nordic banded together, with steels from depths unknown, and chins risen above the heights of the Long Dark, was sure victory." He rends another breath, to greet the window that spanned the square of Vjardengrad. His hands find the smalls of his back, continuing, "The generation that comes after me must be of the same as what my generation once was. A generation of warriors. Heroes. Men and women who did not toil of wetting their blades, dirtying their feet, sympathizing with the poison of the Eitr." "..To see the execution of victory. Because for all the peace that we have now," "It was not brought by peace equally." Eyes glimmering with awe fell upon the form of the Norn-Elder, coming to an agreeing nod. The memory of the battle in Hallowcliffe returned to him in kind, to see the Flame wring the Eitr into nothing but ashes and embers. "And what do you suggest to grow them strong? So to make sure that even after our passing, they can defend their kin, should need arise?" A hammer is settled unto the oaken floorboards. The Hammer of Björn. With a palm buckled at the top of the haft, the Norn-Elder spoke. "Grant them the steels of our forebears." "Let them establish bonds with one another, through trial of the mind, of the body, and through battle. Let that bond become brotherhood. Sólgaard. Karoslund. Ledna. Dunrath. Let that brotherhood become kinship." "That is what the Nornishman is. That is what it was, even before I. That was my perception of the Nords, when I were a stray boy arriving on shore. Ellenore av Eiriksdóttir, and the Dragonslayer, Iosefka Anarore were my mentors, a long time ago. There must be a change, a want to evolve past the tribulations of peace and silence." "I never stagnated, even after I'd gone to different pastures from their mentorship. I had that want, that change, as had many others around me. We were all separate once, after all." "..And when we'd finally united—I, Haraldr Fairhair, Conan-Thegn av Arichs, Beowulf, Hundr, Tancred, Thor, Faenor, Warlock—it did not matter what it was that stood before us. It was that by the might of our swing, and the volume of our voices, we were welcomed by the ALL FATHER in battle." "You are pondering the fire, again, Æthelwulf. Something on your mind?" Hrungnir asked. Æthelwulf looked up, drawing a tired grin across his features. "Thought about what's left." He says. "Not a lot, these days." "I find much of what was in the past, in what is now. Perhaps, it simply does not persist in the way you want it. You rather live in the past. Yes?" "It's not about that." The sword-Norn wafted a palm gently, eye spanning the halls. "..I lived in the past. Fifteen, twenty winters. More now, since I'd returned." "Conan would say I always have. A nostalgic man. Even before I came to be considered Norn." "..But I've given time to look at what remains. Not a whole lot. Not from our time. And I look at what has come after." "Dragomir. Haakon." Some silence. "My son." "I doubt that I'm to live long enough to see more than grandsons. I know it to be a truth. Others pursued the timelessness. And yet here I stand," "..Like I still remain in the past. With Conan. With Izel. With Emma. With Deia. With Adalia. With Villorik. With Haraldr, and Beowulf. With everyone that I'd met, and lost." "I do not think I will ever be able to grow unless," Æthelwulf rose his palm. The flame manipulates to grow about the cauldron, and yet it came weakly. And when he opened his palm, his hold on the blaze loosens. It returned to the way it was, a state of contentedness. "I let go." "Perhaps my time in past winters have shown me to. My last decades, this next half of this lifetime—it should not be spent still afoot in an old shadow, a flame that's staved." Hrungnir spent his time simply watching, listening to the old soul. Not once, however, did his mood sour. "I'll need someone to open the door for me." "Are you sure? Do you really think that removing the gift that severs your path from our Father's Garden will help?" And Æthelwulf scoffed. With a silent confidence, he says, "..Yes." "He was no Father of mine. I've known this since I was deemed to receive his influence. This brand, a connection between Man and Dragon. That was all it was, for a while. To seek peace between them, but the An-Gho and Izel knew it was a fate damned by centuries of history." "..I never belonged to seek Drauchvoszias. He is of another path, as are his sons." .. "And I will never be one. I was never born of it, neither my soul birthed for it. I will never shape myself into something that I am not, as my soul once denied the influence of Ixris. To become demon. To become dragon." "This, all know. I have always ever been one thing." "Man." .. "To live, to die. My sword in my hand, my regret to the soil, and my soul to what shall come for it after." "..A man with many dreams, and many failings." He whispers. And so did they descend. To the heart of the forge of the Aesŕ. It was here, that Æthelwulf knelt before the eyes of the Gods, and Hrungnir stood behind to present him. And with a palm to the brand of Azdromoth, a gift that once bonded him to the fallen Haraldr Fairhair and Hundr, the Dragon-Man invoked his freedom: “ Dratho Rihk. ” [x] Edited May 2, 2025 by don dada 24 Link to post Share on other sites More sharing options...
Jihnyny 5233 Share Posted May 2, 2025 Spoiler goated as always Link to post Share on other sites More sharing options...
Sonybut7 530 Share Posted May 2, 2025 Peak. Link to post Share on other sites More sharing options...
wolfdwg 2677 Share Posted May 2, 2025 Spoiler Azdromoth lost a goated warrior. Link to post Share on other sites More sharing options...
Iulius 208 Share Posted May 2, 2025 (edited) Goated. Edited May 2, 2025 by Iulius Link to post Share on other sites More sharing options...
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