The Claim of Mourning

[ItsMisterPip 409]

 

O’er fifty revolutions ago, in a place far from our mortal plane, two men set out on a mission. On a world

void of the familiarities of our own, with different air to be breathed, and strange creatures to behold and

slay, within their minds persisted the image of a sword. A masterwork to be made, forged from alien fire

and hammered into existence from the spoils of their warfare.

 

The following moment marked the conclusion of their mission, and a new story was destined to be forged.

A blade destined to be embedded in culture and tales, present in history as a beacon of sharpness and

strength, and a witness to battles immemorial - This moment; The Claim of Mourning.

On one late evening in the streets of New Valdev, a small gathering of youth had formed in anticipation of

a festivity soon to be held. Kazimir and Nadya Weiss playfully bickered with each other, waging bets on

each other's downfall on an ice skating track.

 

Kazimir let out a chuckle, “Nadya- If you don’t fall at least three times, it would surprise me.”

 

Nadya scoffed, “I am actually very graceful, brother.”

 

“Are you, now?” Kazimir gave a cheeky grin, “I will jump in the river when the ice skating is done if you

do not fall.”

 

“Deal.” Nadya offered her hand for a very firm handshake.

 

“I do not need any deal from your side, I am confident enough.” Their handshake cemented their deal.

 

A few other kids, including Olga Ivanovich and Daisy of the Lilacs, stood on the sidelines, carrying on

their own conversations. All was normal, idling as they were, soon to depart for the festival.

 

Without warning, the air began to crackle and swirl, a symphony of electric energy shifted in the air around

all. In the distance, the pungent scent of sulfur lingered on their nostrils, assaulting their senses. Suddenly,

emerging from behind the soul of Kazimir Weiss, a Norn appeared. He was a large, foreign figure, his body

enveloped in furs that whispered with each movement of the wind, which settled. The dragonscale

armor he wore gleamed in the moonlight, reflecting shards of luminescence that danced around him. With

the abrupt arrival, the youth noticed the faint scent of burning embers, an otherworldly fragrance that hung

in the surrounding air. Closer inspection revealed his stained and tattered cloak. Three talons, bound by

string, adorned his neck.

 

“KAZIMIR WEISS,” the spangenhelm greeted, eyes glowing through the gilded frame of the goggles.

From the name’s invocation, his voice carried a coarse, rugged quality, seemingly indigenous to the tundra.

 

The sudden change in smell, the wisping of air, and the crackling sounds surrounding them drew Kazimir’s

attention to the point where the Norn apparated. Instinctively, the boy’s hand clasped over the pommel of

the weapon at his side. This figure before him was not familiar. Nadya’s head jolted toward the figure in

tandem, settling at her brother’s side, cautious and alert.

 

“Yes?” He spoke out nervously, looking up at the man.

 

“Siegmund Weiss, what relation is he to you?” A stave was grasped in the figure’s right hand, the electric

embers pulsing around the vambraces and the runes inscribed upon them.

 

“...He is our uncle,” Nadya interjected, despite the fact that she hadn’t been spoken to.

 

Kazimir’s posture relaxed slightly, “He is…” He confirmed his sister’s words. “Our uncle,” the boy’s eyes

traced the Norn’s staff and armor with great curiosity.

 

“Which of you holds claim to the mantle?” The voice reverberated off the interior of the dragonscale helm,

which rattled defiantly. An ancient whisper came from some of the scales, a foreign and bitter-sounding

rasp of another soul beyond the Northman’s.

 

“My father.” Kazimir stepped forward, positioning himself before his sister. With what hesitance he had in

answering, he chose to speak thus. “He is the patriarch of our family… Who are you?” His gaze was drawn

toward the slits of the spangenhelm.

 

“I am Konan-Thegn av Sólgaard.” The accent was strong, and after that, there was a reach of the left hand for

something. The warrior retrieved a sheathed greatsword from around his back. “This has been tested

in lands yet to be tasted by yourself, yourself, and many others,” the Norn began. “I forged it in pyres that

never breathed this air, nor that of my Great Hearth. It is a gift from an otherworldly dominion, graced by

your beloved uncle. You will see to its safekeeping and delivery, for only your patriarch may wield it.

Discard this, and a fate worse than death awaits you - in a world where you might not catch a glimpse of

the Heavens most High.” Around the Northman, a swirling torrent of idle, crackling energy, otherworldly

and wholly pure in the white flames which danced and dripped off the air around him.

 

Kazimir’s mouth cracked agape as he beheld the Konan-Thegn. “Siegmund?” He uttered quietly as his

right hand slipped away from the pommel at his side. A glance was sent to Nadya with confusion and

subtle shock before another step forward was taken. “What is this? Is there a catch to all of this?” Kazimir

eyed the greatsword, furrowing his brows.

 

“The love of one’s blood is never-waning, Southron,” he remarked. “I would not have hunted nor

bled, as I had to make this just to catch you. Your neck is thin enough for one hand alone.”

“Do you deny your uncle’s gift?”

 

“He does not,” Nadya interjected firmly, a hand settling upon Kazimir’s shoulder.

 

Kazimir’s eyes raised from the weapon, steeling himself from this awe-stricken sense that had taken

hold. “No…” He said, canting his head to Nadya thereafter before he approached the Northman.

 

For the briefest moment, Kazimir’s eyes were dazzled by a vibrant flash of flame, illuminating the darkness

and revealing the menacing image of draconic fangs and enormous scales. Burning embers filled the air, as

if someone had just put out a fire. The sound of a thousand and one whispers danced within his ears,

lingering like a haunting melody. It was as if a memory or a vision had been unleashed, overwhelming his

senses. In his mind, he could see stones, tombs, and vaults, forming towering mountains of ancient temples,

surrounded by lush jungles. The atmosphere was heavy with the metallic scent of blood mixed with

the refreshing aroma of rain. Above, the stars sang their celestial song, their brilliance threatening to crash

down upon the earth and the vast oceans below. In the midst of this surreal landscape, Kazimir witnessed

the creation of something extraordinary - a forging of pyre and flames, blazing upon the spine of a great

and otherworldly monster. It lasted for a mere moment…

 

And then, the Weiss realized that he was holding the sword. Konan-Thegn said nothing.

 

Such an overbearing moment. The smell and sight of embers, roaring whispers, and visions blazing past

set his mind askew. It was impossible to see anything else. The weight of the weapon went unnoticed until his

grip sank, accounting for the weight of the sword in his hands. This drop snapped him back into reality, and

with quick effort, he lifted the sword to prevent it from ever crashing into the ground. He was stunned,

staring at the blade.

 

Kazimir looked at Konan-Thegn. He didn’t have any words to say- to describe what he witnessed.

 

Nadya fell quiet, gently nudging the side of Kazimir’s arm. Whatever he had seen, evidently, she had not.

“-Are you alright?”

 

Kazimir braced both hands under Mourning to support it, looking over at Nadya. “Yes…” His eyes slowly

trained back to the Norn. “I am…”

 

“Die well,” commanded the thegn of the Norns, before a sharp sizzling sound and a bright, radiant light

engulfed his person and he vanished abruptly, as if a mere blink of an eye erased his presence from the

scene. The intoxicating fragrances of spruce trees and the comforting warmth of a crackling hearth

saturated the air, lingering as a reminder of the Son of Havkr’s departure. The wind carried a low rumble

from the distant mountains, a sound that vibrated through the very ground beneath their feet, the slopes

appearing majestic and imposing even from afar.

 

All was quiet, and returned to normal.

 

 

 

[ChainedDragons 1374]

Spoiler

 

[retro 277]

Spoiler

give us kazimir or give us death