__Stal27

Edit of Purification: Lichtenwald IN WHICH MERCY IS OFFERED, AND JUDGEMENT PROMISED ᛊᛏᚨᚾᛞ ᚨᚷᚨᛁᚾᛊᛏ ᛏᚺᛖ ᛚᛟᚾᚷ ᛞᚨᚱᚲ Issued by King Haraldr, on this day of IAÁ 587, AGE OF DRAGONFYRE; PREAMBLE To those of Lichtenwald, letters seized from the Black Cathedral, and the testimonies of those who stood against its corruption, have made plain what you have long denied; Lichtenwald has now become a sanctuary for Warlocks, and other such creatures of the Long Dark. A nest of corruption, and willing consort to the Black Cathedral’s evils, you were offered warnings, you were offered mercy and yet you persisted. The rot that you have allowed to reside within your village runs deeply - so deeply, that to ignore it is to allow our own people to peril. Your continued traffic with warlocks, and sheltering of the corrupt, as well as your conspiracies with the Black Cathedral stand as the undeniable proof of your dissent to this world. You would go so far, as to bring direct harm upon my peoples and this, this I cannot ignore. Thus, being that you cannot be trusted to root out your own rot, we will do it for you. AND SO IT SHALL BE, BY THE WILL OF THE FATHER, as King of Norland, High Chieftain of the House of Ruric, Chieftain of the Clan Edvardsson, Jarl of Verdrgrad, Blood of the Herald & Lord of the Ashwood Throne, Protector of the Highlanders, Haraldr av Edvardsson Ruric, Henceforth order this ultimatum delivered. CONTENTS CLEANSE OF LICHTENWALD FATE OF THE INNOCENT TERMS OF SUBMISSION CONCLUSION CLEANSE OF LICHTENWALD The Kingdom of Norland shall march upon Lichtenwald’s soil to remove all traces of warlock, corruption, and darkspawn influence. A task undertaken without haste, nor malice; but necessity. FATE OF THE INNOCENT Norland has not, and will not, relish in the slaughter of the innocent. Those of you who are uncorrupted, and unwilling to raise blade against the Crown will: Be safely removed from the village for the duration of cleansing. Be spared. And return only when the land is restored, and purified. Children, and those uninvolved with the Long Dark will be relocated to safety before cleansing begins. TERMS OF SUBMISSION Lichtenwald may prevent its fate by observing the following; Cease any and all harboring, communication, or support of Darkspawn, and by extension, Warlocks. Permit and aid Norlandic forces in entering the village to investigate without obstruction. Surrender all individuals found or implicated of taint by the Hells, Dark Magicks, or allegiance with the Black Cathedral. Failure to comply will end in the burning of Lichtenwald and its entirety to ash. CONCLUSION You have been given every possible chance, and copious amounts of time, to choose a righteous path. Norland will suffer corruption upon its borders no longer, and this ultimatum is your final mercy. Comply, and live. Or resist, and be cleansed. AND SO IT SHALL BE, BY THE WILL OF OUR ALLFATHER, HIS MAJESTY, Haraldr av Edvardsson Ruric King of Norland, High Chieftain of the House of Ruric, Chieftain of the Clan Edvardsson, Jarl of Verdrgrad, Blood of the Herald & Lord of the Ashwood Throne, Protector of the Highlanders LORD Malric Rhed The Hand of the King of Norland, Norn-Vargbane, Blódvargr of Kaer Skollreach Iulius-Thegn Rauðrdrakar Lord Purifier of the Order of the First Flame, Thegn of Verðrgrad, Chieftain of Clan Rauðrdrakar HER HIGH LADYSHIP, Ilse Haakonsdóttir Daughter of the Herald - First of His Line, Lady of The North, Huskarl and Quartermaster of the Northern Host

ᛞᛁᛗᚪᚾ ᛒᛟᚦᚩᚱᚦ RIGHTS OF THE KINGSMOOT Issued by King Haraldr, on this ashen day of IAÁ 587, AGE OF DRAGONFYRE; HEED, ELDHIRD For a time before my own Father’s rule, the lands of Norland were Kingless, led by a High Keeper. She, over seventy-six years, ruled as a regent, keeping the idle Kingdom from falling into ruin. It was under herself that those who disguised themselves as withholding the blood of the Herald and fit for kingship were never recognised, and it was beneath her watchful endeavours that this kingdom would realise the king which it sought and it needed. Haakon - Though her duty did not end there, but instead her duty persisted through it, the Red Faith was strengthened, the gaze of the AllFather was active and persistent. And it was only a little while later that my own Modir, Dima-Queen, was entrusted with both my education and matters of the realm, even despite those around her who would recognise her not, she endured and continued upon the path to ensure that the realm was not torn, but rather held together. There is the Elder-Veta, who has at one point, aided the entire populace of the Norland and more with the matters of health and survival, not only has she committed to this, but her commitment to fighting alongside the Norlandic and healing cannot be understated. This story of theirs is one of many throughout the realm of women, similar to herself, who have aided this northern realm in various ways, to ensure that the Norlandic peoples may persist. During my father's rule, he was blessed with three daughters. Three, of whom I believe could and would rule better if not equal to me or any other son that he was delivered. Yet, I question the possibility of their rules, for in the history of this kingdom, there has been little to no knowledge or prominence of Queens recorded. The All-Father blessed the lines of his Herald; the blood of the Herald runs equally between both his sons and daughters. For days and nights I have sat before the flame of the All-Father, praying to be delivered the wisdom and to light my path, blessed is he, who has entrusted me with his wisdom and that he has delivered unto us the kingsmoot, that I feel it both a pleasure and necessity to bring forth these rights upon not only the sons, but also the daughters of the Herald. AND SO IT SHALL BE, BY THE WILL OF OUR ALLFATHER, as King of Norland, High Chieftain of the House of Ruric, Chieftain of the Clan Edvardsson, Jarl of Verdrgrad, Blood of the Herald & Lord of the Ashwood Throne, Protector of the Highlanders, Haraldr av Edvardsson Ruric, Henceforth, officially bestows equal opportunity of election upon the Rurics, male and female, who live within Norland, follow the Red Faith, are of age to lead and have been unashed during the declaration of a Kingsmoot. As they have time and time again stood in for chieftains who have not been present, so will they now have the opportunity to put forth their name or be suggested to run in the kingsmoot and continue the line of the Herald, ushering us towards an era of enlightenment and a stance against the Long Dark. AND SO IT SHALL BE, BY THE WILL OF OUR ALLFATHER, HIS MAJESTY, Haraldr av Edvardsson Ruric King of Norland, High Chieftain of the House of Ruric, Chieftain of the Clan Edvardsson, Jarl of Verdrgrad, Blood of the Herald & Lord of the Ashwood Throne, Protector of the Highlanders Malric Rhed The Hand of the King of Norland, Norn-Vargbane, Blódvargr of Kaer Skollreach Iulius-Thegn Rauðrdrakar Lord Purifier of the Order of the First Flame, Thegn of Verðrgrad, Chieftain of Clan Rauðrdrakar

"Such is the way of Man. . . if naught else, I am pleased that you were able to heed what I might've had to say, Iohannis of Lotharia." Spoke, the Haraldr, as he looked upon the parchment, with a look simply undescribable.

“No.” Declared the King as he prepared DISCUSSION with Amlodhi.

Edict of Forged Kin RIGHTS OF THE FORGED AND WROUGHT Issued by King Haraldr Haakonsson, on the 10th of The First Seed, IAÁ 260, AGE OF THE SECOND AGE; PREAMBLE Let it be known, all who dwell beneath the Red-Faith, upon the snow-crowned lands of Norland; For long have the Forged and Wrought-beings of metal, stone, fleshcraft, and Sorvian spark-walked amongst the citizenry of Norland. They have aided in our governance, found home and kin amongst our people, and done well by Norland. AND SO IT SHALL BE, BY THE WILL OF THE FATHER, as King of Norland, High Chieftain of the House of Ruric, Jarl of Vjardengrad & the Lowmarch, Blood of the Herald & Lord of the Ashwood Throne, Protector of the Highlanders Haraldr Sigmar Edvardsson av Ruric, Henceforth, officially bestow equal citizenship upon the constructs that dwell within our Hearths, and visit our home. CONTENTS I. DEFINITION OF THE FORGED II. GRANT OF CITIZENSHIP III. RIGHTS OF THE CITIZEN-FORGED IV. EXPECTATIONS OF CONDUCT V. ON MALFORMED, CORRUPTED CONSTRUCTS VI. ENFORCEMENT DEFINITION OF THE FORGED The following shall be recognized as Constructs of Non-Darkspawn Origin, hereafter referred to as the Forged and Wrought; Sorvians Mechanical Constructs Alchemical Constructs Flesh-wrought Constructs Golemic or animated forms Any crafted, shaped, or artificed being possessing sentience, stable will, and no connection to Darkspawn corruption. GRANT OF CITIZENSHIP All Forged and Wrought who choose to call the Norlandic Soil home, and bear no trace of darkspawn taint, are hereby declared full citizens of the Kingdom of Norland. They shall be recognized equally with all other citizens, enjoying the same rights, protections, and expectations under Norlandic law. No oath, rite, or ritual shall be required for this recognition, as none is required of any born citizen of the realm. RIGHTS OF THE CITIZEN-FORGED The Forged and Wrought, upon taking up citizenry, shall possess: Right of Hearth - To reside freely upon Norlandic soil. Right of Shield - To be protected under Norlandic law from harm or unjust treatment. Right of Voice - To petition, speak, and seek redress. Right of Hand - To labour, trade, craft, and pursue livelihood. Right of Honour - To serve in militia, warband, or official capacity alike as any citizen may. Right of Standing - To hold land, title, and position, save those that the Red Faith expressly restricts to living-borne. The Duty of Conduct - To obey the laws of Norland. EXPECTATIONS OF CONDUCT As any full citizen, the Forged and Wrought are bound to; Uphold Norlandic law. Fulfil lawful duties owed to All-Father and King. Defend the realm when called. Failure of any such thing shall incur the same judgement, and punishment as any born citizen. ON MALFORMED, CORRUPTED CONSTRUCTS Any constructs- whether forged or wrought- found to defile the law, be unstable, violent without reason, or bearing corruption shall be; Restrained Examined Depending on necessity, exiled, or destroyed. Under the authority of the King and his Thegns, in accordance with the original Norlandic Code. ENFORCEMENT This Edict holds the weight of statute, and shall be recorded as a formal amendment to the Norlandic Code of Law. All Thegns, officials, and citizenry of Norland are commanded to observe it henceforth. AND SO IT SHALL BE, BY THE WILL OF OUR ALLFATHER, HIS MAJESTY, Haraldr Edvardsson av Ruric, King of Norland, High Chieftain of the House of Ruric, Jarl of Vjardengrad & the Lowmarch, Blood of the Herald & Lord of the Ashwood Throne, Protector of the Highlanderson Scribed by, HER HIGHNESS, Ilse Haakonsdóttir, Princess of Norland

ᚠᚱᚪ ᛋᚠᛖᛁᚾᛁ ᛏᛁᛚ ᚳᚩᚾᚢᛝᛋ THE CORONATION OF HARALDR HAAKONSSON Issued by Haraldr Sigmar Haakonsson, on the 14th of EDVARDSAWND, IAÁ 585, AGE OF DRAGONFYRE; HEED, ELDHIRD, Since the time of our Providence and the regency of our northern realm, I have been referred to as a Boy-King, a bittersweet phrase that I did not perceive as true until it was declared at the kingsmoot. Thus. In following my late Fadir’s wishes, I desired a fair election where the people, my people, my chieftains, my keepers and the Allfather might choose me of their own will. Yet having stood before them, I felt the weight of every year I spent waiting to be seen as more than a child holding a crown too large for his hands, the weight which bore upon the shoulders of my Modir and the regents of Norland, who worked to ensure that there was a realm to inherit and guide from the turbulent conclusion to our home upon the continent prior and the accursed isles of Kalldur. My experiences, though many, were minute in comparison to those of my elders and yet, I sought to lead, as my late Fadir, Haakon and Grand-Fadir, Konan, before him did. If not in the title, then in the duty. The hall watched me like a living thing, measuring, judging, and wondering if the boy they watched grow and named could truly rise as a king, to be tempered into a leader who would guide the realm of the All-Father and the entirety of his peoples. THE PROCESSION RITUAL OF KINGS - ᛋᛁᚦᚱ ᚳᚩᚾᚢᛝᚪ Similar to his predecessor’s election within the Kingsmoot, uncontested for the Ashwood Throne, Haraldr Sigmar Haakonsson remains without a coronation. The Luminary shall oversee such a ceremony, where His Majesty’s status will be conferred as the King of Norland. He shall be styled as His Royal Majesty. HARK, VARHEIM, ALL ALLIES AND THOSE COURTEOUS ARE WELCOME TO THE KINGDOM OF NORLAND TO WITNESS THE EVENT AND JOIN IN THE MERRIMENT. THE FOLLOWING INVITATIONS ARE EXTENDED: PUBLIC INVITATIONS TO, All citizens of the Kingdom of Norland, from the eldest clans to fledgling lines found within. Aemond Isenfuld, Laird of Ledna, and his people Ser Sigmar Rhys var Ruthern, Hetman of Karoslund, and his people Hrungnir, ‘the Foogle’, Halfdansson, Thegn of Sólgaard and his Norn Company Tiberias I Horen, Emperor of Man, Holy Imperator, etcetera., his imperial blood, and his citizens. Galahad Ílumrin, High Prince of Cauróst, Prince of Malinor, etcetera., his royal blood, and his citizens. Shugo Honda of Kurai-Kuni, Protector of the Farfolk, his royal blood, and his citizens. Sonna Vulnrith, the Viridian Voice of Iryalen, The Eliheiuhii, etcetera., her blood, and her citizens. Ulfar Kazzarathsson, Grand King of the Grand Kingdom of Urguan, Thane of the Elder Clan Starbreaker, etcetera., his royal blood, and his citizens. Prince Llewyn of Tir-Glas, Vicar of the Bene Lisse, Deacon, Grand-Master of the Dawn, Captain of Idunia, Slayer of the Gilded Queen, and Patriarch of the Royal House Glennmaer Princess-Consort Safiyaa of Tir-Glas, Master of Tir-Glas Revelries, Physician of Tir-Glas & Idunia, and Daughter of House Vourkehardt PERSONAL INVITATIONS TO, Konan-Thegn Edvardsson av Ruric, Jarl of the Highmarch, his blood, and his Norns High-Jarl Aeskill av Ornskjold, and his blood The Lady Anastazie Eliska Brzezinksi, and her family Malric of Skollreach, and the Vargbane Iulius-Thegn Raudradrakar, and his blood. Iohannis I, Grand Duke of Lotharia, and his peoples Aetius, Captain of the Vander Legion Yelizaveta Mahaut Ljúfvina Dragomir raudradrkar Hanzo Katya Emma Kortrevich The Lady Constantina Aldersburg of Dover The Lady Romhilda van Aert Miss Pika Ulfric & Fey AND SO IT SHALL BE, BY THE WILL OF OUR ALLFATHER, HIS MAJESTY, Haraldr Sigmar Haakonsson King of Norland, High Chieftain of the House of Ruric, Jarl of Vjardengrad & the Lowmarch, Blood of the Herald & Lord of the Ashwood Throne, Protector of the Highlanders HER MAJESTY, Dima Milena Kortrevich Queen-Mother of Norland, Lady Protector of the Koravians, Knight of the Haeseni .

Spectating the recent battlefield, HARALDR looked upon it, twisted limbs of the fallen bodies and blood of the Grendel amalgamated with the sodden ground yet before them, the evidence of armour was apparent to even the blindest. So, did the pair, the son of Haakon and his hand, Malric, stride towards what they assumed was the empty plates of armour which denoted the one RAGINOLF. He sought for ashes, this trip had become one of recovery then aid, though he found none for such was the ending of a warrior of MALCHADIAEL, leaving naught behind but armour and weapons. "He was a great warrior. . . even in his final moments, he felled them all." He spoke, his voice subtle and marred with emotion he did not realise he bore even in the present - his voice drawing quieter tones as he continued on. "We shall collect his belongings and return them. . . there is nothing else left for us here but only that of his which may never let us forget his memory, as the Allfather wills it. . ."

THE FOTRESS-CITY OF VERDEGRAD Fortress of the Worthy TABLE OF CONTENTS OVERVIEW LOCATION CULTURE RELIGION CIVIL AND MILITARY NOTABLE LOCATIONS STEWARDY INFORMATION LEXICON OVERVIEW Constructed in the year 578 of the Ashen Calendar, under the reign of His Majesty Haraldr Sigmar Haakonson, King of Norland The northern bastion of Verdegrad (As inscribed upon runes: ᚢᛖᚱᛞᛖᚷᚱᚨᛞ) serves as the capital of the Kingdom of Norland, commonly referred to as Norland. The Kingdom, which is a theocratic quasi-hereditary kingdom, is made up primarily of humans (of Highlandic descent) alongside elves and other races, whilst also serving as home to the Red Faith, a following of the All-Father and the numerous ancient clans of the Rurrikid. Located in the Northern parts of the Varheimr continent, the bastion was formed by the survivors who were forced to flee the former continent of Solheim when a common enemy, known to many as simply the ‘mountain’, ravaged the lands once inhabited by these very people. LOCATION Verdegrad is located on the north-western hemisphere of Varheim, nestled atop a mountain with only one entrance to the city; Tancred’s Crossing, an unmissable landmark in the region. Verdegrad is truly a fortress-city. Taiga forests and hills surround the capital. Before one enters the capital, they are met by lodges, which house hunters and such, who require easy access to the woods. One might take the Northeastern Passage Pillar following the signs to the Kingdom, and from there take the road leading to the hill opposite Verdegrad, from there, take the bridge and soon you will stand at the base and gates of the fortress city. Coordinates to Verdegrad: X: 219, Y: 79, Z: -1845 Surrounding the capital are the various vassals and bóndir, like Ledna, Karoslund, and Grenzstadt, all of which house people of differing cultures and the farmlands which feed the hungry Norlanders. CULTURE Verdegrad and even the rest of Norland, despite what one might believe, are accepting and tolerant people, but it should be stated that it is primarily made up of human Highlanders who are practicing Fatherists. Wherever you find Norlanders, you will find the Ashwood tree– a huge tree whose leaves are eternal fire. The High Hearth takes meticulous care of the Ashwood tree. Norlanders are hearty and jovial people who take pride in what they do, no matter how small the task is. Norlanders know that all people are integral to the nation, no matter how unimportant a southernerner might see the work; Norlanders know differently, all are of importance, as Norland stands against the Long Dark. A Norlandic warrior telling a story to the children Along with this pride, the Nordish men take up very headstrong ideals of themselves and their people, leading to brash, proud, and fiercely loyal ideals of which do tend to show in action. It is unnatural to see an unarmored Norlander; they know that corruption seeps within as well as it does from without, and are ready to stand and fight. This makes them somewhat suspicious of outlanders, now more than ever, given recent events. This suspicion changes when the outlander has proven themselves; suspicion might not always be shown While a minority, there is also a significant number of Elven-Nords, who are Elves who have assimilated into the Norlandic way of life. Hailing due to the reign of the former High-Keeper of the faith, Ellenore, the elves who have assimilated to the way of the Nords have come to serve the northern realm in equal capacity to the Highlanders who inhabit the realm. Many can find them dwelling within the halls of the Nords and Norns, drinking, singing, even fighting amongst them as they have come to bear the life in the north. The ladies of Norland (and Uncle Hick), enjoying a moment of respite and joy Although Haeseni and Raev mostly call Ledna and Karoslund home, there is a minority of Haeseni and Raev in Verdegrad, perhaps only because of its proximity to the other lairdships. Most, if not all of them, are staunch Canonists and hold to their culture whilst also deriving aspects from the broader Nordling cultures. Though they retain much of that which is original, keeping true to themselves. RELIGION The Red Faith is the primary religion of the Kingdom of Norland; it is so intertwined in the realm that should the faith falter, so too will the nation. The Faith bids all layfolk to uphold the Three Tenets set by the Allfather and live in the spirit of the Red Zeal. The High Hearth always encourages those with a passion for the faith and its study to become Hearthmen. Those dedicated may rise to become Keepers and perhaps, in time, also Luminary. Unlike other beliefs, the Red Faith does not immediately condemn other faiths as evil and heretical, but rather teaches that they are misled and must be shown the Flame of the Allfather. With this leniency towards other faiths, there exists a minority of Canonists, Elven spirit-practitioners, and others within the Norlandic borders. A Hearth-Brother performing an initiation in the Temple of Divine Revelation in Solheim CIVIL AND MILITARY SERVICE The Order of Purifiers is the militant body of the Red Faith and the Rurikid. They are led by the Lord Purifier, who is second only to the High Keeper and King of Norland. The Purifiers venture into the lands in search of evil to vanquish and corruption to cleanse. They are formidable warriors, specifically targeting Grendel. It has become apparent that there is a lack of law enforcement, thus purifiers have taken it upon themselves to also enforce the law, authorized by the King and High Keeper. They often perform rites, which demand them to go out and hunt specific Grendel, to become more skilled. After, the completed rites are proudly displayed on their armour as wax seals or engravings. Young Nordish men often find themselves enlisting in the Purifiers as a way to bond with others, experience more of life, and earn a living. It is not uncommon for Purifiers to die in battle, but such is their way. They take the fight to the enemy, so others may rest peacefully in the night. To find more information about the services, one might speak to the Lord Purifier at this moment or any who are part of the Norlandic leadership. The Norlandic Host standing in New Valdev in battle against Orsathiael NOTABLE LOCATIONS TANCRED’S CROSSING The bridge of Verdegrad As the only entrance into the city, Tancred’s Crossing stretches across a deep valley that was once the site of a mighty island upon land. Built from stone from nearby quarries and wood from the woodlands which surround the site, the bridge, which allows entrance into Verdegrad, has been carved with runic engravings in recent times. The bridge stands as a symbol of entry into the realm of the All-Father, of mighty engineering, and as a line of defence into the fortress. Those who travel to the Northern realm are thus subject to the sights of the red and black banners of Norland and guards who overlook this very entrance. ELLENNORESSTORG The Markets Elrithstrog, or “The Keeper’s Market”, is the centre point and beating heart of trade that is witnessed within Verdegrad. Between the longhouses and buildings of tall timber and cobble, with paths of coarse dirt that led through the stalls and shops. Rows of colourful tents and merchant stalls would fill the very air with the scent of meats, spices, and leather. It is here that one can find near everything from blacksmiths who made armour and weapons to jewelry and potions. Locals, traders, and travelers may all gather here to barter, gossip, or converse. THOROMIRSHALL Hall of the Kings Past the central square and past the Ashwood tree stands Thoromirshall, known also as the Hall of the Kings. With walls built from massive timbers and stone, its style of building is comparable to that of an old longhouse. From the outside, it might seem simple compared to the decorations of red and black that adorn other buildings, but it is on purpose. Within, a grand throne made of ashwood, and in the design of the tree, overlooking a long feasting table where the warriors, clansmen, and all may gather during meetings or feasts. It serves symbolically and literally as the seat of the King and the unity of the people. TEMPLE OF THE TRIUNE COVENANT Home of the Red Faith Past the gatehouse and Haakon’s Assembly, one is met with a grand Ashwood Tree. At first glance, one might think that is all to it, but in fact, if there is a bridge leading into the Ashwood. Inside the tree, there lies the Temple of the Triune Covenant, the largest temple in Varheim dedicated to the Allfather. Great rites and theological discussions are hosted within. It houses the dead and the living; clerics of the Faith care for the temple, its belongings, and surroundings meticulously. In addition to these many things, it also hosts the only library and House of Healing in the city. HAAKONS PINGVELLIR Haakon’s Assembly Named after the former High-King, this vast and open swathe of ground serves as the assembly point and grounds for the city. It is said that all paths in Verdegrad lead here, where the people gather to converse and to witness, to tell tales or be witnesses to the sights within the tavern. A statue of - stands in the very center of the square, with the tavern, Ashwood tree, banners of the clans, and temple of the triune covenant all overlooking and surrounding it. In times of gathering, it is said that the Pingvellir remains as the center-point, if not the starting point of any gathering. THE GROUNDS OF CELEBRATION The festival and marital grounds Found deeper within the fortress and past the tree once more, sits a ground where lanterns and banners hang from the pillars of a ruined wall and the branches of old pines. The grounds of celebration are located within the high forests around which the city is built. It serves as the point where both festivities take place, and where marriages are made and celebrated. STEWARDRY INFORMATION The office of the Master of Coin is responsible for the stewardship and taxation of the city. For housing inquiries, contact them or one of the stewards of the city. A steward can often be found at the tavern or wherever the Nords are congregating. Should one not be readily available in the city proper, send a letter or leave a note in the stewardry booth across from the tavern. MASTER OF COIN Livius Flavius - Memenade STEWARDS Eistalyn - Calise11 Soren - igscoobi Haraldr - __Stal27 Io - ichigomaster98 LEXICON CREDITS Credit to @Balthasarfor co-writing this. Massive credits to all those who were involved in reading over and making sure that everything was up to date.

MC Name: __Stal27 Discord: __Stal27 Image: Description of Image: Art of Asmund Dimensions: 2 wide, 2 high & 4 Wide, 4 High

⋅ ༻⊰───────────────────────⊱༺⠀☨⠀༻⊰───────────────────────⊱༺ ⋅ ⋅ 𑁍 ⋅ ⋅ ༻⊰───────────────────────⊱༺⠀☨⠀༻⊰───────────────────────⊱༺ ⋅ THE BEGINNING OF A NEW ERA IN THIS YEAR OF OUR LORD ⋅ ༻⊰───────────────────────⊱༺⠀☨⠀༻⊰───────────────────────⊱༺ ⋅ SIXTEEN YEARS AGO, THE GRAND DUCHY OF LOTHARIA WAS FOUNDED AFTER THE DISSOLUTION OF THE KINGDOM OF BALIAN. This was a time of great strife for the refugee people of Balian, who had just lost their homes, family, and identity. From that destruction, however, something else was built. A new home in the desert, led by the once-Prince of Monterosa, LOTHAR CASIMIR. FOR THESE SIXTEEN YEARS IN LOTHARIA, WE, HAVE ATTEMPTED TO PROVE OURSELVES TIME AND TIME AGAIN AS A STRONG, FAITHFUL, AND COMPASSIONATE LEADERS. Never have we attempted to put the selfish desires of ours above the needs of our peoples, and never has we attempted to allow greed or hopelessness cloud our vision. IT IS WITH THIS IN MIND THAT THEY AND COUNCIL OF VILAHN ANNOUNCE, WITH BOTH GRATITUDE AND LINGERING SADNESS, THAT WE, THE GRAND DUKE AND DUCHESS HEREBY ABDICATE THEIR TITLES TO OUE ELDEST SON AND HEIR, IOHANNIS BASRIS AGAMEMNON BASILEUS, THE FIRST OF HIS NAME. He will be granted all of the authority given to the throne of Lotharia as its second Grand Duke. Given he has not yet reached the age of majority, however, a regency will be entrusted to the Council of Vilahn until the Grand Duke has reached his eighteenth year. May GOD bless the Grand Duke’s reign, and may He bless the rest granted to the Emerituses of Lotharia. ⋅ ༻⊰───────────────────────⊱༺⠀☨⠀༻⊰───────────────────────⊱༺ ⋅ HIS SERENE HIGHNESS, IOHANNIS I, Grand Duke of Lotharia, Prince of Monterosa, Duke of Atrus, Count of Salia, Baron of Cadiz, Cascanova, and Solvis, et cetera. HIS LORDSHIP, LOTHAR CASIMIR HER LADYSHIP, ISIDORA JAHANNA HER ROYAL EXCELLENCY, ESFIR ARTEMISIA D’ARKENT, Emeritus Duchess of Sunholdt, Amiratus of Lotharia, Lady Seneschal of the Crown, and High Councilor of Vilahn

The aforementioned Haraldr, seated himself upon a brick of the barn where much of the fighting transpired. His hands resting upon the head of his warhammer, sullen eyes moving among the field of red and armour, sitting in silent thought. “Iron from Ice. . .”

Helmer, champion of the GOVERNAH, thought deeply about the doings that day, pondering in deep thought. “Hrm.”

INN FYLKI RÁÐSNJALLR THE PROVINCIAL COUNCIL Issued by Imperial Governor Markus Kruber, on the 21st of INN RÍKISMÁNAÐR, IAÁ 573, AGE OF DRAGONFYRE PREAMBLE Long before the north was privy to the reign of the HIGH-KING HAAKON, the lands were steeped in a time of INTERREGNUM, itself ruled upon by the HIGH-KEEPER ELLENORE, who, with a nation that failed to procure a worthy king for decades, sought the aid of the most worthy and competent of hirdmen to administer and reign within the borders of the Northern-most Kingdom. Thus would it be formed, as the days to the kingsmoot were heralded, so too was a proper council, ashen, red, the name mattered not. For what it stood and the duties performed by this council had remained consistent and true. “But it served a great purpose of divvying out realms of authority to those most competent of the Hirdsmen. Now, as the borders of this Kingdom become secured by the strength of Purifiers & Levies, & Kingsmoot draws near, it becomes evermore necessary to solidify the positions of our most righteous Council.” Inn Rauðr Ráðsnjallr | IAA 550 Thus, it is seen fit to form and structure another council to further benefit the administration and continuance of the northern realm. It has been deemed a necessity that it once more fields a council of equal virtue and importance. Inn Fylki Ráðsnjallr, or better known as The Provincial Council, is what it shall come to be known as. The council will come to reign as the highest members of the realm's leadership. The most faithful and most competent shall be those who comprise this council and they shall serve to further better this Kingdom of Norland. AND SO IT SHALL BE, BY THE WILL OF THE IMPERIAL GOVERNOR, THE PROVINCIAL COUNCIL Inn Fylki Ráðsnjallr Introduced as the replacement for the now temporarily defunct Red Council. The Provincial Council of the governorate shall be seated by the highest of men and women serving beneath the banner of the realm. Faith, betterment to the Kingdom and loyalty to the Rurikkid are all traits which encompass each sitting member of the council and more. To be seated upon the council is to be one entrusted with executing solutions, tasked by the Imperial Governor, King of Norland, Queen of Norland & High Keeper of the Red Faith; with each bound to the upholding of the ruric line and Red Faith. Yet, unlike the councils of yore, this rendition of the previous ashen and red councils shall, alongside comprising a broad variety of individuals who may serve as secondary advisors, this council shall too hold the most prominent members of the Norlandic community, those who seek to steer the very direction of this realm and replace the perpetual darkness which might cling onto this kingdoms’ administration. Those members who are offered positions first and foremost, upon this rendition of the provincial council, are known as the following; The Governor of Norland, Sir Markus Kruber The Queen of Norland, Dima Milena Kortrevich The Boy-King of Norland, Haraldr Sigmar Haakonsson The High-Keeper, To be Elected The Thegn of Vjardengrad, who will head this council. Iulius Raudrdrakar Hand of the Healers, Yelizaveta Mahaut Hand of the Arts, To be Named Master of the Treasury, Livius Flavius Hesir of the Karoslund, Maya of Barbanov Laird of Ledna, To be Named Thegn of Solgaard, Hrungrir Halfdansson AND THUS IT SHALL BE, HER ROYAL MAJESTY, DIMA MILENA KORTREVICH Queen of Norland, Lady of the Ashwood Throne, Protector of the Highlanders, Lady Protector of the Koravians, Seneschal of Norland, Keeper of Coin of the Circle of Crows, Knight of the Haeseni. Iulius Rauðrddrakar, Lord Purifier of the Order of the Sacred Flame, Thegn of Vjardengrad. HIS IMPERIAL EXCELLENCY, Sir Markus Kruber of Ubersreik, Knight of the Imperial Order of the Red Dragon, Imperial Governor for the Province of Norland.

From the skies where MIKJALL waged his eternal battle. . . a fellow Besirkir stood awaiting with a blade in hand, offering such to Kazimir. "Welcome, Broedir."

A young Norn sat within the comfort and warmth of the Hearth. A cold and harsh wind swirled around the boy cladded in deep furs, his fists curled and pressed close to his chest - yet he did not wail, instead seated in silence.

A SON OF SOLGAARD ASMUNDSSOGUR ⟡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ ༓︎༻𖤓༺︎༓ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━⟡ “I AM ASMUND, THE SON OF INGRID.” ═════☀═════════════════════════════════════════════════════☀═════ The sky was dark, but it had been for some time now. Over the capital of Norland, the sun had grown tired. The clouds hung low like grief, slow and heavy, as though the world had braced for what was to come. From the heights of the mountains and the depths of the earth, a storm came over VJARDENGRAD not of wind, but of ruin. The forces of ORSATHIAEL had arrived, and with them came a shadow vast enough to blot out what little light remained in the North. The day began as any other, shrouded in the creeping dread that hung over every morning since the omens began. The HIGH-KING had called, for the men and women of Norland were to convene; the defense of Vjardengrad was a necessity, his voice a rallying cry through the thinning air. Warriors of the north heeded his call, as did men of Midden, and even druids of the south. All came en masse in defense of the capital. Among them stood ASMUND, the Norn of Solgaard, son of Ingrid stood amongst the many warriors. A man forged in the traditions of the north, who had fought for hearth, kin, and the sanctity of flame. The battle commenced, and soon the forces of the Mountain revealed themselves, hundreds of thousands of mindless creatures akin to people drew upon the walls of the capital as they all peered down into the night. . . as figures of the foe they were to face came into view, the battle commenced. It was long and dark. Meticulous planning once made for the defences of Norland was all thrown away, as a desperate defense was instead taken. What fortifications had stood were felled. Vanguards fell. Elementals fell. Even hope, once lit like a torch among them, flickered in the winds of slaughter. The Norn never imagined that the lives of those around would equally be felled. . . such a reality was not one that he could grip onto, it was a reality that could not come true. They appeared on the proper southern front. From the East, they came to reinforce as their enemies were slain. The Daemon Orsathiael himself had appeared, its ravages apparent even at the resistance shown by those of the Norlandic forces and her allies. It was a desperate defence, one that held for now. The mind of the one known as Asmund had already been driven to the edge of madness, assaulted enough and struck enough; it was only a matter of time until he was entirely consumed by the madness that struck many other templars, many other besirkirs alike this Vargbane. Yet that battle was not concluded. For as the matter of Orsathiel appeared from beneath a broken ship at the bay beneath the Ashwood Throne, it drew its figure upon the city, its limbs and chains threatening with destruction and striking with equal destruction as the edge of the walls were broken, stone crumbled and wood was shattered, the scene was grim, survival seemed lost. Yet from the corner of their eyes, the sight of the HESIR of Karoslund had become apparent. Imbued with some outward force, was she overtaken, her figure glowed as she was imbued, and finally, what hope was once last had returned as a holy cannon had formed before them, it was promptly loaded, in desperation, prepared to fire towards the demon itself, the cannon jarred and failed. The scene that followed was one of desperation, except for all but the Templars, who consumed the battlefield. In a moment of courageous grasp, the Norn made his choice. If it were life of his own and the destruction of Norland, or his death and the saving of what many called home, the choice was obvious. The voice of MIKJALL, what the southerners called Malchediael, demanded little but glory and courage; there was no moment greater for such than a time like this. As the damned holy cannon seemed broken with inaction, demanding a sacrifice, Asmund gave his own. It demanded and yearned for a soul, and there were two Templars who delivered. . . “MALCHEADIAL - GUIDE THIS ROUND.” Called the fellow Templar-Broedir, who was followed. “I am ASMUND, Bersirkr of MIKJALL. I am the son of INGRID, grandson of the LEGENDARY KONAN-THEGN, nephew of the LEGENDARY HAAKON-KING.” - “I have served you, MIKJALL, and today I give my LIFE to you, ALL-FATHER and to NORLAND.” As their voices boomed across the field of battle, so too did the figures of the Templars glow in a bright white, its brilliance so bright, rivaling the darkness of Orsaethial himself, for their patron answered. IMBUED with the souls of two Templars, the canon once more roared to life as it fired once more. Whilst Raginolf gave his part, Asmund was fully consumed and taken by his patron, who answered this show of bravery and courage. | BOOM | It formed as a blazing white sphere that flew forth at the form of the demon, with the imbuement of the Templar's soul, empowered by the patron they called MIKJALL, clashed against the demonic chain of Orsaethial. A blinding white light flushed over the battlefield as the eternal darkness which consumed Norland seemed to dissipate, bringing light to the once long-dark. . . Yet, the light remained permanent for Asmund. A life for a life, or a life for his people. . . It became apparent as the Templar panicked not as though anyone but him and his patron could see, he faced Grendel, the forces of the mountain, Orsatheial himself, yet his true fear was the eventual death that would come upon himself and it was finally here, perhaps it was a glorious one, yet it did not stave his feelings of guilt as those who he vowed to live, he left unfulfilled. His figure collapsed as all around him witnessed. What was once a thoughtful being was relegated to being a simple suit of armour, as his figure fell against the sodden ground beneath. . . His soul shattered and broken, his body collapsed against the ground, and yet he remained unbroken in the defence of the Hearth. “ASMUND.” The voice of a southern knight resounded as the Norns' body was dragged and placed against a palisade, his body slumped against the broken timber, where a battle took place. His armour hissed as heat escaped, and smoke curled from the edge of his scorched plate. His helm was already split in parts. Blood slicked down his brow and jaw beneath, revealed only by the slow drippings of blood from beneath his helmet as the eyes within his helmet stared forth, dazed, unfocused to a sight that no others could witness. For a moment, he said nothing. The only sounds emitted were the slow, shallow rattling as the chest barely moved beneath the weight of fur and steel. “My time has come. . . Southorn. . . Valhalla. . . It beckons. . .” The voice weakly retorted, his words a little more than indiscernible whisperings as he beckoned the man. “Come closer. . . Tell this to Eydis.” “ASMUND.” Another voice of a young, familiar Norn would break through. One who kept to his side in all of their battles. The Vargbanes' gaze flickered. The shape of the warrior looming above him, shouting his voice, earned a shallow chuckle from him. “Go. . .” He finally said as one final word, pressed out between blood and bone. “Fight.” His head tilted back, as the light of the battlefield caught upon the runes of his armour and axe, the weapon, still clung within his dead hand, gleamed faintly like a beacon in the dark. The son of Ingrid died upon the walls of Vjardengrad. Dying as he lived - in silence, with his weapon still warm. ═════☀═════════════════════════════════════════════════════☀═════

“All is well. . . Pepin. . .” Asmund snickered as he stared to the man formerly known as ‘Aegon’

"Rest Easy and Rest Well. . . Dona Johanna." The ever-so reclusive Lothar spoke as he dealt with an ongoing disease, kept occupied within his confines, the man bore a lazed gaze, as his heart bore the loss of more from his bountiful childhood. "May you know in the confines of the skies. . . Never did I lose faith in you."

Soy Tortuga?

Å S M U N D S S O G U R M I K J A L L S F A N G ᛘᛁᚴᛁᛅᛚᛚᛋ ᚠᛅᚾᚴ [ ! ] ᛟᚾᛖ IAA 557, Age of the Dragonfyre, 29th of Inn Ríkismánaðr, Norland The woods had grown quiet before anything ever appeared. It was the first sign of many that would follow, the signs so evident, yet easily missed. There was silence, but it was not like peace; instead it carried a heavy weight, one just as heavy as the descending snow around them. The pines around their particular clearing had leaned around them ever-so slightly, old and dark, despite the clearing they were still packed too close together. The bark was thick with frost, the descended and underfoot snow left undisturbed until the gate opened. There were no birds. No animals. No life, and yet, Asmund felt something appearing, even before the breach split the world before them. The smell that followed was wrong, twisted and churned, reeking of death and flesh. It was not brimstone - it was rot. Fire-slick rot of something soaked in blood long dried, only now beginning to stink and stench its surroundings. A being, robed and still upon its horse, eventually spoke, voice raspy and harsh, yet its tone conveyed an offering of generosity. “I will take one. The other may go.” It spoke with evident rot. Such generosity was not met with a response, for Grendel filth that disgraced the Earth and the All-Father deserved none, not from a son and fang of Mikjall’s Favour. Thus, there was no response given from the Templar-Norn Åsmund, at least not aloud. He had already begun his movement, the cold wind broke, whistling past his shoulders, barely tugging upon the edges of his furs, his hand finding and grasping upon the Waraxe’s haft. Its head shimmering with lightning that seemed almost etched into it, faint and white-blue as it lazed in the fading daylight, though cackling to life as it was imbued upon by Mikjall’s favour too. Within his left hand rested a sword, simpler in design and build, but no less impressive, no less sharp. Its fuller shimmered with a faint gold sheen, and where the blade met the crossguard, a half-ringed symbol of flame and sun carved into the steel, no wider than a thumb. The beast was first to appear. A bear-thing lumbered through the portal first, yet its movements were indiscernible and erratic, as though it never lived and never died. Bones snapped upon the tramped snow and Earth as it broke into a sprint - a kind of gallop that was twisted by the animations of its limbs and body. The beast C R A S H E D into the Norn with its weight, acting like a barrier between him and its master. Its claw descended as it caught his upper-arm, slicing through fur and padding as it scratched upon meeting the plate hidden underneath. The Norn did not allow such a motion to go without a retort. He grunted at the blow, though enabling it to roll over him as he spun his Axe in a tight arc, with disciplined fury - just as the old stories claimed Konan had. The Axe’s head crashed into the side of its skull with a resounding thud that echoed through the open ground and into the dense trees. Bark-like skin cracked, the white bolts along the axe hissed and sparked. The creature stumbled and screamed in a roar. Yet despite this, it did not fall. Its mouth opened, the gigantic maw releasing a burst of thick, black, and fast fire towards Mikjall’s favoured. Surging upon the chest and shoulders of Asmund did the flame run, along the various cracks and crevices of his armour like floodwater. It found his ribs, neck, and beneath the joints of his gear. He kept his stance, however, although he howled as heat and smoke overtook his vision, which blinded him for the briefest of moments. His Waraxe and blade remained within the grips of his palms still. Despite the heat that gripped him, he growled a reply through clenched teeth. “Heed GRENDEL - The fires of MIKJALL burn brighter than this.” His Waraxe soon shifted from the foremost point of contact, releasing the bear from a force that grappled against it, though as its maw once more opened, the weapon found its mark once more. The sharp blade descended with a thunderous roar to accompany the sparks that flew from its metal head, striking in the very same spot as the first, with the blessings of Mikjall oozing through the blade, he pushed through, this time forcing it through the beasts hide until it was felled. He did not watch as the beast was felled and collapsing. Instead he sought to move, though unbeknownst to himself, the bear had clouded his very vision of what was to happen next. From behind the bear, it became clear that the Grendel, fearing the fall of its beast, had begun a rite. Soon, a circle formed under the Norn. Runes flared, and the shapes, magic, and carvings were all unbeknownst to him, yet he could sense when a Grendel was working. Before he could react, he was locked in place, his once blistering pace now cut into a slow walk, if even that, and before he could even twist away, the fire came up - from below this time. The ring burst upwards as though a storm had broken through a door; instead of wind, however, it was flames. With their newfound assault upon the Norn and his charred armour, he felt the fire not as heat alone. They bit into his skin and underneath his mail, curling upon his arms and down his back, marking his soul with a pain only from hell. The sword soon fell upon the now exposed Earth with a resounding C L A N G as fire burnt away snow, his left arm now exposed and mauled so vastly that his fingers did not move upon his order. The scream was guttural, unmeant, breaking out before he thought that discipline could stave his Nornish madness, his Bersirkr nature. His axe, however, remained secured within his fair hand. The crackles of holy lightning dimmed but did not die out. He drove forward shoulder first, catching the demon-summoner in the ribs, yet not without rebuttal as the Grendel grasped the Norn's face with claws like iron that curled across his jaws, squeezing around his helm with pressure like a smith’s vice and pulling his face forward. He felt his face crumple and the taste of metal upon the edge of his lips, his teeth ringing from the retort. He forced up his gauntlet. Then - it clicked. From its underside, twin rods of steel shot forward, the tips of blackened and barbed steel were forged to pierce the gaps in between plates of armour and bark alike. This time, they were aimed towards the neck of the Grendel, and in an instant, the rods pierced the narrow space, cutting through the space between gauntlet and neck. Whilst failing to punch deep, it was enough to send the creature back with a choked jerk, reeling from the piercing and enough to make it let go of him. Asmund soon fell to his knees, choking on heat and smoke. Pain was now in everything, the weight of the armor, the bite of the cold where padding had burnt through, the stink of his own cloak smoldering at the hem and his heated flesh. His axe felt heavier. His breath caught in short bursts as he sought momentary reprieve. That was when he caught from the corner of his eye, the motion of Eydís’ charge, her blade raised and her stride light yet with haste - unhesitatingly. It was brave, perhaps too brave as the motion blurred before him, the touch of Jophiael threatening to overtake his mind as only her cries rang out. The rest of the events began to blur like the flurry of evening snow. For a moment, he felt no more burn in his lungs. The notice of blood within his mouth dissipated. Instead he rose, stepping in and anchoring his boots within the trampled Earth beneath them. The Norn brought his axe down. The strike came from his hip, drawn all the way across the back - not a guess, not a lunge, but rather a full, wide executioner’s cut. His body moved before thought reached his mind, the motion was practiced, unlearned yet instinctual. He didn’t know where the motion came from, yet the blood that felled a wyvern now boiled in his arm. He didn’t waste his old blood as it remembered how it moved when it meant to kill. To survive. The daemon's head struck snow as steam rose from the stump which now smelled like rain on burnt stone. Åsmund didn’t speak. Mouth instead lined in blood. As his shoulder screamed. The sword lay behind him in the dirt, somewhere near the dropped body of the bear, still lit as its flames were near exhausted; a personification of its very wielder. He walked until he could breathe again. The air never warmed. He had no prayer to offer, no hymn to speak. Only the old words - ones he didn’t remember learning. Words that those of his blood might’ve shouted, long before the Norn was born. Words that echoed behind the teeth, not from the lips yet far too silent to properly discern. ᛏᚹᛟ IAA 563, Age of the Dragonfyre, 31st of Svensmánaðr, Karoslund The fog in Karoslund had thickened since the fighting began. By the time the snow had begun to fall in gentle whisps once more, it no longer felt clean - no longer did it feel right. Ash had found itself imbued into the flakes of snowfall. Not the kind that drifted from a Hearth found upon flames of Mikjall within Sólgaard or the flames of Vjardengrad, but it was something harsher, something so bitter and thick that it clung to skin and breath. The matter stuck within noses and forced achings of the teeth, it felt as though they were caught within a cloud upon a volcano. The Norn had retained himself upon the edge of the smoke and fog, where much of the fighting had descended towards instead of the center. The others, mixtures of Karoslundrs, allies, and fellow Norns, committed themselves in various manners to the battle, formations formed, lines were held, they clashed and they held once more. Yet, there were also things within the smoke that required chasing. And there was no reprieve to be given to Grendels who sought escape. The axe in his hand shimmered faintly - not bright,but not quite dull; not loud, but rather it hummed a constant pulse along the runes carved upon its head. The white wisps of Mikjall’s favour flickered upon the groove of the weapon, quiet. Watching and waiting. The sword so often held was held back, retained within a scabbard of the Templar-Norn. His steed moved at pace beneath him, boots braced and retained within the stirrups, breath as steady as it can be. The trail, often open and wide, had grown to be narrow and wet, darkened by churned, trampled soil and meltwater. It was there where his eyes spotted a figure; a shape ahead of something fleeing. Something ragged and tall, like a wraith, cloaked in smoke. It was upon this spotting that the Norn redirected his efforts, having found his target. Then the fire came. He did not see its form, simply its aftermath. A burst of lightless hellfire struck his steed beneath him. The horse released a churning noise that he had never heard before. A half-scream, half-sob. The loyal being bucked hard thereafter, its hooves striking the sodden ground beneath over and over again in sudden panic as foam ran from its mouth, stricken by whatever affliction was cast upon the creature. The Norn pulled at the reigns once, then twice - then he let go, refusing to let his steed die in place. He muttered a curse under his breath, old and ugly, one he inherited from a huntsman years ago. Something about gods and paragons and mouths full of dirt as he dropped from the saddle, the steed departing without a second thought for its rider though - understandably so. Thus did the fog hang low, thickening. Asmund took one breath, then another. His knees ached more than they should have. He did not run immediately, instead crouching as fingers flexed around the axe and the breath dragged through his teeth. He was privy to a voice in the back of his head, whispering something half-formed. A habit, more than a thought - Steady your weight before the charge, huntsman, or waste the swing. He didn’t know where such words had come from; perhaps he imagined he was growing mad by hearing the voices of elders. Then, movement. Between the trampled and sodden ground, he saw the shape again. The Wraith, hunched and crooked, turned its back in its attempt to escape moved with no real grace, just the certainty of those who fear death more than they understand it. It twisted through the drifting haze with its limbs too light and too long. Its steps were silent, yet deliberate. Åsmund did not shout. He did not warn either, for the dead had already made their choices. He stepped forward, then picked up pace. Each boot slammed into mud and snow, soaked through at the heel and biting up his calves. The axe in his hand rattled once. That was all the warning the Wraith would get as he closed the space. With a horizontal cleave, the blow struck true. It wasn’t clean, nor was it meant to be with the heavy fog and smoke that descended upon the field, rough and harsh, as though it was reaching out to them., It was meant to kill, but instead, it maimed. He caught the Wraith upon the back of his shoulder, metal tearing deep into the being. There was no blood drawn, yet beneath the cloth, something resisted. It offered a simple crunch of a body resisting a blow it wasn’t built to take. An arm fell. It hit the ground not with a thud, but a crack, like brittle wood shearing from rot. Bone showed where it shouldn’t. It drew a shriek from the Wraith, not one of pain but mangled, mocking laughter. It bolted once more, veering and navigating itself through the pillars of a wooden structure, its movements erratic and staggered as it felt the weight of the chase. Åsmund followed closely behind, and although his breath had begun to tighten, he was not winded. Rather, the chase and thick fog had made him forget how to breathe evenly. He cut a turn behind a split wall, then chased losing distance and then again over cracked stone. The Wraith was still moving. Fast, yes, but the world had caught up, and so had he. The axe struck again not quite as wide, more purposeful, much more vertical this time, though careful that he hadn’t struck a rogue piece of wood. It fell then, the cackling head of the split through fabric and found the joint again, at the other side this time. The second arm fell, twitching on the cobbled earth, limp and twitching in the same strange way the first had. If the Wraith felt pain, it gave no sign of it. Still, it slowed. Then, chaos. From the other side, one of the Karoslundurs darted ahead to cut off its escape. However, from the side, a glass flask whirled through the air. Some alchemist’s brew, off-course or ill-timed cracked against the flagstones near all three of them. The explosion was brief. There was no fire, but rather a combustive force that ripped the air from his lungs. A C R A S H and a T H U D - He dropped onto the ground, and with him, the Wraith too crashed down. The Wraith sought to crawl away, and he found himself turning over. A hand reached for the sodden ground as he made to clamber to his feet. The fog seemed much thicker and tighter to suck in now, a final convulsion of the dying mist it seemed. Åsmund stood once more, the axe’s weight settling and its head cackling to life - heavy, but natural. His mouth tasted like copper; his shoulders ached. The Wraith made it three more steps. But before it could properly escape, the axe came down. It was not wild, nor was it desperate. It was a practiced, final motion. The blade split from collar to neck, cleaving in a horizontal arc until the blade was free of flesh and bone on the other side. The body twitched once, the head rolling as the body sagged and fell onto the ground. The Norn stood, remaining over the grendel spawn as he realised uneven breaths, grateful that the thick, descended fog had begun dissipating and the light of the All-Father descended upon them finally.