Crymson

Hali missed his mother dearly, though he struggled to understand where she had gone. Death was difficult for a three year old to figure out. He knew his mother was gone and she wasn’t coming back. Her letter had been read to him and so he tried to be extra good. Was it his fault she was gone?

Glynfir found himself in the tavern with comrades after the battle. Drinking to memories both bitter and pleasant. Though the battle had been quick and decisive, he knew this was only the beginning of the storm. War never got any less burdensome, but there were good moments to be found such as this. 

A weary veteran prepares his equipment, pausing to raise a glass of wine. "Away it goes. The cycle never truly ends. Here's to more stories to tell and if luck is kind, few comrades lost."

Theroden nods in approval "It is good to see unity in the face of pretenders and snakes. The future is bright."

Antal’s life had been one of great turmoil from the beginning, arriving to Nordengrad with Anatoly unsure of what awaited him. He had been proud to serve Clan Rosik though. Even after the war, living in exile, he had never forgotten Carina. Upon her arrival to the Allfather’s halls, he greeted her warmly.

Theroden sighed heavily. "And so the age of bloodshed ends. Why do I feel that we did not achieve all that we could have? The Horenite snake has gotten away with lighter punishment than he deserves. I only hope that the fallen and their families can find some measure of peace now that Oren has been brought low. Iron from Ice!"

2 minutes ago, Narthok said:

"Good thing I don't want to rule Norland!"

"As you of love to remind folk, as if it makes any difference. You seek to place one of your false ilk in control, over a people who want nothing to do with him."

41 minutes ago, Narthok said:

"And yet despite claiming to be Norlandic you speak as if you are from Haense" Manfred would note

"Would wager that I am of more Norlandic than you who attempt to dictate things for folk you know nothing of. Norland can niet be ruled from the Orenian heartlands."

Artyom nods after reading over the missive. “A clan should be lead by someone of known and trusted in Norlandic borders, niet someone who niet only is a foreigner but also likely niet even of the herald’s blood. I stand with the chieftess.”

Artyom prepares his equipment. “May the allfather bless the couple. I will be there. Especially as the Orenian pretenders are of delusional enough to think they’re Norlandic.”

Theroden nods in approval. “Let the pretenders and snakes seethe. It will take more than some sellswords to undo the Allfather’s will.”

Theroden raises a brow. “Good for Norland. Though I’m sure the fuming pretender will try to press the result of his farce of a ‘kingsmoot.’ He should really focus on the war his master is losing.”

Theroden raises a tankard to victory after the battle  “The cowardly Horenites  have learned a costly lesson. This is far from over. Back to Lower Petra we go.”

Theroden nods solemnly. “The pretender and his Horenite friends shall reap what they’ve sown.”

9 minutes ago, Narthok said:

"I literally voted for someone else in the Ruriksmoot" Manfred would yell at the man would he enjoyed a tankard of ale within the great hall of Alisgrad

“Ah yes, Vangel the unknown. I apologize for not remembering. You pretenders start to look the same.”

8 minutes ago, Narthok said:

"Difficult to argue you're the descendant of a holy lineage when a 'pretender' who is also claiming descent from a holy lineage is walking all over you without challenge" Manfred would reply

Theroden wonders how the pretender heard him speak. Are the rats in the walls? "Orenian blades may help you butcher children, but they cannot change your blood. Perhaps your friend the snake will install you to rule a city of ashes if the war goes your way. Or perhaps the wind that brought you forth will send you back to the abyss."

Theroden prays that the fallen reach the Allfather's hall with due speed. "In truth, I thought we'd seen the last of the pretender's line when Theoderic went scrambling back to whatever cave he emerged from without even trying to press his 'claim.' I suppose vermin are nothing if not persisent. Masquerading as Rurics, they slaughter those they claim to be trying to save, and all for praise from the Horenite snake. I know the Allfather and the honored dead all look upon this with great shame. Cursed be Manfred the pretender."

Name: Glynfir Aevaris

Race: Mali'aheral

Age: 227

Gender: Male

[[OOC]]

Username: CrymsonBlade

Discord: CrymsonBlade#9727

Timezone: EST

Glynfir sighs before offering a solemn nod. "Well written as always. No turning back now. Suppose I'm just ne the type to be able to sustain retirement."

Glynfir managed a weary smile at reading the missive. “Some good news resulting from this mess for once. Perhaps there is something to all of the talk about unity. Time will tell.”

Petrel looks down upon the resilience of Norland from the Allfather’s halls with a smile. They would rebuild as always. Norlandic spirit had not wavered.

The siege had seemed so quick. Assigned to a ballista crew, Petrel had done all he could to see to it that they continued to contribute to the exchange of volleys. He'd taken an arrow to his left shoulder. A lucky shot that had found the gap in his armor there. Yet, even when his crew became undermanned, he and another ensured that the last bolt was still fired to slay the last of the mammoths. He'd briefly ignored the command to withdraw in order to fire this last bolt. But now, he was faced with the realization that none of it mattered in the end. The gate had fallen. The remaining defenders made their preparations to retreat.

Petrel felt shame. This wasn't a defense worthy of Varhelm, and his part in it certainly hadn't lived up to the Volaren name. He'd only really known his clan's history for the latter part of his life, but he treasured it all the same. He finally belonged somewhere. No longer to be a wandering pauper. And yet, he could do nothing for his newfound home. This wasn't right. "I've failed my oath. Not one step back." Thus was his statement to the few remaining defenders. Two of such offered him brief salutes before they all moved to follow the retreat. Alone, he wandered the burning ruins. At the docks, he found some of the invaders. A dark being astride a monstrous steed that bore a black pelt laden with spines and wounds that weeped smoke and another strange being that stood nearby on foot. Petrel strode forth with a simple blade in his hand, calling out to them despite the lingering pain in his left shoulder. "I cannot save this city, but I'd rather die than give it to you. So, whom among you will send me to the Allfather's halls?"

The being astride the strange horse answered with a shriek. "I will break you!" The rider drew a blade and  the fell horse was urged into a charge. Petrel knew he stood little chance with only a simple blade in hand. Perhaps if he had a pike, there would be hope. But with his left arm in so much pain, he doubted he'd have been able to hold one steady anyway. Therefore, he simply moved his blade forth in a stabbing motion, an adrenaline fueled smile upon his lips. With luck, he might at least impale the being's mount. "Iron from Ice!" Such was accomplished, but his blade disappeared further into the monstrous horse. He hadn't time to try to retrieve it before the rider swung down upon him. Though he tried to stagger back and away from the sword, it found purchase under his helm. Crumpling to the ground, he could do naught but gurgle out his final breaths. His thoughts turned to hearth, home and family, which he would never see again. Yet, duty was upheld in the end. Not a step back. The beings looming over him spoke further but he heard little of it. As he faded however,  a distant voice  clearly said "Witnessed."

Theroden frowned upon receiving the news. “I didn’t know you so well, but you had a sincerity that is quite rare. Rest well, brother.”

Theroden shakes his head. “A shame. I had thought Torsun a good fellow. I am glad to see the proper action being taken. Thus always to traitors.” 

Petrel Volaren sighed upon reading the missive. "I've no desire to see more bloodshed, but the Ferrymen'll not take the first real home I've had from me. Iron from Ice!"