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Upon arrival, Draco was in need of great medical care barely escaping the Mori if not for his great-granddaughter Hilda aiding him along the way. He rested many moons and began gathering some strength back, taking laps around the square and sitting his old bones as he watched Hilda grow and lead a life with depth of her culture and country. After some days the tunnel was found leading into the untapped lands of Failor. They found the exit of the tunnel peered across the grasslands to the distant sands and with no time wasted could faintly see brigands engaged in combat further in the desert that seemed to only draw closer. Despite his old age his grand-daughter was able to help his slow legs transport across the sands. He found himself proud as he witnessed her display of martial prowess by defeating the Brigands that pursued them. Finally they could settle a refuge. The barren lands of Failor certainly were no place for an elder Norlander but Draco would not turn back for the life of him. They crafted ships and set down the stream between the Desert and Grasslands letting the wind & sails guide their path. Eventually, they find themselves settling in the camp refuge where they would protect as they recovered from the disasters of the Mori invasion. Draco finds himself with a bit of narcolepsy as he sleeps very commonly within his older age. During the awoken hours he would be found spending precious time with his great-granddaughter. They often share a tankard of an old family recipe of the non-alcoholic version of Norlandic Wine. In his spare time Draco guides himself to the relic of an ancient ash tree bark as he grasps carefully in his hands and whispers a prayer to the Patron Athelflaed. βAsheth guides my kinsman.β
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14th of The Amber Cold, 70 SA While the three branches of Rurikid have rarely seen eye to eye on any matter, every branch can attest that the moot is a time honored tradition. It is not intended to be used as a ploy by cravens who cannot face their relations face to face, who cannot bear the consequences that come with calling all of age Rurikid men into one gathering place. Twice in recent history has the moot been called and twice has it been made a joke of, first by the last king of Norland, Vane Freysson, and now by Ragnvald Ash, formerly of Eiriksson. Every generation grows further distanced from a true understanding of what makes a Ruric a Ruric. We are all descendents of the Prophet. We are all prisoners to the burden of our lineage, the burden of legacy and honor. Lest we forget the Red Scrolls, as the tenets tell us: Do what is right, be it hard or easy going. With this said, let it be known that I, Manfred von Arichsdorf, chieftain of clan Edvardsson, declare my full support to King Vangel Freysson. Manfred von Arichsdorf, Chieftain of clan Edvardsson Leitsieg Thoromir von Arichsdorf, son of Manfred Theodric Edvardsson, Son of Alric Caedric Edvardsson, Son of Alric
