Thread: Another Life {Cheshire Smirk & Blinkk}

What a tender moment! Darovar's voice boomed out jovially as he stepped into the temple. Slowly Vallios stood, Mjarrla's corpse in his arms. The procession that had been alive with boasts and chatters fell silent as they realized that the Baarskor champion and his Shieldmaiden had not struck off to start 'celebrating' early. One by one every Baarskor man and woman present took a knee, eyes cast down to the floor. Darovar turned slowly and took somber steps out of the temple, making his way to the pile at the bottom of the stone steps where halberd, shield, and swordbreaker all waited in a neat pile. The weapons were retrieved and brought back up the steps then set down at Vallios' feet. The halberd was placed on the ground first, then the swordbreaker across it at the midpoint of the weapon's haft, with Mjarrla's massive tower shield placed vertically atop them both. Darovar then stepped back and took a knee as well, leaving only Vallios standing. What followed next was both remarkable and moving. Few outsiders had ever found the chance to observe Baarskor last rights. In a strong voice deeper than the ocean itself and clearer than a summer sky Vallios began to sing in the Eldertongue. While the words were guttural and harsh their delivery was proud and elegant. Words of joy, words of sorrow and words of anger were woven together, flowing into words of spring, words of summer, words of bitter winters and moonlit autumns. Next came words of the hunt, words of battle and finally words of love shared. Darovar was the first to rise, stepping forward to reach out and place a hand over the wound in Mjarrla's chest. Darovar's other hand came to rest on Vallios' shoulder and the two men stared silently at each other. Silent tears fell throughout the procession as each member of the massive raiding party stepped forward to repeat the gesture. How strange it was to see these barbarians that had fought with animalistic fury, spreading death and destruction with every step go through such elaborate mourning rituals. Perhaps their martial prowess had gotten to their heads, perhaps they had forgotten what it felt like to lose one of their own on the battlefield. Today, Mjarrla Ve'a Denrosa has fulfilled the Oath of the Maiden. Sing for her, Brothers. Maidens, sing for your sister. Let your voices carry her aloft so that she may enter the Golden Halls and take her place among our honored dead. These savages had hymns? They understood faith? Every Baarskor's voice rose in song, every man and woman keeping perfect time as they completed a ritual they had done so many times in the past. The North was an unforgiving land. Tundras cracked and bitten by permafrost yielded no fruit but death and hardship. No crops would grow save a few grains and roots that the callous soil permitted to survive. The only thing the North held in abundance was ore and suffering. Living in such a land taught a people the value of every member of their tribe. Every death weakened their people and so every death had to be acknowledged. Priestess, sing the songs of your people for her. Erronar hears all voices and understands all prayers. Guide my Maiden home... I do hope this isn't too drawn out. As I said, I have a pretty elaborate society worked up for the Baarskor. They're a recurring feature in my writings, roleplay or creative.