Thread: A Viking's Tale (Charon & ScarletAngel)

PROLOGUE Orm broke fast with his fellow captains with a large horn of strong dark beer, roasted joint of mutton stuffed with garlic cloves and herbs and a few slices of dense rye bread. They laughed and joked as they ate old friends who had gone a-viking, or raiding together these past ten or so years. There to his right sat his uncle, Jorund Ulfsson who was now deep into his fifties, his beard gone nearly all silver. It was he who first took him to sea fifteen years earlier and the one Orm looked to as both his Chief Counsel and a second father. To Orms left sat Thorgrim Thorgimson, quick with a jibe and even faster with his sword. Friends since boyhood, the two had been on many adventures together and counted each other brother. Beside Thorgrim sat Hakon Snorresson, a barrel-chested man with a black beard and dark eyes. His reputation for viciousness had earned him the nickname Slader- butcher in the common tongue. But here at the table amongst friends he was jovial. Lastly, sitting across from Slader was Hrafn Ragnarson, perhaps the best traveled of them all. He loved to regale them with stories of his expeditions to far flung lands and always brought home the rarest treasures each year. As Jarl, Orm called them to order. FriendsGrubbi, he slapped his uncles shoulder, we will be long remembered in song and poem for what we set out to do this day! The men pounded their fists on the table in agreement. The fool refused to pay his Danegeld- he thinks too much of himself. He rose as he spoke, upending his chair and the men again pounded on the table even louder, sending dogs to dark corners of the longhouse and cats scampering into its rafters. He knows that The Bear and The Hammer of Ivarsgard sail with me! He slapped his uncle and Thorgrim on the shoulders. He KNOWS I have but to call upon The Butcher and The Raven, two of my closest sworn captains and everything he hold dear is FORFEIT! The men erupted from the table as Orm reached his crescendo, pounding now so hard that crockery fell to the floor and the very timbers from which it were made might split. He waved his hands and the men stopped their pounding. We sail with the tide, and three nights hence he shall pay his due in full. The men found their horns, filled them and toasted to their success before heading out into the chill predawn and towards the docks. You know, I hate that nickname nephew. Jorund was smiling as his hand cupped the back of Orms neck and squeezed tightly as they walked. I may be an old wrinkled face as you call me, but not too old yet to take you over my knee as I did when you were a boy and give you the flat of my blade. He shook Orm a bit as he spoke. You woke the fire in their bellies- your father would have been proud. Orm thought then of his father Ivar, a great warrior and chieftain who died ostensibly of illness during the winter, but fought a last single combat- sick as he was, to secure his seat in the afterlife. For a few moments during the fight Orm caught glimpses of his Jarl- the ferocity of his attacks, until he was cut down. A good death. Worry yourself not, Jorund continued as he caught Orms eyes traveling upward towards the heavens. Valhallas gates couldnt have kept him out. By that time theyd reached the docks where the townspeople of Ivarsgard had gathered to see them off, maidens sang the old songs, priests made their incantations and everyone wished them good winds and success. The two men met the other captains at the dock and they wished each other fair winds before heading to their respective longships. The intricately carved bow stem of each captains ship reflected their sigil- a bear, war hammer, and a raven on three of the ships. Hakon had mounted a headsmans axe, polished so brightly it looked of silver to his bow. Orm approached his ship and was happy to see his crew at their oars, their brightly painted shields lashed to the gunwales. Seventy men worked as one. He stopped at the bow stem and reached up, touching it for luck. It was carved in the likeness of his namesake and clad in copper, for Orm meant dragon in the language of the North and the fiery dragon began to glow as it reflected the first rays of the morning sun. The fool shall pay- and dearly. He swore as he boarded the ship and they set sail.