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Family Matters
Topic Started: May 25 2015, 12:13 AM (572 Views)
Heimdallr
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A warm fire crackled and danced in its prison of a stone circle, with the faint silhouettes of ghastly faces making their way across the flames. Droplets of water fell through the thatched roof, leaving dark circles in the ashes. The bed of reddened logs had been burning for days now, and a thick blanket of ash pushed at the stone walls surrounding the flame, as if longing to escape from their confines.

At the side of the fire, crouching on his heels, was a man feeding the flames with the driest sticks he could find. He was adorned with a simple green tunic, and wore pants of a dark brown color. His shoes were made from fur the same shade of brown with black patches naturally placed in it. The fur was turned inwards, and they were held against his feet by thick leather bindings. Around his waist was a thick sash, stretching from the line of his breeches to his navel. It was a bright and vibrant green, sharply contrasting with the dark evergreen visage of his tunic.

He placed a small piece of firewood into the base of the embers, and the flames reached out to kiss the flesh of his hand. Their touch brought with them no pain, however, as this man was accustomed to their embrace.
He then outstretched both hands toward the flames, covering them with warmth. It was a welcome sensation, as the man was already considerably wet, though he had yet to step outside. His roof had stood up to many winters, but it still required re-thatching every spring. That would need to be done soon. Perhaps he could even show his boy how to do it.
After his hands were no longer numb from the cold, the man recalled them, resting them on his bent knees. The right one came up for a moment to scratch his bearded cheek before falling again.

'There is so much to do.' He thought.

As his mind lingered on his many duties, the sage cloth hanging in the doorway was pushed to the side, and a boy of about 13 years stepped through. His arms were burdened with a stack of soaked wood.

"You gathered wet wood?" The man asked.

"Nee, Far. I gathered it from the forest; in the dry places. The rain soaked them as I brought them back." The boy said as he moved to a pile of logs that rested between two wooden benches, which sat against a section of wall opposite the door. The boy placed the wet sticks down atop the older wood.

"It's alright, son." Said the man. "Seems that Rrogthan is angry with us all." He grinned slightly.

"Ja, Far." The boy replied, with a smile to match his father's.

The man stood, stretching his stiffened muscles. He then walked to one of the five benches encircling the fire and sat down, fidgeting with a bit of lace that was tied around his shoe. After working it loose, he pulled the fur shoe off of his foot and upturned it, letting the water drain out of it. He shook it to ensure that it was as dry as it could be, and slid his foot into it once again. As he did so with the second shoe, he looked up, and his gaze fell upon his son.

"Go get your things, Arild. We're moving the cattle today." He said, to which the boy responded by lifting the hood of his cloak over his head and stepping through the doorway.

As the man re-adorned his second shoe, a woman entered the homestead, with a young boy clinging to the side of her dress.

"Pappa!" The boy broke loose from his mother's skirt and ran to his father.

"Jordaan!" His father caught the boy in a gentle embrace as he fell into his chest. Jordaan pulled loose from his father's arms, and looked his father in the eyes.

"Pappa, can I come with you?"

"Nee, son. You'll catch sickness if you're out in this rain any longer." He said as he lifted his child up onto his knee. "And besides, a man must stay to protect mother."

The boy showed obvious disappointment. He looked down at his feet as they dangled off of his father's leg. The man looked at his wife, who wore a sympathetic motherly smile. The boy wanted to help, but at 5 years of age, he was too young. The man looked into the flames for a moment.

"Jordaan!" He said as he placed his son back down on the ground. "I know how you can help. The ashes need taken out. Can you do it?"

"Ja!" The boy shouted, a smile taking up most of his face. He ran outside to find the nearest bucket.

The woman stepped further into the room, and her husband stood to greet her with a kiss.

"Vil." He said as he leaned back to look at her. The woman smiled, her crystalline blue eyes meeting his own gaze.

"Will you be gone long?" She asked her husband after a moment of silence was shared between them.

"Only for the morning. We're moving the herds to the fields."

His wife smiled and leaned her head into his chest. The man pressed his lips against the top of her head, and his nose was filled with the scent of herbs and flowers. The two stood in silence for a moment, almost not noticing that their youngest son had returned, and was excitedly scooping ashes into his bucket. When it had been filled about halfway, he ran out of the building to empty it. As he did, his father let go of Vilhelmine and walked to a different bench, this one positioned further away from the fire against the wall. From beneath it, he pulled a heavy cloak, made of black fur. The fur faced inward, leaving the hardened hide upturned to do battle with the elements. As he fastened the cloak around his shoulders, his wife spoke.

"Keep Arild safe, Heimdallr."

Heimdallr turned to smile at his wife. He gripped the handle of the weapon hidden beneath his cloak. "The boy is not alone, Vil. And when Fjärrmän are in your company, there's nothing to fear."

Heimdallr then walked toward the door, leaving his wife with a kiss on the cheek.
 
Heimdallr
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"Far." Said Arild as he approached his father, a heavy spear in each of his hands. He extended one for his father, who took it and held it in a practiced grip. Heimdallr thanked the boy, and the two moved toward the pens which held their cattle.

Unlike in Messar and the Fjär Rike, where people are extremely possessive of their resources, the people of the Fjärrmän territory pooled things like cattle, so that the entire clan might eat well. Usually, each family belonged to a clan by blood, and two or three clans controlled each village. And although Heimdallr had no blood connection to any of the clans of Hulwicth, he always contributed to the Nowald clan as much as any other man. His sons were considered to be of Nowald blood, despite the fact that Vilhemine was born a Silthen. Of course, none of these names carried any importance in Hulwicth. The Jürikan clans were never widespread names, and the territory of Jürikan was out of the way between the Territories and Krona, and therefore often seen as insignificant. No one ever heard stories about their raids, or how many invaders their warriors had killed. However that might have been a blessing, as few invaders ever thought twice about targeting Jürikan as easy prey.

It wasn't often that Heimdallr thought of home, but when he did, the thought wasn't something one could easily push aside. He remembered courting Vil, and the months of labor that he had undergone for her father's blessing. He remembered his kin, both near and distant, that had been lost. Above all, though, he remembered that night. He could've done more. He knew it.

"Son, do you remember Jürikan?" Heim broke the silence as the two traveled along with a large party of farmers, who drove their herds of drake-cattle out to the plains.

"Hm. I'm not sure." Said the boy, suddenly withdrawing within himself.

Arild had only seen 3 winters when the Üntwerth attacked Jürikan, but Heimdallr was certain he remembered pieces of it. Perhaps the boy repressed the memories, or perhaps the gods took pity and did so for him. Whatever the case, Arild always became tense when Heimdallr brought up their old home.

"It was beautiful." Said Heim. "For every head of cattle you see here, we Hewiks had three! And we shared them with everyone. No one was ever hungry in Jürikan."

"Did your clan trade cattle for mother?" Asked Arild. His father responded with a slight chuckle.

"Nee, boy. Your mor was worth far more than cattle, and her family knew it well. Besides, they had enough cattle. I had to work for someone as valuable as your mor."

Arild was interested now, though the boy tried not to show it. He brought his spear down from its walking-stick position into one parallel with the ground. Mindlessly, he began to test the blade's edges with his fingers.

"What did you have to do?" The boy asked.

"Mostly labor, though I did have to defeat a few of her old suitors in wrestling matches. You may not know it, but your far was quite the wrestler in his day." Heimdallr grasped his spear proudly as he professed these things.

"That sounds like a lot of work just for mor..."

"Nonsense." Said Heim. "You, your mor, your bror. You're all that matter to me anymore."
 
Heimdallr
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Later That Night...

With the day's labors nothing more than a nagging reminder in the men's backs, Heimdallr and Arild sat around their hearth fire on heavy wooden benches. Jordaan sat on the ground at Heimdallr's feet, playing with a pair of wooden dolls that were shaped like t's. In their hands were poorly carved spears, which Heimdallr always did his best not to look directly at. He was never any good at woodworking, but these were exceptionally poor. He'd even cut his hand working on them. Fortunately, no one had seen him fumbling about with them, and as long as Jordaan kept the toys inside their home, there was no risk of his poor craftsmanship ever getting out. Thankfully, the boy seemed satisfied with them.
Vilhelmine sat opposite them next to the cooking pot. Though none of them spoke, apart from Jordaan's battle cries, the quick glances she threw across the flames at Heimdallr filled the silence. Heim responded with a sly grin, and raised his wooden bowl to his lips. As his slurping came to an end, he gently placed the bowl on the floor.

"More?" Asked Vilhemine.

"Nee," Said Heimdallr. "Three bowls ought to be enough. I shouldn't make myself sick."

Vilhemine smiled playfully as she stood and placed her bowl on the bench she had been sitting on. She walked to Heimdallr, ruffling Jordaan's hair as she passed by, who smiled widely as he swatted at her hand. Vil bent down to take hold of Heimdallr's bowl, but as she reached out her hand, his quickly took hold of her wrist, and he pulled her onto his lap. She squealed playfully, and landed with her arms around his shoulders. Arild scooted away from the two.

"Min sol..." Heim said, looking intently into his wife's eyes. She returned the gaze as the two began to lean closer.

Just before their lips touched, several fearsome screams came from outside. Heim's eyes shot towards the door. Arild's had done the same, but a quick and stern glance from his father ordered him to stay with his mother.

"Your spear." He commanded, and Arild quickly made for his weapon.

Vil stood up from Heimdallr's lap, and scooped Jordaan off the floor, who looked around confused, but already showed signs of panic. He clung tightly to his mother's neck as she cradled him.
Heim made for the door, taking his flail and spear as he did so. Cautiously, he pulled the cloth that hung in the doorway to the side, revealing people running in all directions. Those who wore the emerald were men wearing their woolen shirts and breeches, with nothing more than their spears and shields on their person. The rest were adorned in several layers of thick clothing, with swathes of blue wrapped around their waists. Most carried spears and shields, with their axes and daggers hanging from their belts. However, the color of the scarves around their waists told Heimdallr all that he needed to know. These men were a raiding party from Sulbecth.
Heim looked around frantically, trying to get a feel for his surroundings. Already he could feel the blood rage taking hold, but he did his best to contain it.
What were they after? The Sulbecthers had never attacked Hulwicth before; in fact they seldom raided at all. Perhaps they were just that desperate.

Despite the boiling of his blood, Heimdallr was overwhelmed with sympathy. He had been on raids like these of his own, always feeling the pain of taking from another man, who sought only to care for his family. Heim had been on the receiving end of raids many times as well, though he had never been caught so off guard. There was always time to check his blood rage, to fight the raiders without the thirst for blood in his mouth.

But now, his vision was blurred, his ears pounding. His face as red as blood. These raiders had brought about berserkergang.

Heim stepped across his threshold quickly, his thumb sliding over the protection rune carved into his spear's shaft. The faces of his wife and sons made their way into his vision, and he embraced them.
To his left, a pair of raiders stood outside Skjaal's doorway, their shields poised to defend against the man's axe as they attempted to make their way inside. The screams of his wife and children echoed in Heimdallr's ears, and he moved without thinking. His spear was hurled at the raider nearest him, and it struck home in the man's side. With a deafening cry of pain, the man collapsed to his knees, gripping at the weapon. Not a second later, Skjaal's axe was driven into the man's unprotected head, ending his life with the swing, and sending him to Krietts.
The second raider was caught off guard, not knowing which flank to protect. Skjaal, like Heimdallr, was filled with fury, though it stemmed from his desire to protect his family. His blood would cool once his threshold was safe.
Heim charged the man, not slowing from his sprint in the slightest, which obviously shook the raider's resolve. He could see the clouds in Heimdallr's eyes, and knew what he was facing.
His eyes moved from Heimdallr to Skjaal as the man's axe came towards him. The raider raised his shield to defend it, leaving his left side exposed to Heimdallr. At the height of his sprint, Heim met the man with a stomp into his knee from the outside, immediately breaking it, and bringing the man to the ground. He hadn't even the time to shout before Heimdallr's flail came crashing into his skull. Once, twice, three times. As Heim raised his arm for a fourth swing, a powerful shove from Skjaal moved him away from the corpse. Heim's eyes shot towards Skjaal, still clouded by the gray haze.

"Do it, then!" Skjaal shouted at his brother at arms as he stepped towards him, his arms at his sides, though his posture was far from at ease. It was enough to shake Heimdallr's rage, and stop the swing from his flail before it began. Heim took a half step back, and began to look around confusedly.
Skjaal knelt down and pulled Heimdallr's spear from the raider's side, then firmly pressed the shaft against Heim's chest. Heimdallr's hand moved to it instinctively, even before he turned his gaze back to Skjaal. His eyes were wide, and his face wore a mixed expression of fury and terror.

"Skydd, brother." Skjaal said as he released his grip on Heimdallr's spear. Again, Heimdallr's thumb found its way to the protection, or 'Skydd' rune.

"Skydd." He replied.

Skjaal's hand grasped Heimdallr's shoulder as he ran towards the cattle pens, pulling Heimdallr along with him. Heim's senses quickly returned to him, and he realized that it would be the greatest target for the Sulbecthers. Assuming this was actually a raid for food.

As the cattle pens came into sight, Heimdallr's blood stirred once again. There was so much chaos. The Sulbecthers were obviously not accustomed to raiding, and found themselves caught within a wedge shaped wall of Hulwicthers. Spears came at the raiders from all sides. They were usually met with their shields, but occasionally the weapons would meet their mark, and another raider would fall, only to be met by more spears stabbing into his corpse.

Heimdallr made his way through the wall of Hulwicthers, charging the shield wall of the Sulbecthers directly. Normally, this would be totally mad, but the raiders were shaken, and looking for an opportunity to escape. Heimdallr gave this no thought, he simply wanted to destroy the attackers. As he pushed his way through his brothers at arms, he drew the attention of the raiders, who began to shout to one another in a frenzy. They moved back even faster, occasionally falling over one another.

"Berserker!" Was the cry coming from the crowd, and it fueled Heimdallr even more. Finally, he made his way to the front lines, and his brothers slowed their assault. He found himself between the shield walls of his brothers and the raiders, with a gap that allowed him to stand just short of a spear's length away from the Sulbecthers.
His breathing was heavy, labored by his blood rage. He clasped his spear and flail tightly.

"Are there any men with you?!" He shouted at the raiders. "Let them step out! Fight me!"

The display caused the disorder among the Sulbecthers to grow, and those in the rear turned their backs and fled. Those nearer to the front were forced to continue their controlled retreat, or risk having spears thrust into their backs. As they moved back, the Hulwicthers stayed still, increasing the size of Heimdallr's personal battlefield.

"Kämpa mig!" He shouted again, his voice like the roar of a lion. And again, there were no takers. Furiously, he ran towards the shield wall, swatting aside a spear that came for him, though there was little commitment behind it. He raised his flail, and brought it into the shield wall. Another spear came for him, but Heimdallr dropped his own and sidestepped, taking hold of the spear by the shaft, and pulling it with all his might. This pulled the attacker forward, bringing him crashing through the shield wall. As he was pulled towards the berserker, Heimdallr met him with a shoulder bash to the man's face. The young warrior fell onto his back, and Heimdallr stripped his spear from his grip. He threw it into the ranks of the Sulbecthers, claiming the victory for Krietts. His foot came down on the raider's neck as he looked out over the sea of raiders, roaring as loud as his voice would allow. He no longer said words; berserkergang had now completely overtaken him.

Suddenly, a tingling sensation arose in Heimdallr's thigh, and he looked down to see that the Sulbecther had plunged a long blade deep into it. His breathing became even heavier as he watched the man pull the blade down towards Heim's knee.
Heimdallr collapsed onto the man intentionally, straddling his chest, and bringing his bent knee down atop the arm that held the knife. He effortlessly wrestled the blade away from the raider, and looked into his eyes. Heimdallr's no longer bore any sign of humanity. He was like a wild animal. Like a flash of lightning, Heim plunged the dagger into the man's shoulder, and a scream filled the air as a cloud of blood washed over Heimdallr. He struck again, this time in the chest.

Seeing that the Berserker was distracted, the Sulbecthers turned their backs and ran, the Hulwicthers screaming after them, and beating their spears against their shields. Still, Heimdallr sat over the man, bringing the weapon into his torso and neck over and over, each stab more powerful than the last. The man had long since breathed his final breath, and was well down the path to meet Oldjur. This did not deter Heim, as he continued to batter the lifeless corpse. He lost count of how many times he pushed the dagger into the raider's chest. Eventually, he began to grow tired, and saw for the first time the face of the young warrior beneath him. A wave of sadness washed over him, and he dropped the dagger onto the ground.
Heim leaned his head back, and shouted with all his strength, so that the fleeing Sulbecthers might hear, even beyond the rolling hills.
 
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