Open Chronicles The Festival of the Pale King

A roleplay open for anyone to join

Brenna

Cadet of The Sanctuary
Nordenfiir
Messages
166
Character Biography
Link

Outsiders were not a common sight in Faarin for most of the year. The Hunters of the far North were mistrustful of any but their small settlement and especially of those who did not share the Norden blood. Rarely did they find the lust to venture south and rarer still did those further south find the inclining to make the long and harrowing trek north. After all, there was not much there to look at. Fishing huts and hunting lodges, practical squat homes and then the vast expanse of the Wilds beyond. Nothing to tempt, nothing to entice... apart, that was, from three days a year.

The streets were full of the noise of people. Brenna could feel it through the thick soles of her boots and it brought a brilliant, bright smile to her lips. Her long journey South had set within her the seeds for adventure. Of seeing something more than the same few hundred people she shared her home with. Duty kept her bound to Faarin for the moment but if the scent of the wind was anything to go by it would not stay that way for much longer. At least, until then, she had the Festival of the Pale King to bring some of that excitement and thrill to her very doorstep. The flaxen-haired girl ducked beneath the burly arms of the baker as he carried another tray load of goods from his workplace to the large wooden tables being set up in the streets themselves. He turned to give the sharp edge of his tongue to whatever pup had gotten under his feet but his expression softened when he caught sight of Brenna.

Sorry, she grinned sheepishly, reached onto the tips of her toes and pinched a freshly baked cake before skipping off. The other bear only grinned and shook his head before continuing on.

People had been arriving throughout the day for the celebrations. Some went straight to the borders of the town to go and lay their offerings to the Pale King within the forest, already littered with an assortment of gifts from the Faarinians, whilst others trudged their way to the hunting lodges or tables laden with food and drink. Great roaring fires lined the streets around the great tables which had been dragged outside to accommodate the numbers of visitors. Bears intermingled with nordenfiir in their human forms and laughed and slapped at one another as though there were no difference between them. Brenna paused to pet some of the Jorn's faithful hounds who lay placidly outside in the snow before continuing on her way. Drinking and feasting could wait.

She had to go and lay her own gift.
 

Gylfi Runarsson

Warrior
Nordenfiir
Messages
114
Character Biography
Link
Having woken up late, the young Indeholm native listlessly wandered about the festival's outskirts, deftly avoiding the crowd that gathered in the settlement. Even by his people's standard, the warrior stood tall and he scanned the crowd for his traveling companion as he walked.

Though quiet and seldom outgoing, Gylfi was rarely a sad person. However, since the abrupt end to his journey with the Queen, and thus losing the opportunity to see his father and sisters again, the young Norden fighter had been moody and lethargic.

Drawing his fur cloak tighter over his shoulders, Gylfi pressed on in search of Brenna. Perhaps he would seek out the nearest sign of trouble or somebody in the most need of help.

It was his understanding that the girl would just as likely be found at one or the other.
 
Last edited:

Arnor Skuldsson

The Axe of Knottington
Nordenfiir
Messages
264
Character Biography
Link
Rhi, the king of Horses-

An aptly named beast, for it carried a Nordenfiir not only on the Tundra, but willingly so. Rhi trotted along, grander and taller than any horse that that Nordenfiir had gathered before.

Arnor marched home, marched to Faarin. After everything that occurred. Foiling a blood ritual, the mess with the spiders...

Arnor realized that if he was going to die doing something stupid, he might as well return home and make things right before he did. He did not stumble into the festival by happenstance. It was impeccable timing. He left Rhi in the care of an old friend, a trapper on the edge of town. No need to worry the horse any longer. The tundra was rarely graced by stallions, but the trapper would make it work.

That and Arnor gave him a hefty trade for it.

He marched to the edge of the festival, his knees dropping to the edge. The Pale King was out there. He doubted the spirituality of it all- but left nothing to chance. In truth, it was more of an apology than an offering.

He laid The Axe of Knottington amidst the other offerings, wrapped deeply in leather. A symbol of a good deed, an act of hopeful repentance. He waited there, the wind biting at his cloak. A few passing by whispered that Arnor looked familiar, but he had not been back to Faarin since he was but a young man, a great many years past.

He only hoped that there was one person that he wouldn't have to face. The man who he owed more than an offering to the Pale King. His brother. The man who hated everything that Arnor was. A coward. A murderer. But Arnor grew to knew the truth about his father's fate. He was doomed either way- the former king just sought it fit to have his legacy live that his son killed him, not the wrathful king. A much more shameful end.

His hands gripped his knees, while he watched the offerings trickle in.

He hoped his was enough.
 

Solveig Odasson

Godsworn
Nordenfiir
Messages
44
Character Biography
Link
It had been some time, though not as long as his tutors would like. Enchanting and Rune-work he took to with a skill. But the life of a mage was not his to live, his spirit and mind too wild. Not the childish antics prior that Brenna and others would remember. But it seemed a restlessness was upon him that studying while locked in a tower was anathema. Plus, as they discovered... His powers were more divine in nature than arcane, and so the teachings of the mages only helped so much. He would need the wisdom of the priests and sages if he was to truly master the power within him.

As for the agreement with Maude , that was honored to the High Mages of the City and College alike. What he knew was exchanged, and a sending stone was sent with him. A rare artifact wherein the mages could contact him if needed. The stone would grow warm, though not painfully so. A simple ritual, and the God-smith could speak to the mages for a short spell of time, though only vocal.

As he approached the town he had sought, being told the friend he owed much and more to was here, he joined the others in laying offerings. Though his clothes were much finer and almost new compared to before, he still looked much the same, other than runic tattoos and sigils of an Elder language of the Nordenfiir covering much of his visible skin, giving off a faint and almost undetectable glow in the sun.

Kneeling, he dropped the suede bundle to the grass and left it rolled. If anyone could look, it was a swor made by his own hands. A single edged he had taken to calling Hersir, covered in similar sigils as he and blessed and consecrated to the Old Gods. Even the non-sensitive would feel a faint prickling at the back of their necks coming too near it. As if something, or someone, were watching them.

It was a weapon fit for a king, and hopefully a fit offering to give as he remained in silent prayer with head bowed and arms wide open to his sides.
 

Ellory Duvstrih

Shield Maiden
Nordenfiir
Messages
7
Character Biography
Link
Ellory had traveled back to Faarin for the Festival of the Pale King and, as she entered the city, she realized that she did not have an offering for the Pale King. She had traveled light while she was on the run and in hiding. Even now, after her return to Nordengaard, she still had not done much more than make a few trips out to hunt. There had been no need for more weapons or goods as of yet. Ellory frowned as she looked around the bustling city and regretted coming. She did not know anyone here. She felt like she did not know anyone anywhere nowadays.

As the Nordenfiir walked towards the edge of town where the offerings were being left for the Pale King. She racked her brain as she traveled and the only thing she had to offer was her own braid. She slowly unwound her braid and rebraided a smaller section. After she was finished, she removed her dagger from her boot and sliced through the smaller braid. She gazed down at it, hoping it would be enough. Ellory then fixed her hair back to its normal style and continued on.

She approached an area that was clear enough for her to approach, kneel, and lay her meager gift among the others. She felt like it was nothing compared to the menagerie that littered the ground. Hopefully it was enough.
 

Brenna

Cadet of The Sanctuary
Nordenfiir
Messages
166
Character Biography
Link
So many people...

Brenna was used to sharing these forests with her fellow Cadets and the other Hunters who protected the great Sanctuary. She could see them dotted amongst the trees in their thick furs in mottled hues of whites and greens in an effort to blend into the surrounding scenery. They watched each newcomer with an untrusting eye which made their casual stances of folded arms and shoulders leant up against the tree scream distraction. Nobody there for an instant could think these hardened Nords did not intend on ripping the throat out of anyone who stepped out of line. The slight Nordenfiir stopped atop the snow to watch as figures walked amongst the trees to lay their offerings. It was strangely powerful sight. The noise from the festivities did not penetrate this far and others spoke in hushed tones that she could barely feel through the snow under her feet.

She caught sight of people she didn't know and a curious one she did; her lips twitched to see Solveig so humble but nodded in approval at his gift, as did the gift of a braid from the woman she faintly recalled. When a person had nothing and were still willing to give - well, sometimes that was the most precious of gifts.

Brenna stepped forward to lay her own offering.

Reaching onto the tips of her toes she died the hand carved wind chime in the branches of the trees with delicate care. She could never hear it but she had fiddled with it until her mother had said the song was perfect. Each flute was carved with scenes of the deal the first Jorg made with the Pale King. She stepped back and watched the wind catch it with a smile.
 

Arnor Skuldsson

The Axe of Knottington
Nordenfiir
Messages
264
Character Biography
Link
His eyes flicked over to a woman, reaching back to her hair to offer her braid to the Pale King. He spoke, his voice gravelly and hardened. Years of travel on the road on the Summer Lands- from deserts to the tundras of the Spine, had caused his entire demeanoar to change. Some Nordenfiir even said he smelled different. Which was true, of course.

Arnor was quite fond of lavish baths and expensive soaps. All of his mercenary money had to go somewhere, he figured it might as well be on him.

"My father used to tell me it was not how much you offered to the Pale King, but rather what."

He turned his head towards her, rising to a crouched position.

"Besides- I think the offerings are more for good luck than appeasing him. I don't see many salt licks being offered."
 
Messages
122
Character Biography
Link
Garrod stuck out like a sore thumb in this place. Dark of skin, white of hair, and one eyed to boot. A man of the Summer Lands if ever there was one. And the people weren't too shy about giving him harsh looks for it either. Distrust and suspicion sharp in their eyes. But, he had grown accustomed to such things. Mercenary work and monster hunting, after all, took one to far and away places, and required working with all sorts of folk. even those that weren't exactly welcoming. On this day, more than mere business had brought him to the settlement of Faarin.

"Two weeks?" He asked surprised, as heat swirled about the smithy, the coals crackled and embers burned red hot and golden.

The old Nordenfiir runesmith squinted down at Garrod from beneath his thick grey brows. His gaunt and wizened face kept a shortly cropped beard that was still mostly black despite the white hair on his head. "Aye, lad, and count yourself lucky it'll only be two weeks!" he spat to the side, and handed Garrod back his greatsword. "Good work takes time, and I'm supposed to be in retirement," he went back to his work. pulling a hot piece of iron from the fire pot with a pair of large iron tongs. Upon closer inspection, Garrod noted it was the head of an axe, which the old man put to an anvil, set the tongs down and picked up a fat headed hammer. "Sides, if you weren't Sinn's ward, I wouldn't even be talkin to ya, now would I?" He brought the hammer down, clang after clang.

"No, I suppose you wouldn't," Garrod replied with a defeated smile.

"You're in luck though," the old man said between hammer beats. "You came round time for the Festival, the townsfolk will be in better spirits then, and you might get to learn a thing or two while your up here," he smiled kindly for the first time. And went back to shaping the metal.

"Not the first time I've attended, mind you,"

"Ah yes, what was that, some twenty years back?" The old man smiled. "You were even more of a whelp then, weren't you?"

"Suppose I was, Sigvind," Garrod smirked.

"You can lodge in my home, boy, and if anyone gives you trouble just give my name, should still carry some measure of respect round this town."

Garrod bowed his head in thanks to the old man. "I'm in your debt,"

"Ayy, that you are, " The old giant of a man agreed, and went on with his work.
----

It had been a week since he had arrived, and it was time for the ceremonies. He had managed to dawn some more local clothing, a thick cloak to protect from the cold, along with some well lined trousers and boots. Sigvind said they had belonged to his son, but that the git hadn't been back since he took to trading down in the summerlands. His loss was Garrod's gain.

"Here, take this out into the forest, will ya?" The old man asked of him, and handed him a long axe, the head of which was wound with intricate patterns and knots and depicted the game amidst the fields of the sanctuary, and a party of hunters who gave chase. Magick runes were inlaid there in too, and it was a fine thing that Sigvind had entrusted to the outsider. "Be sure you add something of your own to give, Garrod. Best not be stingy with the Pale King, you hear?"

The younger man nodded. "I understand."

Sigvind harrumphed. "I doubt it, but, i'll trust you to it still, despite my better judgement."

----

The walk out of town came with some peril. For the glares of mistrustful locals threatened and dared. But on he went, quiet and kept to himself as he contemplated what he could give this, Pale King. Coin did little for gods, and loathe as he was to admit, he still needed Belephus, the relic he had left behind in Sigvind's home, tightly packed away with his other things.

It had become easier for him to go without the gauntlet. Or maybe, he had come to notice how much he had needed it before. Felt he needed it. And while the demon did whisper, loud and frequent those first few weeks,
his influence had waned some. His voice gone softer. He supposed he owed the mage for that, And he could not help but wondered where her travels had taken her to.

A hard shoulder shoved him out of his daydream, not enough to knock him down, but enough to have him drop the fine axe which had been wrapped in good suede.

"Watch it, you bloody summer lander!" a blonde haired Nordenfiir barked. He loomed over Garrod, and the strong smell of drink poured off of him as he swayed, and watched with an eagerness in his blue eyes. Cocksure as any cock in the dawn's light.

Garrod's brow furrowed, and he glared back at the larger, much bulkier man with his one green eye. "Yes," he growled, and bent low to pick up the gift he had been entrusted with. "how clumsy of me," he said as his hands wrapped around the axe.

A spray of wet snow and muddy slurry stung Garrod across the cheek as the drunkard laughed.

Those around gasped, but a few hollered and laughed along.

Garrod's blood boiled, and he not but smirked as he picked up the axe, and straightened up tall. He wiped the side of his face. "Right, now, if you'll excuse me." He said, stony and cold though violence and more called out from his belly.

"Beat his ass, Lolum!" Some rabble rouser cried out.

Lolum smiled wider, and obliged his fellow. Growling as he swung a large fist back and tried to take Garrod's head off with a looping haymaker.
 
Last edited:

Ellory Duvstrih

Shield Maiden
Nordenfiir
Messages
7
Character Biography
Link
Ellory looked up at the man who had spoken to her. He was considerably larger than herself and looked like a hardened warrior. He smelled nice too. She would say that it was unusual but she had been smelling herself and nature for the past few years. She had not really been around too many people since her return to the real world.

She studied him in silence before finally speaking. “I always worry especially when my offering this year is meager and my first in some time. Two years, I suppose, since I was last here.” Her last visit had definitely brought her the luck to survive on her own for a while.

“My name is Ellory…” She trailed off. By the time she had returned from the wilderness, she had not only forgotten her manners but she had forgotten how to talk to people. She was silent for so long that it had been her biggest adjustment.

Arnor Skuldsson
 

Arnor Skuldsson

The Axe of Knottington
Nordenfiir
Messages
264
Character Biography
Link
Arnor had a look on his face, the same sort that someone would give before an uncomfortable truth came to light. Given his lineage, it was only a matter of time before he did. He had to.

"It's been about fifteen years for me. And I've been back on the tundra, off and on, for about two." He looked over at her. His mind raced. Skuld. The scorned Jorn of Faarin. The man who had no honor to his name. The man who drove off a prey herd and nearly starved the tundra.

The man who defied the Pale King and tried to claim him for himself.

Arnor's father.

"My name is Arnor- son of Skuld." He said, mustering up pride deep within.

Deep.

"I spent years wondering if the offering I lay would ever be enough." He said, thumbing the hilt of the axe- a holy relic given to him for his service to Knottington- now a smoldering wreckage of a town.

"No matter what it was."
 

Gylfi Runarsson

Warrior
Nordenfiir
Messages
114
Character Biography
Link
After finding plenty of people in need of help and helping them (begrudgingly), Gylfi was miffed to have not found Brenna among them. He was coming to learn of his talent in wasting time.

Then, he wandered upon the beginning of a brawl, watching it with mild interest. These kinds of things ended after one or two good hits, some laughter, and drinks. Though, if they didn't...

Gylfi crossed his arms and readied himself to intervene if things became too heated.
 

Ellory Duvstrih

Shield Maiden
Nordenfiir
Messages
7
Character Biography
Link
Ellory nodded as she listened to the man. He had been gone for fifteen years so he had left shortly after she had become a Shieldmaiden of the Kingsguard. When Arnor said his name, she tried to place it, but it was eluding her. His fathers name sounded so familiar to her though.

It would bug her until she figured it out; however, he would gain a reprieve from her questions right now. He had a look of someone who did not want to talk about it and she could give him that.

“What brings you back, Arnor, son of Skuld?” Her question was a simple one as she slowly rose to her feet again and waited for his answer. She knew no one here save him now and she was enjoying speaking with someone.

Arnor Skuldsson
 
Messages
122
Character Biography
Link
It helped that the bigger man was drunk. Slow too. Quick footed, Garrod stepped back, his head wove around and away from the wide swing, felt the air rush in its wake, but the bigger man pressed on, momentum turned and twist into another arcing hook that sought out the side of the summer lander's head.

Garrod stepped into the man's space. His shock of white hair bobbed and ducked beneath the blur of the heavy hand turned punching fist. His boot heel crushed Lolum's foot, and Garrod speared his whole weight forward behind his shoulder, into Lolum's side. The slam of bodies was like hitting a wall, but caught one way then the other, Lolum lost his balance and crashed onto his back with a hard crunch against the gravel and ice that nearly took Garrod down with him.

Lolum growled, and sprung back up to his feet with a snarl, his eyes dagger points as he glared at the smaller man and huffed heavy steam-filled breaths.

Onlooker's laughed, but Lolum's friend wasn't too pleased. "Come on, Lolum, you can't let him make a fool of ya!"

The bundled axe was still clutched between his arms, Garrod side stepped around the angry man in a wide circle and kept his eye angled on the drunk. "What say we just go our ways, hm?" he set the axe under one arm and motioned calm with his outstretched free-hand.

A shout erupted from Lolum's throat, and he bound head first toward Garrod, the large man's fingers were clutched and ready to grasp, and his arms stretched out wide to try and cage him in. So blinded by pride and the haze of drink was the blonde haired local that he didn't see or hear Garrod cant a quick spell beneath his breath.

A swipe of Garrod's outstretched hand summoned a hard gust of wind that came down on Lolum and knocked him off his feet and sent him face first into the ground.

"Alright, I'm leaving now..." Garrod said to the man as he back pedaled in the snow.

But Lolem wasn't done. Not by a long shot. His body morphed, limbs and torso shift in a display that was almost otherworldly to Garrod. Where a plastered Lolem once lay, now stood a huge brown bair, fur bristling in the icy air. They worked themselves up onto all fours, then reared up on their hind legs. "I'll show you, you bloody bastard," Lolum rumbled, and let out a roar, hot and blood boiling.

"Gods damn it all," Garrod cursed, wide eyed as he stared up at the bear who towered over him. "How's this supposed to be fair?"
 

Arnor Skuldsson

The Axe of Knottington
Nordenfiir
Messages
264
Character Biography
Link
"In short, unfinished business."

He looked up at her rising to her feet, so he did the same, wrapping the Axe of Knottington back in it's leather cloth, adorned with writings of his deeds. Some in various languages. As if a chronicle of his adventures, or rather- a list of his accomplishments and deeds in hopes to appease the Pale King, and redeem himself.

"But in truth, redemption."

He looked over at her, then up to the village itself. It hung on his mind that he would have to see his brother again. Have to look upon the sins of his father.

Arnor did not show the back of his hand to the stranger, instead to opt to cover it for the time being. He did not feel like walking down that road yet.

"Have you lived here long, Ellory?"
 

Ellory Duvstrih

Shield Maiden
Nordenfiir
Messages
7
Character Biography
Link
Redemption. It was not a quest that Ellory understood, but she could appreciate the unfinished business part. She had escaped the usurpers harem under the cover of night and disappeared from the world. She was a shield maiden and she wanted to be one again. She had reentered society as soon as she had heard that she would not be killed or worse if she had been found. She would be safe with Queen Maude as the ruler. She was the granddaughter of King Iordahn, after all.

Her thoughts came back as he asked his next question and she huffed. "I am just visiting for the festival. I am...between homes at the moment. I am staying in Nordengaard for the time being." She hoped that time being would become permanent, but she had yet to gain an audience with the Queen. She needed that audience to tell her story and hope the Queen saw her as worthy like her grandfather had.

"I have been living alone in the wilderness for over two years." Ellory left out the part about her being on the run from a terrible king who had never deserved that throne.

Arnor Skuldsson
 

Arnor Skuldsson

The Axe of Knottington
Nordenfiir
Messages
264
Character Biography
Link
"Between homes means that you only belong in one." He took a deep breath, inhaling as he looked out towards the icy fields, but failing to see the Pale King just yet.

"I'm familiar with the wilds. I've become somewhat of an expert of the Spine in the Summer Lands myself." He gazed outwards, briefly thinking of Maude himself. Maude wasn't far from his mind usually- but he doubted the feeling was mutual.

That pain was better left buried.

"So what brings you to the festival, Ellory of no home?"
 

Brenna

Cadet of The Sanctuary
Nordenfiir
Messages
166
Character Biography
Link
A large snowball smashed into the side of the large bears face.

A pregnant silence suddenly fell over the crowd that had gathered as the huge bear's head whipped round to snarl at whomsoever had thrown it. But instead, upon fixing his eyes on the blonde petite woman who was bending down to scoop up another handful of snow, the snarl died. Not only that but he looked sheepish. Or, at least, as sheepish as a bear could look. Brenna hurled another snowball which hit him square between the eyes and finally Lolum thumped back onto all fours.

What did I say about fighting today?! Brenna's hands were a blur of signals as she stomped her way over to the brown bear who was trying to subtly back-peddle his own way out. Other Nord's were quickly looking for reasons to be scarce. There was a light and then Lolum was back in his human form, hands raised up as though he knew he was about to fend off an attack of sorts. One where weapons would do him no good.

"Brenna, he--"

Lolum didn't get much further as Brenna stepped into his personal space and jammed her finger against his chest. The man was a whole foot taller than her - perhaps even more - but somehow she managed to look down at him all the same.

I don't care who started what. I'm telling you right now - no. fighting. a few of the older Nords chuckled as they turned back to their drinks and Lolum grumbled something beneath his breath, but with one last, dark look in the strangers direction, he did eventually leave with the group he had been with. Brenna folded her arms over her chest as she watched him go, her foot tapping against the snow.

 

Gylfi Runarsson

Warrior
Nordenfiir
Messages
114
Character Biography
Link
As the girl maintained her stance as a temporary peacekeeper and as the crowd dispersed, Gylfi approached from behind and plopped a large hand down on her head, palming it easily, and gave her crown a tight squeeze with his fingers as he jostled her back and forth.

The girl turned on Gylfi, whose expression was typically flat save for occasional subtle quirk in the eyes and mouth. He had been working on this with Brenna, and he met her annoyed expression with a wry smirk.

[No wake me,] he single-handedly gestured to her, then freed up her head to form more complicated signs, [I've been looking for you all over the place.]
 
Last edited:
Messages
122
Character Biography
Link
Snow, come crash against the side of the large bear Lolum's face. A punch and a crunch and a spray of white come from the ball let loose by an unlikely hand. A second soon after, and a series of furios gestures that kept the huge bear still. Even had the on-lookers disperse and the nordenfiir turn back to his human form.

Despite his pathetic attempt to defend his actions, the small woman cowed the large man, and had him beat retreat.

Garrod, all the while, was left speechless as his cloak flapped in the breeze. Another large man stepped to them, and grasped the comparatively tiny woman's head in his massive hand. Lazy gestures seemed to communicate something to her. Garrod, remembered the gift which he had been entrusted, looked down at it quick and found it still in his arms.

Glad, and relieved, he nodded to himself, and stepped closer to his savior and her large companion. He cleared his throat. "Thank you," he said with a courteous bow of his head. "Wasn't quite expecting to fight a bear this morning," he said with some laughter there in his voice. He straightened up, and looked at his hero, then the large man, and then back to the woman.

"My name is Garrod, and you have my thanks," he looked down at the gift he had been entrusted with, and felt the cold air settle around him as his body fell out of the rush that came with a fight. "I confess, I don't quite know where I am supposed to leave this," he looked up at the two locals, and gestured with a slight shrug of the axe. "Maybe you can help me?" he asked.
 

Ellory Duvstrih

Shield Maiden
Nordenfiir
Messages
7
Character Biography
Link
Ellory contemplated Arnor's words. She was not sure that she belonged anywhere. She felt more lost now than she had living out on her own. She had to admit that life had been simpler as a bear, and she was not against just leaving and doing it again. She let out a low sigh though. No, she couldn’t run away again. It was time for her to resume her life and to do what she was meant to do.

"So what brings you to the festival, Ellory of no home?"

“To pay my respect to the Pale King, of course.” She was not from Faarin, but she had traveled here every year for many years. This festival had been a part of her life and she had missed it these last couple years. “Tradition, I suppose,” she continued after a pregnant pause. “Perhaps I will see someone I know,” Ellory shrugged.

In truth, she had not seen any faces that she recognized, and it made her a little sad. She had only just arrived though so there was still time. This was only day one of the Festival, after all. “I am looking to speak with someone about getting my old job back and I was hoping I would be able to reach her here with more ease.”
 
Last edited:

Brenna

Cadet of The Sanctuary
Nordenfiir
Messages
166
Character Biography
Link
Annoyance quickly melted away when she recognised the bear who dared to ruffle her in such a manner. It had been months since she had seen any of her friends who had journeyed Southwards with her on an expedition that had taught them all something in a different way. Gylfi had started as an ever present grey cloud who made it clear being stuck as her guard was a punishment preferable only to death but had quickly turned into a friend who would follow her away from the group when she sketched and had allowed her to teach him a little of her silent world. Before he could stop her she threw her arms around him a great hug.

She was usually only allowed one a day so it had to count.

When she finally released him and dropped back to the snow she raised her hands to sign back her million and one questions but stopped at the feel of footfalls approaching. Brenna turned just as the Outsider reached them and a small frown set between her brows as her eyes rested on his lips. Accents always tripped her up; their lips moved differently and it took a little longer to figure out what letters they dropped or which vowels they were extending. She thought, by the end, she had caught the general gist. Especially when he looked down at his gift.

With a grimace she glanced to Gylfi.

He needs to take them to the forest. Can you...? she motioned between them: translate.
 

Gylfi Runarsson

Warrior
Nordenfiir
Messages
114
Character Biography
Link
One could catch a fleeting glimpse of Gylfi's softened features as Brenna threw herself into him. The towering swordsman petted the back of the Cadet's head as he wasn't yet a man that could return her hugs in earnest.

As she climbed down from him, the gentleness that had temporarily taken over was swept away by a cold breeze and the approaching stranger. With a glare nearly as sharp as the greatsword on his back, Gylfi glowered at the outsider, remaining silent as the man spoke.

[He needs to take them to the forest.]

[I know.]

[Can you translate?]

To this, Gylfi wore his disgust openly for all to see.

[Must I? He can follow the crowd.]

Brenna's furrowed brows were enough to earn his begrudging cooperation.

"She is deaf, stranger," he grumbled to Garrod, "We shall show you the way. Come."

Without waiting for thanks from the stranger, the Nord turned and stormed off towards the forest.
 

Spectral Omens

Shape of things to come
Member
Messages
14
In a blighted treetop at the edge of the forest, three ravens fought over a meal. Their squabble came to an abrupt end as the meal tumbled free and smashed on the ground, right in Gylfi's path. The meal was a pale dove, a mess of white feathers and brilliant blood with most of its meat stripped away. The ravens were hungry.

The dove's wings twitched as if in flight — just once.

Gylfi Runarsson Garrod Arlette Brenna
 
Messages
122
Character Biography
Link
More gestures, then the big man spoke.

"Deaf?" Garrod asked, looking to the young woman, and a moment passed as his mind made sense of it. He nodded to her. "I understand, thank you." He made sure to annunciate as clearly as he could. Then, the big man set to motion, posture tight with indignation as he strode across the snow. The sight was enough to get a chuckle out of Garrod, and he followed after. Step after crunching step.

"Have I mentioned how grateful I was?" He asked the big man, his voice laced with a strange humor. But the weight of the axe helped him remember his purpose. "Maybe I can buy you lot a drink, hmm? Some foo-" A dying dove fell before them, plopped against the snow in a mess of red ribbons, and all its opened carcass oozed out bright red blood that turned dark against the snow.

Garrod blinked, his mouth still open with the words that had died in them. "Well, you don't see that every day," he managed, and looked up at the three ravens that hopped and squat and crooked and croaked upon the dying tree's branch. Something about the birds, and how they loomed over head, beaks slick and glistening with the dove's life's blood, unsettled the swordsman. He gripped his gift all the tighter.

"An omen, to be sure..." he said beneath his breath. Unsure of what to make of it.
 

Gylfi Runarsson

Warrior
Nordenfiir
Messages
114
Character Biography
Link
Gylfi looked over his shoulder at Garrod and snorted, then jabbed Brenna's shoulder with his thumb.

[He's grateful. Wants to buy us drinks.] Then he wore a malicious, toothy grin, [Let's wring this milksop dry.]

With terrible timing, the dove plopped into the snow at Gylfi's feet, twitched, and died there. The young man stood there, dumbfounded, then scooped up a handful of snow, shot a glob of snot into the freezing clump in his hand, and pelted the bird with it.

"Well, you don't see that every day," a slight pause as everyone processed what just happened, "An omen, to be sure..."

"Do not say that! You- you-" With his hands outstretched as if he were threatening to twist the outsider's head off, Gylfi instead turned to Brenna. [I am NOT,] Gylfi's hand forcefully cut through the air, [helping this man any further.]