OOC & Casting Call: Viking Adventure

The long road into Skjullhofud was strewn with the first inklings of spring, the snow giving way to thick mud. The hoar frost had surrendered to morning dew in some places and greenery was becoming more prominent. The growing season would soon be here for those rich enough to farm on their own land or that of a blooded Jarl.

The way was easy, even in the wet, cool spring. In the distance, the tiny village could be seen as a collection of burning chimneys belching thick, black smoke into the gray sky. She could hear the whinnies and nickering of horses and the deep lowing of cattle.

As the sun began to set, she could already hear the patrons of the Bloodsong beginning to celebrate nightfall. Someday, with luck, they would be in Valhalla. Seated with the Allfod; fighting by day, feasting by night. Such was the wish of every Northman.

Thrudd Thorsdottir pulled her fur lined cloak closer, guarding herself more from visions of what she knew was soon to pass rather than from the brisk salt breeze that blew in from the sea. She had been down to the promontory looking for the Jarl, Magnus Jarnulf.

They had argued long and hard, but in the end the Jarl had conceded to the godha's request. "You may have the dragon ship Skidbladnir if you can find the wolves to man it." She had smiled in that irritating way of hers and nodded knowingly before leaving him to stew.

It was a good vessel, clinker-built, with an eighteen inch draft. She was sleek, fast and highly maneuverable and could hold sixty men and their gear. The Bloodsong was a notorious haven for brigands, warriors and seamen. Thrudd would have no trouble manning the crew.

She had cast raidho. A journey. And a journey she would take.

Are you man or woman enough to join Thrudd on her journey to the new world?

There is no way of knowing what wonders they will stumble upon or what terrors will befall this band of adventurers as they sail off into the sunset. Expect a mixture of Norse myth and legend combined with some good-natured raping and pillaging along the way. In other words, just about anything goes, but we'd like to keep it in the 'times'.

All that's required is a sense of humor and the desire to have fun. Everything else (and a portion of the booty) will be provided to all comers. This is an OPEN thread.

The Vikings:

Thrudd Thorsdottir: Messalina
Brenna Haalgradhartar: Holli n Hunter
Roskva: katalynn
Yngvette Geirmundardottir: Snork Maiden
Gundar Rattbenderssen: ariosto
Wulfgar "Bearkiller" Eriksonn: PhoenixPrime01
Rurik ‘Raven Hair’ Odenfriggsom: Graybread
Snorri "Klaufi" Snorrason: captainb
Einarr Vesteinnson: Zircon

The main thread can be found here: The Voyage of the Skidbladnir

Wulfgar "Bearkiller" Eriksonn:

He sat at a table fisting a horn of ale and eating portions cut off a haunch of beef swapping stories true and otherwise with others nearby.

His weapons were leaning against the wall behind him, all but Biter his axe which never left his broad leather belt. The spear, bow and full quiver of arrows reflected the care a workman devotes to the tools of his trade as does Biter, his fighting knife, ground down from a long sword taken from a dead Englander to about short sword length, and even his eating knive. Not a speck of rust could be found and all were as sharp a possible.

He wears hardened leather armor with overlapping iron rings riveted to it and the skin of the bear he killed singlehandedly is thrown back over his shoulders.

The trimmed beard and long reddish blonde hair frame a tanned and weathered face for he's been a viking for several seasons now.

Every summer some captain approaches him to lead the fighters. His skill with weapons and tactics make him a valued shipmate and his reknown ensures his share of the booty. And he's always been lucky too. All know those 'with the luck' are on the good side of the Gods, perhaps Old Oneeye himself.

OOC: A suitable character for the saga the skalds will sing on our return?

Yngvette Geirmundardottir

Yngvette slouched over the bar of the Bloodsong Tavern and rattled her Rams horn on the counter. "Og, drameir segsmeidsoki da", she fluttered her eyelashes provocatively at the portly landlord.

The barman shook his head and looked at her pitifully, "What you mean to say is you would like a refill right!", he replied taking the bone vessel from her hand and walking over to a cask.

"Dramut ig seigver dat ig so DA!", she retorted

The barman stiffled a snigger and coughed.

Lifting her highly polished shield from the side of the stool, she peered into it, her reflection clear but distorted by the curvature of the metal clenching her teeth and parting her lips at one side of her mouth she picked at a peice of venison caught between her upper canine and premolar. Having dislodged the offending morsel she ran her tongue over her teeth and wriggled her jaw slightly, replacing her shield by her side as the barman returned with her drink.

He held out his hand

She peered at him curiously and then at his palm which stretched out before her.

"Da?", she said quizzically

"Don't give me that 'Da' crap" the landlord replied his patience now starting to slip as other customers called his attention, his finger tips curled and uncurled beckoning her for payment.

Yngvette pouted "Oh you're like no fun are you", she said, reaching into her tunic and pulling out a couple of copper pieces. She slapping them into the landlord's hand and took the drink from him. She shook her head, looked down and spoke to her dog, which was more wolf than dog due to some accidental hybridization that had apparently occured between his mother and something else during a hunting session. "Is the grouchy Landlord no fun Schnarly" she asked the dog. The dog growled his acknowledgement.

At that moment a woman entered the bar purposefully, wearing a cloak.

Gundar Rattbenderssen...cook and.....


"Get out of here and don't come back!"
The beefy tavern keeper hurled the wretch through the heavy oaken doors without bothering to open them and wiped his hand on his apron.
"Bloody lunatic, been that way ever since Leif left him here high and dry."
"Aye!"
chorused the shaggy patrons of the Bloodsong.

Thrudd pricked up her ears.
"Leif?" she said, looking at the barkeep.
"Aye Leif hisself, Old Gunder Rattbenderssen, sailed with the best of 'em, but now he be only a slobberin drunk, aint it so boys?"

Another chorus of 'aye's' and Thrudd was out the door, plowing through the snowbank looking for the ejected mariner.
She found his boot first, a foul smelly thing, though it might have been the foot inside that provided the stench. With a wrench of her powerful arm she freed him from the icy cacoon and propped him against the tavern wall.
Blood dripped into his one good eye, the other was tightly shut. She removed a piece of the door from his forehead and shook him hard.
"You..YOU, Gundar Rattbenderssen, you sailed with Leif the Lucky?"

"Aye that I did, and Erik the Mauve, Konrad the Daft and Karl the Longwinded too."
Trudd recoiled from his breath and nearly gagged, but he'd just spoken a litaney of the greatest explorers to ever set sail from
Skjullhofud!

"What were you man, First Mate, Bosun, Sailhandler, Carpenter, Brainless Berserker...what!?"

She needed this pitiful creature, she began to imagine how he'd look all cleaned up...she abandoned the image immediately.

"I were assistant cook and....." his voice trailed off.

"Cook!, well okay I can use a cook and what else did you say?" She held her breath and bent very close....

Rurik ‘Raven Hair’ Odenfriggsom

Mud flew in all directions as Rurik heeled the massive horse in the sides, his fur cloak flying behind, his shiny black braids flapping in the wind. He was in a hurry, he wasn’t about to miss the adventure. He had heard that Thrudd Thorsdottir had called ‘Raidho’ and his blood lusted for it. He saw the smoke rising from Skjullhofud and he leaned into the wind.

Rurik has two distinguishing features, first of course is his Raven black hair, rare for a Northman. It is said; that his mother slipped out one night to meet with an Arabian trader while visiting far to the South. His hair is so prized by the local lasses that they have developed a competition amongst themselves, to see which can collect the most locks of hair in a year’s time. Sneaking in during the night is impossible, as Rurik is a light sleeper, like all warriors. The only way to get in is to be invited, and that usually means to his bed as well. Many have gotten a lock of hair, and some have not, but they all left with a smile. There were in fact now, several dark haired babies within the village. Perhaps the cost of a lock of hair.

His second feature is the use of his massive sword. He does not stand and fight one on one with an enemy, he wades into a crowd of them, swinging at whatever moves, hacking limbs and heads from bodies. All that know him will not stand beside him and fight for fear of losing an arm or worse. They will stand at his back to protect him however.

He reined his horse as he approached the Bloodsong, jumping off before it comes to a halt. Rushing inside he pauses to look around, seeing old friends he yells, “Raidho,” as he throws his arms around them. “Mead, bring me mead,” he laughs.

Messalina said:

Women held their own in viking society... Come on gals. Let's show the menfolk what we can do.

Love your av, Yngvette! You put me in mind of another roleplay that might be great fun for another day.

Click to expand...

Thanks Messalina, it's actually a character from a comic strip called Hagar the Horrible, Honi his daughter, which I have dressed up a bit and added a little animation. She's perfect for this thread, not the sharpest tool in the box when it comes to rational thinking, and has a quest to find a prince. The prime requisite being that his armor is bright and shiney LOL.

Ayuh Greybread , nice to see you here too

Snork

The crew is shaping up nicely indeed. A fine collection of writers that I hope to learn from as the story unfolds. *S

Messilina, did you get the pen and ink ship drawing I PM'ed you?

A lock of hair.

Var helsed, Rurik ‘Raven Hair’ Odenfriggsom! What exactly does a gal godha do to get a lock of that raven hair, huh?

Ah, most try to fill him with honey mead, his favorite, to sweeten him up, then bed him to wear him out. But be careful, he's very proud of his hair and likes to keep it on his head. He's disarmed many a gal of her 'barber knife', booting her from his bed, roaring with laughter.

But don't let that stop you from trying.

Snorri "Klaufi" Snorrason

The merchant reached forward eagerly and placed another stone piece on the carved board. “Another mill! Hah, that leaves you with just two pieces, then! I win!” He chuckled and raised a mug to his lips, looking around at the observers in pride. A puzzled look drew over his features as their bodies drew back as one. He turned back toward his opponent just in time to see a fist the size of a small ham approach his head. They had thoughtfully given him a chair next to the wall, which kept his body from sailing across the room and possibly spilling someone’s drink. As it was, the room briefly shook with his impact against the old oak wall, and laughter rang out as he slid senseless to the floor.

“Well done, Klaufi, well done,” cried Ormr the miller, clapping his hand on a burly shoulder. “Another mead for our friend!” He turned to his other side. “That’s two skins of fleece you owe me, Bjarni. He beat him in under seven minutes and went down with one blow!” Grumbles and laughter sounded around the table as similar bets were resolved. Oblivious to it all, Klaufi Snorrason calmly bit the heel off a loaf of bread and picked up his new flagon of mead. Klaufi was a regular at the Bloodsong Tavern during the off-season. A veteran warrior for the past nine seasons, he had sailed with courageous captains, traipsed across icefields with fearless leaders, and joyously raided lowland villages at his leader’s bidding. He was ferociously loyal, amazingly tall, incredibly strong, unswerving in battle, and sported the most wondrously large feet in all of Skjullhofud and the surrounding lands. He also possessed possibly the smallest head, with two close-set eyes and a red nose all that were visible under a shaggy mane of dirty blonde hair and equally shaggy beard and mustache. Furs and mismatched armor covered the bulk of his body, and a heavily nicked double-bladed axe was lashed to his side.

He set the mug down with a belch and quickly stood, turning toward the door. Bjarni groaned, but Ormr said, “Ah, there’s no one else around who doesn’t know him anyway. You’ll get yer chance again soon, there’s always another sucker wandering into town.”

Klaufi wound his way through the small crowded room with surprising skill. He stopped next to the bar and looked down, smiled and said, “Pretty!” The young woman leaning against the bar looked up and blinked. He leaned forward and extended his beefy hand past her to pat the head of a wolf-like dog, which growled uncertainly. “Pretty!” he said again, then straightened and walked out the door.

Reaching under his furs already in anticipation of finding an unlucky bush, Klaufi suddenly stopped and stared. “Gundar!” he shouted, and began to purposefully stride toward the two figures against the tavern wall. “You hurt Gundar? Gundar friend!”

Velkommen, Snorri "Klaufi" Snorrason!

Aye, it's a fine game of hnefnatafl (literally king's table) you've played. It's very similar to fidchel (Celtic - ancient Eire) and latrunculi (ancient Rome) and was most commonly played before chess gained popularity.

There used to be an online version which I can't find my bookmark for but I did find a download for hnefnatafl at another site. Try it.

A thought... If I start up the thread, would you all be willing to copy/paste your posts into it in the order which you've posted here -- or does that seem like double work?

They're all so brilliant I would hate to see them lost in the OOC while we go on.

Works for me, Miss Messa! Cut 'n paste too much work? Not if you're in the union!

Sure thing Messalina, np

Of course I will. *s* Just let me know.

Cut and paste

Rurik ‘Raven Hair’ Odenfriggsom likes to cut, has a big sword.

Will try the paste thing too, but would rather just cut.....alot.

Einarr Vesteinnson


“Oh, great Ægir, please grant me the strength…” Einarr whispered softly to himself. This was the fourth God that Einarr had prayed to since Óðinn, Thor and Loki had not answered his earlier prayers. If this went on any longer, he might run out of Gods to pray to.

“Umphh!…” the breath whooshed from him as he fell heavily to the ground.

“Ah… Do you want to continue, Einarr?” Hróðarr asked, with a sneer on the corner of his mouth.

Einarr did get up again, but not before rearranging his underclothes, a Viking equivalent of a modern wedgie. The Glima had gone on far longer than he had anticipated. And gone on far less better than he imagined possible. Hróðarr was a small man although bulky, and so imagined, an easy picking. Einarr did not anticipate the low center of gravity that Hróðarr had, as well as the tremendous strength that he possessed.

“Your namesake is beginning to wane. Perhaps you should be named Óttsveinn…” The sneer was becoming contempt, as the two verily circled each other again. Then, the two crashed into each other ferociously, grabbing at what ever was available. The over-confidence of Hróðarr was his undoing, as he did not perceive the pressure of Einarr’s elbow on his face. The pain momentarily disoriented him, which allowed Einarr to throw Hróðarr head-first into the grainy beach. Hróðarr’s eyes glazed over, and Einarr was victorious, much to the amazement and chagrin of Geiri.

“Well, Geiri, my winnings, if you please…”

“That was unfair…”

“As much as it was unfair when you asked me to fall several times before disposing Hróðarr? I think not, Master Geiri. Perhaps those over there might be interested to learn of your manipulations of the odds?” Einarr pointed at that group of people who was close to tears when their champion, Hróðarr, lost.

“Ah… That won’t be necessary. Here, enjoy…” Einarr grasped the bag of Ægir’s Fire firmly, and walked away quickly and unnoticed. It would not be wise to stick around and gloat. Skjullhofud was large, at least much bigger than Gilsbank, Einarr’s home village. Anything with more than one road through the village was bigger than Gilsbank. Although spring had arrived, Einarr felt that it was not yet time to go home. The shipwrights had probably started work, and there would be much to be done. Much carpentry work that Einarr hated as much as loved. The Bowpost and Sternpost would be finished soon, and it was a joy to see the shape of the drekar come alive. Just like the beautiful Skidbladnir on the beach.

“…auþi betra þykkir þat í ókunnun staþ, (and no worse provision can he carry with him,)
slíkt es válaþs vera öl… (than too deep a draught of ale…)”

That was a mighty fine adage to live by, and so Einarr picked up his pace to reach Bloodsong. Besides, Skaði can still ski in the low mountains, so finding warmth was on top of his mind as well. Aches and bruises tend to be worse during cold weather, and underneath his clothes, Einarr was colorful with patches of black and blue. He wondered briefly how much more does he need to do to be an Einheriar.

“Öl please, good barkeep. And I’ve money…” Einarr jingled his money pouch in the barkeeper’s face, and the barkeep’s sneering disdain melted away. Einarr kept to himself pretty much, his ribs starting to hurt now that he was sitting down. There was something that drew him here, other than the warmth and ale. Maybe a toast to Ægir, the God of Ale would bring out the reason.

Brenna Haalgradhartar

The only daughter of a raiding cheiftan. She weilds the axe and sword comfortably. Her long Blonde lockes that cover her from head to buttocks is braided and pulled into the second braiding. Her Colbolt eyes take in everything that she sees. She stands an intimadating 6' 4" and her feminine features are blessed by Freya herself. She moves freely around the fjord and watches the commonation that the group of adventurers are ready to partake.

Seeking out the captain of the ship and offering my sword and services. "Even Odin watches the Valkires gather the worthy to Valhalla." I remark to one that was watching but avoiding the commitment of the ship. "What afraid the beasts of the water will eat you alive lad? Oh to be so lucky and get a few strikes in first!"

Stepping into the tavern, she merely looks about and grins. A lusty bunch she thinks and walks to the innkeeper and demands Mead. "Unless of course you are looking for an early grave ole man."
____________________________________________________

OOC According to my notes Freya was a minor goddess that was considered a good goddess as long as you kept your bounty to her storehouse. Freya stands 6'4" and weighs approx 215 fully armored... Her blonde hair is always double braided and she manages to weild both axe and sword with ease. Her other attibutes were buxom chest and a virgins girth ... ( 42D - 34 - 38). Brenna is fashioned after the Norse Goddess... I think I am gonna have fun in here.

Yngvette does a turn

OOC: because I didn't want to disturb the main thread

Grabbing a lute from a nearby drunken minstrel Yngvette jumped up on a table clapped her hands to get the attention of the rabble and announced.

I shall now perform for you... yeah, yeah simmer down not for another 10 centuries pal.... she paused to slap the groping hand of one of the tables previous occupants


the ballad of Haarken the useless pieman....

unexpigated and unabridged...

She strummed the lute lightly

Many many moons ago,
in a village far away.
Sited on the dark black coast
where the gnashing sea does play.
The lived a man named Haarken
a pie-maker by trade
but no one ever bought
a single pie he made.

she paused and looked over to the bar Except our landlord here

She turned her head back and continued to pick the instrument

Now it wasn't because his pastry
was very often green.
Or even that the cooking pots
he used were not so clean.
But the reason that his cooking
made all those stomachs ache,
was simply because poor Haarken,
had never learned to bake.

Well he made his pastry skillfully,
and lined his baking dish.
and tried to make a filling
with some freshly netted fish.
So he placed them in the pastry crust
their tails flipped and flapped
but while he wasn't watching
they were stolen by his cat.

So Haarken went a hunting
To try catch a tasty deer.
His empty pie lay waiting
But the animals would not come near.
Then he came across a stoat hole
in the bole of a tree
and he sat and waited patiently
For Stoaty to appear

Well the stoat he was quite lazy
and very dumb and fat
And while he wasn't looking
And Haarken caught him in his hat
He took the furry creature
and looked at it with glee
and chuckled oh so quietly
I think I caught my tea

So he stuffed the stoat into his bag
with thoughts to fill his pie
when up there in the distance
A weasel he did spy
'A weasel would be wonderful'
Haarken half convinced himself.
so he crept along the woodland path
with a modicum of stealth

And when weasel was sniffing
and looking up the trail.
Haarken jumped out from behind his bush
and caught him by the tail.
The weasel did a wriggle
and Haarken's hand it tried to bite
but Haarken stuffed the weasel
in his catch bag, out of sight

So back home Haarken hurried,
to fill his special pie.
And watching carefully for crafty cats
out of the corner of his eye
He lift up his catch bag
you can guess just what he did
He emptied out stoat and weasel
And quickly sealed the pastry lid.

But weasel wasn't sharing
any pie space with the stoat
And so the weasel bit
the furry tail of the stoat
But stoat, though he was lazy
didn't mean he would not fight
and so he grabbed the weasel
and his throat began to bite

Out side the pie, our Haarken
stood and watch the Pie amazed
for it seemed to be moving slighty
across the table in strange ways.
And when he tried to catch it
the lid flew open wide
and stoat and weasel tumbled out
and escaped to either side

Haarken stood disheartend
for the pie he'd tried to bake
had taken him all morning
and it now was getting late.
So he took the empty pie crust
and through it to the wind
and made a vow to Odin that
he'd never bake again.



She bowed low and leaped from the table, rushing up to the bar, and rattling her horn on the counter called out to the barman, Da snorr dagfnir ma drukk? DRUKK!!

Wulfgarr:

And the reddish blonde holds up his horn and tells the tavern keeper he'll have more ale, pay for hers and No Pie thank you before turning to laugh as their eyes meet both full of merriment and laughter.

OOC: Should have posted it to the story. Would add very nicely to the beginning as the 'crew' is gathered by the Captain.
If you do I'll move my post over there too. *g

Snork...where did you come up with this!?
Can you set it to music?
You'll make a million!

Your always full of surprises,...some even quite pleasent *wink*

Thankyou Ari, I don't really know why I wrote it, I was feeling the need for something lighthearted I guess, but I doubt it would make a fortune even with a musical accompaniment LOL

Watch for the saga's of J.J. Johanasen and his eternal battle with a devilish Hedgehog LOL.

Snork