Raidho: The Journey

[Maid of Marvels]

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.

Alfdis Einarrsdottir 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 siarkona's request. "You may have the dragon ship Fyrdraca 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. Alfdis would have no trouble manning the crew.

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



Ozme52 and I aren't in Kansas anymore, Toto. Join us on our adventure as we go a-viking. As always, comments and critiques are welcome by PM. Enjoy...

oz and Maid

 

[ozme52]

Sweat dripped from Halldor’s large frame. Despite the cold outside, the heat within the smithy was nearly oppressive. The blade was almost finished. It was Halldor’s labor of love. Bearded and heavy, it had taken Halldor the better part of a year to fashion from a starfall he’d seen one night. A gift from Odin himself... Halldor had no doubt in his mind. How else would a mere apprentice of seven years acquire enough iron bloom for such a weapon.

Halldor dropped the blade into the quench and damped down the forge for the night. Balder, the town smith, had already gone ahead to the ‘Song and was probably deep into his bowl of icewine. Halldor pulled on his skins and strapped his sword across his back. The chill wind stung his face as he crossed the square and headed for the tavern.

Halldor burst through the door and quickly shut it behind him, but not quickly enough to avoid the roar from within yelling at him to shut it. The tavern was noisy with conversation and laughter. Several of his boyhood friends yelled him over, calling for one of the serving girls to bring full tankards for them all. Most had had little to do over the winter months save for mending and homestead repairs... and of course, spending time at the 'Song listening to tall tales over tankards of mead. They were young men who dreaded another year toiling in their fathers' fields, hoping to go a-viking, in search of wealth and treasure, but mostly, as young men were wont to do, they were looking for adventure.

This was the same scene every year and every year the older and more experienced men, proven warriors, were chosen. The boys would complain all summer ‘how were they to get experience if they were never chosen.’ Come winter they listened to the tales of the returned travelers and their expectations and hopes would once again take the forefront of their conversations. And though they all envied Halldor’s lot as apprentice to Balder, Halldor had the same dreams.

To go a-viking.

 

[Vikingboy]

Ulfr One-Eyed

apologies for posting to a closed thread. My fault for being dense, I guess.

 

[ozme52]

Halldor

I watched my friends carousing and generally having a good time.

There were Arik and Brander, nearly as large as me and every bit as strong, from long hours of tilling fields with their fathers. We grew up together and often got in trouble together.

Digby’s father held the land so he was a constant companion as well. He always did his share and pulled his weight, mind you, but he looked more like a Souther than a Nordemann. Rather spindly. Even his hair was dark.

Not his younger sister though.. As a child, Frigga had always followed her brother everywhere, which meant she always followed us as well. With her long blonde hair tightly braided, her high bust and womanly hips, she was now the envy of many the village girls and the target of many of the men. Frigga was a beauty just as her mother had been. Which of course was one of the sources of our getting into trouble… protecting her from unwanted “suitors.” None-the-less, Frigga was just one of our band. She laughed as hardy as any of us and I’ve never seen her blush no matter how bawdy the conversation..

Knut’s father was a sheep herd and Knut always seemed to smell of them. But we all owned and wore very fine fleeces and the softest shoe leathers. So we always put up with the odor and except for the fact we teased Knut relentlessly, it really wasn’t all that bad.

If there was one of us who really didn’t seem to fit, it was Gunnar. Highborn and the son of a Housecarl to Jarl Magnus Jarnulf himself, Gunnar’s father bestowed the best of everything upon him. Yet Gunnar was also one of our band, maybe because he never held it over us and he was, quite frankly, a generous soul.

My own father had died a viking and I considered myself fortunate that my mother had convinced the smith Balder to apprentice me under him. She died soon thereafter but I count my life as good. Good friends, good companions. What we had, we shared, and what we didn’t have, didn’t seem to matter. Save that we were all restless and looking for adventure..