***** WARNING SPOILERS - some of this part of the Chronicle contains elements of Mythras' Logres. If you intend to play it as a Player it's probably best not to read it because your enjoyment will be seriously diminished ****
The Brothers left Dunasted a moon after the Feast of Sol-monath. Uthric and Meire’s child was now two moons old and both felt he would be able to travel safely. Uthric had named the child Hrothgar after his father which all the Brother’s felt was a good omen. No
Offa was both grumpy and pleased. His Carls were used to the grumpiness and in fact his being grumpy was expected. They were unsure how to cope when he was pleased. But Offa was genuinely pleased to see the Brothers again. He told himself it was just because they praised his ale but he enjoyed their company and they had got on well in Mershford. He was even spotted by his more observant men to be smiling. To be sure, Offa hadn't put it like that. He had thought the brothers dead and now they had
Travelling with a Warband was easier than travelling alone and after four days they all safely arrived at Mershford. They greeted Offa and told him their news. Offa was annoyed with his orders from Wiglaf and while he did not intend to disobey the Ealdorman, he delayed setting off by spending time with the Brothers, who he found to be agreeable company.
Wulfhere was keen to know if Offa remembered Hrothgar and pressed him about what had happened in Mershford two years ago. Offa recalled tha
The Brothers were discouraged. They looked around at the busy, bustling fortified village. Warriors were talking, drinking and gambling. Where are we asked Wulfhere and where is Grim's Dyke? The man grinned and motioned them to look to the northwest. See that dyke stretching into the distance? That’s Grim's Dyke. Built by giants long ago. There was a great earthwork that stretched to the northwest into the dusk. This is Grim’s Dyke Burgh. The Brothers were beginning to find Angle humour hard to
The Brothers made their way home from Portus Caester. They were both excited but yet despondent. They could not interpret their visions put persisted in trying to fit it into what little facts they knew. They were beginning to think treachery was involved, a fact reinforced by the discovery that both Beorthric and Wilfrith had left Caedering during the night.
Osberht had no knowledge on the subject. Carls, in general, were free to stay or leave as they please but generally they would ha
Freiherr Johannes Pähler vor dem Holte stood and admired his ancestral lands. Beside him stood the taciturn young Franciscan, Brother Thomas, who had taken up residence in the Baronial home and was said to be planning to build a Franciscan Monastery. Vor dem Holte had recently returned from the Northern Crusade in Samerland following the death of his father, Freiherr Meinhard, at the hands of the Hanse. Freiherr Meinhard had been accused by the Hanse of banditry and murder of merchants. The Hans
In the third year of King Aelle's reign, on the first day of Solmonath, three brothers woke early to help their mother prepare the cakes that marked the end of winter. The three brothers known as Hrothgarsons and were well liked and thought of in the village of Caedering. Their mother Hildegard had told often them that they were descended from Thunor but Uthric, the middle brother, scoffed at this idea. How can I be descended from Thunor? I don't have red hair or carry a hammer. I don't like goa
The huge raven alighted on the branch that buckled under her weight. The object of her attention was a man leading a horse through the forest at the edge of the lake. The raven was ravenously hungry, anticipating a feast of eyes, tongue and liver when the Rusalka was finished with him. The thought of the Rusalka made the raven nervous. She shifted on the branch making the man with the horse look up suddenly.
"Stop following me, bird," shouted the man, breaking the silence. He looked around for
Angrboða closed the door into the main hall where the Jötunn still drank, boasted and tried to outdo each other in feats of strength. It was sadly often the case at the Yule feast. Angrboða sighed and turned to her companions.
“Boys will be boys, Angrboða, you can’t change the way they have acted for millennia”, said Sívör. “But girls will be woman”, replied Angrboða, “ and as ever, we need to plan for the coming year to counter the Æsir. Our men are too busy swinging their dicks to consid
Egil really had no memory of events since they had left The Green Man Gorge. He did, however, have lots of memories of the dreams he had been having and was able to recount all the dead family and friends who he had met while unconscious. He insisted on telling of his travels in a land of apples. Both Graphen and Darkon sat bleary eyed and exhausted. The events of the last week had removed all sparkle of life from both and they hadn’t had the benefit of some Goddess inspired healing. Darkon, in
“Did you know berserkers’ strength and fighting ability can double or even treble but their cognitive abilities are equally reduced? The reason that not a lot of people know berserkers are as dangerous to their friends as to their enemies is possibly because not many friends survive the experience and thus the information is not as widely disseminated as it should be,” said Graphen, “ have you ever heard of Aestoron of Eartfold? He had presented a paper expounding the Friend's theory to the 7th
The answer came fast. A cry of anger. A crunching and rending sound. And a noise of something heavy and large running through the undergrowth without much consideration for the shrubbery. The three men steadied themselves and set their weapons for the upcoming fight. The sweat on their faces gleamed in the watchfires light. Three against Jace were still uneven odds in Jace's favour. Any betting person would have not accepted odds in their favour.
Jace came into the camp firelight sw
"Hey, that’s our donkey," shouted Egil at no-one in particular. The entire caravan seemed to crane their necks to watch the rapidly approaching donkey.
"Impressive," said Xanc, one of the drivers," Never seen a donkey that knows where its masters are."
Egil jumped down and secured Stove to the back of the wagon, kissing his ears and petting him.
"I see you haven't gelded him," said Xanc," My old grandad always said donkeys were happier gelded. Think I have my gelding
The weather turned rainy again with the odd thunderstorm that forced the trio to seek shelter from the forked lightening. The stream they walked beside became a torrent and they had to move away from the path they followed in case they were swept away by a sudden flood. This made the going slower as they had to pick their way through low scrub and bushes.
They were all becoming a little paranoid about encountered creatures or buildings now. Perhaps they were learning from experience
Stove had had enough. This crew had managed to fall into every trap that had been laid before them. As Egil ran to the Golden Cup in the middle of the bridge, Stove gathered himself and charged forward. He had a brief glimpse of Darkon and Graphen with mouths agape. As Egil bent down to retrieve the cup, Stove hit him squarely on the backside. Egil was propelled through the air and bouncing off the low parapet of the bridge, ricocheted and fell full length into a puddle of decaying vegetation. E
It had begun to rain heavily as they left the Green Gorge. The river they were following became a torrent by mid-afternoon and they began to fret about having to cross it. They were still too miserable to grumble much and the journey was mostly in silence. Toward evening the rain lessened and the clouds became less solid. They were looking for a place to camp for the night.
"No mounds," said Graphen," especially if we want a fire. And I need afire. But I’m not taking any chances that th
The trio sat cross legged at the mouth of the cave. They’d eaten food but that had only partially improved the mood. Deeper in the cave, Rooskin had been working with charcoal on a smooth wall, expanding a circular line of Runes that swirled and interlinked and were lit by the flickering lights of oil lamps. Darkon had puzzled over the Runes drawn on the wall. He followed them round the swirls until the Runes seemed to glow and enlarge in his mind and he felt his consciousness drift off. Fleetin
Egil was amazed. For the last two weeks he had struggled to get a fire lit. There had been lots of excuses. His flint wouldn't strike, the tinder was too wet, the wind was too strong etc, etc. Yet, in this place, on a cold damp, foggy night and on the first strike of the flint, the fire seemed to leap from the tinder in the pan to the small stack of wood. And then mysteriously from the small stack of wood to the nearby bush and then to another bush. And yet another. Soon the crown of the mound w
The rain began to fall heavier again as left the cottage behind, re-crossed the Rubicon River and made their way to the Green Man Gorge. Darkon, who had the map, struggled to keep them on course and they got frequently lost. Arguments about directions, whose turn it was to cook, clean the dishes and feed Stove got worse as the days went on. They were generally soaked with the rain, cold from the wind, tired because they hadn't slept and hungry because they struggled to light fires. Things didn't
Darkon had forgotten all about asking Egil how long they'd been at the house of the young woman, opting instead for a game of picking the petals off a daisy saying "She loves me'. "She loves me not". He threw the daisy away in disgust when it turned out the she didn't love him. It just goes to show that even flowers have greater insight than any of the three men in the grip of a dopamine rush triggered by being in love.
It was left to Stove to try and work out what was going on and to acc
It had rained heavily overnight and Darkon's blankets were wet. Graphen was struggling to light the fire. He fiddled hopelessly with his flint to try and spark the damp tinder to life. Egil was hopping from one foot to the other attempting to keep warm. Stove alone was comfortable, his oily coat kept out the rain and he was finding the oat and grain mixture of his nosebag agreeable.
Darkon, Egil and Graphen grumbled at each other throughout the morning. All were soaked through as the rai
If Stove could have beat his hoof off his forehead he would have done so for the twentieth time in the last hour. Graphen and Egil had been interrogating Darkon about his meeting with the Fatman in the Grapes End.
"What gives you the right to make contracts Darkon?" snarled Egil,"Is it just because you've got no nose?"
"It always comes down to my lack of nose, doesn't it," replied Darkon." you just can't leave it alone. I don't tell you your ears stick out and you're as bald as a Coot."
Darkon had no nose. He had carelessly mislaid it in a fight with some trolls after the summer equinox. The younger trolls had found it funny that Darkon's nose had come off in the exchange of blows." For a whole season the younger trolls would joke,
"The human had no nose!"
“How did he smell?" one would ask in mock horror.
"Horrible" was the chorused reply as the group would roll helplessly around the Matriarch’s kitchen.
Of course Darkon wasn't aware of any of this as he