Post by Khaine on May 10, 2019 18:32:58 GMT
It was a starless night. Silence and darkness spread in every direction around the small haven of the village Búð, whose few torches and central fire burned bright, banishing the gloom from its heart. The light also illuminated the faces of the tribe’s young ones, who, now huddled together, had gathered to hear the old shaman tell her tales, as she did every evening. Fascination and excitement was drawn upon the childrens faces as the woman, her eyes covered by a ceremonial veil, opened her mouth to speak: “I shall tell you a tale…” she croaked, before taking a moment to clear her throat. Images of skin-wolves, fimir and other beasts or man-beasts went through the minds of the eldest children, who, having heard many of the woman’s tales, came to expect some horrible tale of savagery and bestial wrath: a typical norscan bed-time story. “No… No mere tale is this. But a saga…” she continued: “The saga of Erling.” At this revelation, the children became unsettled. The son of their own chieftain had been named Erling, despite the shaman’s warnings against it. A curious child, it had been lost to the night while still young, taken by wolves, or so the elders had proclaimed.
“I do not speak of Erling Krákafeldr fool children!” silenced she the younglings, who dutifully obeyed the holy woman. “The Erling I speak of had no name, for his tribe was lost and forgotten. As it should be, indeed. But let me start from the beginning:”
Chapter I: Hilmirburðr
“No mortal man knows exactly where the Wastes end and the world begins, yet on that ill-defined place between sanity and madness once lived a tribe of some repute. These men were blessed by the Serpent and renowned for their beauty and grace so much that it was said that they were elves, living in opulent, great manses, akin to palaces. Astride twin thrones in these vaunted halls sat the Jarl and his wife: Alva the Fair, whose words gave pause to any man, for they held knowledge of olde things. However, these palaces, once bastions of wisdom and might, eventually became a hotbed for wanton revelry and forbidden ritual. Their lands were safe from any foe, and the neighboring tribes already offered willing tribute in slaves and gold. And so, ambition was dulled by arrogance and complacency, and the Jarl and his wife threw feasts and celebrations lasting many nights, reveling in their decadence. It is said that these would often devolve into orgiastic rituals of pleasures and sadism unfathomable. So indecent and perverse they grew in this regard, that their worship of the Serpent must have attracted His attention.”
At this the boys marveled, for it was the aim and destiny of any worthy man to be noticed and gain the favor of the gods. Yet the wizened holy-woman chuckled darkly, as if only she knew an ironic twist yet to come. Taking a moment to taste the soup stewing over the fire, she continued:
“There came a night when the preparations for the feast had been especially intricate. The Jarl had demanded from the neighboring tribes their most holy relics, which were promptly delivered, and had ordered them melted, a new crown forged from the metal. The occasion warranted a lavish celebration, for the Jarl was to be coronated with this new crown, declaring himself High lord, in the presence of all the Chiefs. Great tapestries had been woven, lining the walls with their silken displays of battles and beast-slayings, all heroic feats proudly performed. Great meals had been prepared in advance, ten times as much as could reasonably be expected to be eaten and spiced with seasonings plundered from far Araby and beyond. Finally, the appointed hour came, and the Jarl and his wife came forth and took their thrones, as the chiefs came before them to pay their obeisance.
Indeed, thought the Jarl, it was his finest hour. Looking at him, Alva must have thought the same, for she, regarding his fair and noble features and oil-anointed brow did declare that he seemed to bear the visage of a god. At this the room grew silent, for it was grave indeed in those days, as it is today, to claim such rights as godhood. Of course, none dared challenge the statement, although perhaps this was because their attention had now been diverted to the stranger entering the hall.
The visitor was tall and darkly handsome, possessed of rare beauty and grace. He was softly spoken, yet his words carried great weight. He was bedecked in armor most intricate and light, over which he bore a silken cape with a fur trim. With proud step he made his way before the Jarl, who regarded him sternly, for he thought him to have come seeking to usurp his finest hour. And yet his wrath was soon tempered, even giving way to interest and amity, for the stranger had made a grand show of his obeisance to the Jarl, and thrice professed his adulation for the lord. As he was of old and noble blood, or so claimed, the strange man even offered to perform the lord’s coronation himself. The Jarl, intrigued and impressed by this new-comer, found the offer difficult to refuse and did bid him welcome to sit at his right, for it was a place of honor. The other chiefs, charmed as they were by the mysterious aristocrat, did not protest.
After the introductions and the prostration of all lords and warriors before the Jarl, came the time of the coronation. The tribe’s shaman brought forth the intricately forged crown before the stranger, who solemnly awaited in front of the twin thrones. The crown was golden and shone in the light of the fires. Upon its surface, frescoes had been carved of interlocking bodies, golden serpents running along the rims. At the top of the crown, many golden hands were holding up a gem of blackest night. The stranger took it up with the utmost reverence, and spoke words in the dark tongue, blessing it. The chiefs and Jarl marveled and thought that this nobles’ blood must be truly ancient and divine, for as he raised the crown up for all to see, it appeared as if the bodies upon it had come alive, and writhed ceaselessly. The stranger’s eyes shone black like the gem as he stepped forth, placing the crown atop the Jarl’s oiled brow and forehead. And then, he declared:
“High Lord I crown thee, for indeed above all lords you be. By men’s accord, from the North Sea to far Araby, by the power of the serpent I decree; Anointed lord, blessed may you be.”
And as those words were spoken, all light was snuffed out in those high halls. And all who looked at that crown of glory, saw that now the gold shone as if it was a flame itself. And below it, the Jarl’s eyes, like black gems baptized in blood, did shine themselves through the dark. The same red blood sheen that now was reflected in the eyes of all who had gazed upon the crown. The silence was broken only by the lord’s command, that the celebrations might begin. And by that stern edict, the pipers took up the tune, and the feast started in earnest.
The Jarl and his wife took to the first dance with glee. With skill and grace they flew around the room, the rhythm rising and falling as they brought the crowd to excitation. The second dance of course was granted to the stranger, who, taking Alva’s fair and delicate hand, led her to the dance. At first their dance was reserved, for the stranger did not wish to offend the lord. Yet as time wore on, so did their dance become more excited, with the rest of the chiefs and their spouses joining in around them, cries of pleasure rising around the high hall. Then came the dishes, and they were lavish indeed. Meats most fine, cured, cooked or even raw: choice cuts from the best parts of the body, seasoned with salt and spices, with ale to wash them down. Yes, indeed, they danced and ate and drank throughout the night, with even the intricately woven tapestries seeming to come to life to join the revels, bound in their cloths as they were.
Finally, morning came. True light shone through into the high hall, and all was revealed. For it is often that in the night, when things are done in darkness, that one might see them in a different light, and mistake their nature. Indeed, it is said that the first person to wake, one of the lesser chiefs, soon threw himself upon his own sword. For he saw that the tapestries depicted no scenes of virtue and honor, but rather gruesome vistas of pain and decadence, the faces of the twisted things on them inspiring true terror and revulsion, with beady, hungry eyes, edging ever closer, as if trying to escape the canvas. Of the dishes and foods, though there was little left, it now became apparent from the twisted bones and broken skulls, that they were morsels not of animal, but human flesh. Finally, he saw his wife, a once proud woman, now reduced to a wretch covering her ears in a corner, bloody tears flowing from her shut eyes.
The chief remembered that she had missed the coronation of the lord, for she escorted their children, recently come of age and presented to him, back to their lodgings to sleep. Upon his inquiries of the night’s events, she spoke with trembling voice. She had re-entered the high hall mere moments after the coronation, and before the doors were sealed, barring escape. It was dark inside, and she could only make out shining red orbs among the faces of the guests, who were unresponsive to her requests. The pipers appeared to have gone mad, for their music was cacophonous and painful to the ears. As her eyes adjusted to the dark, she could see that the guest’s faces were twisted in desire, and they were possessed of a strange and unnatural hunger. The Jarl had spoken something in the dark tongue, and the room had devolved into chaos. She was unwilling to speak in greater detail of the terrible acts she had witnessed, or the unfortunate fate of the slaves, of whose flesh the others had partaken with wild abandon. In the end, the whimpering woman expired, cryptically admitting with her last breath that there had been no dancing that night, and was followed in turn by the chief himself, who could not bear the truth.
Indeed, many more were discovered dead following this. However, unlike that couple, whose faces betrayed only despair, the rest of the deceased bore upon them the faces of happy men, who had passed away in the throes of great pleasure and exultation, their dead eyes still shining darkly with elation and sated desire. Even the servants, or at least those whose faces yet adorned their skulls, seemed by their expressions to have embraced death with bliss.
The stranger had gone as mysteriously as he had appeared, yet mere days later the tribe's shaman declared the joyous news: The Jarl's wife, secretly thought by many to be infertile, was with child. Seven months later she lay dead amongst the blood-matted furs of her bed, a beautiful child playing impishly with the gore in the midst of her ruined form. The Jarl was grief stricken, yet he declared his heir to be strong and gave him his own name, and the name of his fathers before him: "Erling; Thrice-Blessed may he be, for he is baptized in the blood of his mother, the oils of the shamans and the power of the serpent..."
And so was he brought into this world, a snake. No, not Erling Krákafeldr, not that innocent boy. An Erling nameless, for his tribe’s name was expunged from the tales of holy women. Spawn of a starless, joyless night. Herald of his people’s downfall; Profane, for ambition profaned his heart, hunger his eyes, and lies his tongue…”
The shaman took a moment to recover, for she found herself to be speaking with rising tone and increasing enmity about that man of legend. Indeed, she realized, the hour had grown late, and even though all she could see were shadows through her broken eyes, she knew, it was a starless night. So, she bade the children go, quieting their protests with promises of continuing the story the following evening, and made her way to her own little shack to rest. The fires faded, and darkness reigned.
“I do not speak of Erling Krákafeldr fool children!” silenced she the younglings, who dutifully obeyed the holy woman. “The Erling I speak of had no name, for his tribe was lost and forgotten. As it should be, indeed. But let me start from the beginning:”
Chapter I: Hilmirburðr
“No mortal man knows exactly where the Wastes end and the world begins, yet on that ill-defined place between sanity and madness once lived a tribe of some repute. These men were blessed by the Serpent and renowned for their beauty and grace so much that it was said that they were elves, living in opulent, great manses, akin to palaces. Astride twin thrones in these vaunted halls sat the Jarl and his wife: Alva the Fair, whose words gave pause to any man, for they held knowledge of olde things. However, these palaces, once bastions of wisdom and might, eventually became a hotbed for wanton revelry and forbidden ritual. Their lands were safe from any foe, and the neighboring tribes already offered willing tribute in slaves and gold. And so, ambition was dulled by arrogance and complacency, and the Jarl and his wife threw feasts and celebrations lasting many nights, reveling in their decadence. It is said that these would often devolve into orgiastic rituals of pleasures and sadism unfathomable. So indecent and perverse they grew in this regard, that their worship of the Serpent must have attracted His attention.”
At this the boys marveled, for it was the aim and destiny of any worthy man to be noticed and gain the favor of the gods. Yet the wizened holy-woman chuckled darkly, as if only she knew an ironic twist yet to come. Taking a moment to taste the soup stewing over the fire, she continued:
“There came a night when the preparations for the feast had been especially intricate. The Jarl had demanded from the neighboring tribes their most holy relics, which were promptly delivered, and had ordered them melted, a new crown forged from the metal. The occasion warranted a lavish celebration, for the Jarl was to be coronated with this new crown, declaring himself High lord, in the presence of all the Chiefs. Great tapestries had been woven, lining the walls with their silken displays of battles and beast-slayings, all heroic feats proudly performed. Great meals had been prepared in advance, ten times as much as could reasonably be expected to be eaten and spiced with seasonings plundered from far Araby and beyond. Finally, the appointed hour came, and the Jarl and his wife came forth and took their thrones, as the chiefs came before them to pay their obeisance.
Indeed, thought the Jarl, it was his finest hour. Looking at him, Alva must have thought the same, for she, regarding his fair and noble features and oil-anointed brow did declare that he seemed to bear the visage of a god. At this the room grew silent, for it was grave indeed in those days, as it is today, to claim such rights as godhood. Of course, none dared challenge the statement, although perhaps this was because their attention had now been diverted to the stranger entering the hall.
The visitor was tall and darkly handsome, possessed of rare beauty and grace. He was softly spoken, yet his words carried great weight. He was bedecked in armor most intricate and light, over which he bore a silken cape with a fur trim. With proud step he made his way before the Jarl, who regarded him sternly, for he thought him to have come seeking to usurp his finest hour. And yet his wrath was soon tempered, even giving way to interest and amity, for the stranger had made a grand show of his obeisance to the Jarl, and thrice professed his adulation for the lord. As he was of old and noble blood, or so claimed, the strange man even offered to perform the lord’s coronation himself. The Jarl, intrigued and impressed by this new-comer, found the offer difficult to refuse and did bid him welcome to sit at his right, for it was a place of honor. The other chiefs, charmed as they were by the mysterious aristocrat, did not protest.
After the introductions and the prostration of all lords and warriors before the Jarl, came the time of the coronation. The tribe’s shaman brought forth the intricately forged crown before the stranger, who solemnly awaited in front of the twin thrones. The crown was golden and shone in the light of the fires. Upon its surface, frescoes had been carved of interlocking bodies, golden serpents running along the rims. At the top of the crown, many golden hands were holding up a gem of blackest night. The stranger took it up with the utmost reverence, and spoke words in the dark tongue, blessing it. The chiefs and Jarl marveled and thought that this nobles’ blood must be truly ancient and divine, for as he raised the crown up for all to see, it appeared as if the bodies upon it had come alive, and writhed ceaselessly. The stranger’s eyes shone black like the gem as he stepped forth, placing the crown atop the Jarl’s oiled brow and forehead. And then, he declared:
“High Lord I crown thee, for indeed above all lords you be. By men’s accord, from the North Sea to far Araby, by the power of the serpent I decree; Anointed lord, blessed may you be.”
And as those words were spoken, all light was snuffed out in those high halls. And all who looked at that crown of glory, saw that now the gold shone as if it was a flame itself. And below it, the Jarl’s eyes, like black gems baptized in blood, did shine themselves through the dark. The same red blood sheen that now was reflected in the eyes of all who had gazed upon the crown. The silence was broken only by the lord’s command, that the celebrations might begin. And by that stern edict, the pipers took up the tune, and the feast started in earnest.
The Jarl and his wife took to the first dance with glee. With skill and grace they flew around the room, the rhythm rising and falling as they brought the crowd to excitation. The second dance of course was granted to the stranger, who, taking Alva’s fair and delicate hand, led her to the dance. At first their dance was reserved, for the stranger did not wish to offend the lord. Yet as time wore on, so did their dance become more excited, with the rest of the chiefs and their spouses joining in around them, cries of pleasure rising around the high hall. Then came the dishes, and they were lavish indeed. Meats most fine, cured, cooked or even raw: choice cuts from the best parts of the body, seasoned with salt and spices, with ale to wash them down. Yes, indeed, they danced and ate and drank throughout the night, with even the intricately woven tapestries seeming to come to life to join the revels, bound in their cloths as they were.
Finally, morning came. True light shone through into the high hall, and all was revealed. For it is often that in the night, when things are done in darkness, that one might see them in a different light, and mistake their nature. Indeed, it is said that the first person to wake, one of the lesser chiefs, soon threw himself upon his own sword. For he saw that the tapestries depicted no scenes of virtue and honor, but rather gruesome vistas of pain and decadence, the faces of the twisted things on them inspiring true terror and revulsion, with beady, hungry eyes, edging ever closer, as if trying to escape the canvas. Of the dishes and foods, though there was little left, it now became apparent from the twisted bones and broken skulls, that they were morsels not of animal, but human flesh. Finally, he saw his wife, a once proud woman, now reduced to a wretch covering her ears in a corner, bloody tears flowing from her shut eyes.
The chief remembered that she had missed the coronation of the lord, for she escorted their children, recently come of age and presented to him, back to their lodgings to sleep. Upon his inquiries of the night’s events, she spoke with trembling voice. She had re-entered the high hall mere moments after the coronation, and before the doors were sealed, barring escape. It was dark inside, and she could only make out shining red orbs among the faces of the guests, who were unresponsive to her requests. The pipers appeared to have gone mad, for their music was cacophonous and painful to the ears. As her eyes adjusted to the dark, she could see that the guest’s faces were twisted in desire, and they were possessed of a strange and unnatural hunger. The Jarl had spoken something in the dark tongue, and the room had devolved into chaos. She was unwilling to speak in greater detail of the terrible acts she had witnessed, or the unfortunate fate of the slaves, of whose flesh the others had partaken with wild abandon. In the end, the whimpering woman expired, cryptically admitting with her last breath that there had been no dancing that night, and was followed in turn by the chief himself, who could not bear the truth.
Indeed, many more were discovered dead following this. However, unlike that couple, whose faces betrayed only despair, the rest of the deceased bore upon them the faces of happy men, who had passed away in the throes of great pleasure and exultation, their dead eyes still shining darkly with elation and sated desire. Even the servants, or at least those whose faces yet adorned their skulls, seemed by their expressions to have embraced death with bliss.
The stranger had gone as mysteriously as he had appeared, yet mere days later the tribe's shaman declared the joyous news: The Jarl's wife, secretly thought by many to be infertile, was with child. Seven months later she lay dead amongst the blood-matted furs of her bed, a beautiful child playing impishly with the gore in the midst of her ruined form. The Jarl was grief stricken, yet he declared his heir to be strong and gave him his own name, and the name of his fathers before him: "Erling; Thrice-Blessed may he be, for he is baptized in the blood of his mother, the oils of the shamans and the power of the serpent..."
And so was he brought into this world, a snake. No, not Erling Krákafeldr, not that innocent boy. An Erling nameless, for his tribe’s name was expunged from the tales of holy women. Spawn of a starless, joyless night. Herald of his people’s downfall; Profane, for ambition profaned his heart, hunger his eyes, and lies his tongue…”
The shaman took a moment to recover, for she found herself to be speaking with rising tone and increasing enmity about that man of legend. Indeed, she realized, the hour had grown late, and even though all she could see were shadows through her broken eyes, she knew, it was a starless night. So, she bade the children go, quieting their protests with promises of continuing the story the following evening, and made her way to her own little shack to rest. The fires faded, and darkness reigned.