Foot Prints in the Snow [Arthmael and Valkyri]

[Coci Heavenshield]

[SIZE=72pt]Midvinter[/SIZE]​

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[SIZE=48pt]

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Mead Hall​

The coming of Eventide​

[member="Gregor Arthmael"]​

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It is cold this eve, like most on Midvinter. The hearth in the mead hall roared sending out it's warmth to those that dare approach. The hall accommodates but a few this eve, mostly men and women that are traveling from the Tháinbroek to return to their respective Clans. The Battle of Midvinter over. A new King now sits upon the throne, King [member="Thrand Dawnbringer"], the rightful King.

Thaerd sits by the fire, gently playing his lyre, a song of old legend that most will know and appreciate as the Valkyri sit in thought of deeds done among the ruin of the field of war. Thaerd plays for them, and only them.

He had graced the field of battle, having received word from his cousin, Aerin Firebrand, that his return would soon come, but Thaerd returned early not wanting to miss being part of history of this fair Realm of Midvinter. He had not seen her yet, not wanting to face her wrath just yet, if she knew that he had placed his life in danger, well, the temper of red head is one of infamy. He had escaped with minor wounds which he soon had seen to, and he would return to Tháinbroek in good time to visit the new King before returning the Clan Sabina in the south.

A maiden young delivered his food and mead to a small table placed by the fire for him. But for now Thaerd will play on.

 

[Gregor Arthmael]

[member="Thaerd Thawbearer"]

Gregor made his way through the snow, softly falling to the ground as he walked onwards towards the mead hall. He shoved the doors open with his forearms and made his way towards one of the larger tables near the fire to warm up and listen to the bard strum his lyre. Gregor ordered a drink, he wasn't hungry. Gregor felt disappointment.

This was but another battle that he had survived, that was all it felt to him. He could care less about which king ruled, that was up to his son now. All Gregor wanted was the honour to fall in battle to an enemy that matched up to him. Gregor's drink arrived and he took it his hand and drunk it down fast. The gods mocked him, they had not allowed him to fall in battle so now old age was about him. He felt a shock in his hand as he tried to put down his mug, but he shook it off.

Gregor had planned to die in this battle, a war of kings, and have his death sung by bards like this one. But no one cares for stories of men growing old. Gregor looked and his wrinkled hand, callused from the many years of holding a sword, and let out a sigh. Who knows, maybe the gods will grant him death next time.

Gregor raised his hand to order food as the maid walked by and order some food, he would hate to be remembered as a starving old man.

 

[Coci Heavenshield]

And the bard played on.

Spoiler

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=y1WRKDwvRb8&list=PL0FE1CC875ED7BA01

Fingers plucked at the strings with the softest of touches, fluid in motion. Thaerd turned his head as the elder sat at a table close by the fire, his eyes icy blue peered for a moment, before turning away and closing to find the music once more.

The clipping of the maiden’s feet upon the wooden floor, baring salvers of food and tankards to those in need of sucker. She paused for a moment, to listen to him before being summon to yet another table, and back into the reality. The maiden younger then she appeared, a hard life written over her face took youth from her, and such a cruel thing is a hard life. The face of elder no different. Yet sadness rests upon his brow.

“It is a cold eventide Elder, you do well to warm by the hearth. But why such sadness rests upon thy face?” It is now that Thaerd turns and opens his eyes to regard the older man.

[member="Gregor Arthmael"]

 

[Gregor Arthmael]

[member="Thaerd Thawbearer"]

Gregor turned to face the bard as he was addressed, lifting one of his bushy eyebrows at the man then turning back to his drink. "Tis the fact that I'm an elder, it seems that the gods have cursed me to pass from age instead of battle. I'll die lying in my bed instead of a sword in my hand. That, friend, is what has me bothered."

Gregor took another sip of his drink as the maiden arrived with his food and he politely thanked her. The old man then smiled and raised his glass slightly. "But alas, this isn't a day for sorrow. We are here to celebrate the new king are we not." Gregor drank the rest of the mead from his flagon and then rest it on the table, wiping the suds from his beard with his forearm.

 

[Coci Heavenshield]

[member="Gregor Arthmael"]​

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"The Gods have designed a different fate for you Elder", Thaerd said as he stood and placed his lyre on the stood on which he sat. He took up his plate of food and drink and moved to the table of the Elder. "May you permit me to join you?". He sat before the answer arrived.

"You have grown weary of life?", he asked as he began to pick over the food on his plate, not really enticed by the look of any of it. And so to his mead he gave attention. Thaerd sat up with straight back and looked over the peoples of the room.

"Most of them", he indicated with a flourish of his hand "Want for the glory of the battlefield, to be able to walk in the valley of the Gods and be heralded into legend and so be it, it is a noble thing to want. But a life lived rich with experience has more value. Much can you tell, teach those that need your knowledge. Tell me what is your profession?".

 

[Gregor Arthmael]

[member="Thaerd Thawbearer"]

Gregor again lifted his brow as the man motioned towards a seat at his table, responding with a nod of acknowledgement as the man began to lower himself onto the chair. "It is not that I am weary of my life, it's that the gods see fit to try my patience. I have known more battles than you have winters lad, and yet I have survived them all. Now in my old age, I am losing the virility that I once had." Gregor leaned back to allow the barmaid to pour him another flagon, again thanking her for the drink and food.

Gregor began to dig into the food, though not removing his eyes from the man. This one spoke with a wisdom that Gregor could respect in one as young as him. Gregor wiped some of the mutton from his beard with his forearm and the placed the food back onto it's plate. "I have had many professions throughout my life: Smith, Hunter, Hermit. But now I am first and foremost a Lord and Father to my family."

 

[Coci Heavenshield]

[member="Gregor Arthmael"]

"Then maybe your time is yet to come", he said looking up from his plate of food. A tingling in the back of his neck told Thaerd that not all in the Hall are happy for the coming peace. His head turned to look toward the opposite side of the vast room and found in the corner a small group of men gathered in conversation. One of them turned to look directly at him before turning away. Thaerd did or said nothing for the moment, but would keep a watchful eye.

"You are a Chieftain?", he asked finally. "What is you name good Elder".

 

[Gregor Arthmael]

[member="Thaerd Thawbearer"]

Gregor leaned forward in his chair to get closer to the bard that he was talking to, though his gaze was towards Grismont his home. He turned his attention back to the man he was conversing with, with a smile on his face. "I am Gregor Arthmael, the Old Bear, as many of our country mean have called me." Gregor spoke with pride of every word he said, a confidence in his achievement and nickname that he carried with him. "Now then sir bard, may I have yours?"

 

[Coci Heavenshield]

[member="Gregor Arthmael"]


It is prudent to remain cautious when speaking ones name, especially directly after a battle as many enemy are still at large and not 'happy' with the outcome. Thaerd suspected as much of the group on the far wall that continued to watch them. And so he leaned in closer to the Old Bear.

"I am bard and warrior, my name is Thaerd Thawbearer, Chieftain of Clan Sabina to the south. I speak the name of my Clan with lowered breathe as the leader of cavalry, my cousin, proved victorious on the field". He glanced over to the table, the only movement was his eyes.

"Some here might not be as proud of this achievement as I".

 

[Gregor Arthmael]

[member="Thaerd Thawbearer"]

Gregor gave the man a respectful nod as he bit back into his food, it was always nice to meet another chieftain. Then he grit his teeth as the man discussed keeping being related to the war secret. "Blast anyone who still holds any grudge against the war, if they have any problems with losing they can come find me and I'll teach them some respect." Gregor began to cut into some floury food that he could not tell what it really was and then he turned his gaze back up to Thaerd.

"I was in the vanguard and I fought many battles, though I don't believe I had the pleasure of making your brothers acquaintance." Gregor finished off his second flagon and raised it in the air so that the barmaid would come and refill his drink.

 

[Coci Heavenshield]

[member="Gregor Arthmael"]

"You would not have since I have no brother. The current leader of my Clan is my cousin, Aerin Firebrand, the finest Shieldmaiden in all of Midvinter. She is examplary with cavalry and military strategy". he said with much pride. "Our Clan, Clan Sabina as you would know is famous for its breeding and training of horses". His blood began to rise once more as if preparing for battle once more.

As much as he would have liked to have kept his boasting to a lower level, like most Valkyri it had got the better of him and his raised voice carried to all within the room. The men watching them in the corner of the room, rose from their seats and began to approach the two. Five in all, and all with their hands on the hilts of their swords. The main leader it seemed, spoke. "Many of my friends died this day and at the hands of your Clan, Chieftain", the man spat, "I care nothing for the so called truce but want for vengence for my fellow clan members", with that his sword unsheathed.

 

[Gregor Arthmael]

[member="Thaerd Thawbearer"] (oopsies obviously I was too tired last night )

Gregor leaned back in his chair with a nod of approval and a small chuckle. "Apologies, the drink must be affecting my mind already." He put the drink back down onto the table and changed his order to something less strong. "I have heard of your cousin's exploits in the war and of your clan's horse breeding. We have no such talent in training such majestic beasts, but we do breed our fair share of warriors." Gregor crossed his hands with a bit of pride, but then he looked at some men approached them.

As a group of men came to threaten the bard chieftan, Gregor slapped his hand on the table to gain their attention and rose from his seat. As he straightened himself up, he began to tower over the rest of the men as he raised. He did not rest his hands on his sheath, but instead folded his hands together in front of himself. "Lads, trust me. You're making a huge mistake if you want to do this. I have no reservations about meeting the gods, I have made my peace. But you have to ask yourselves "Do I feel lucky."" Gregor clenched his hands together and raised his chin. "So... Do you."

 

[Coci Heavenshield]

[member="Gregor Arthmael"]

"There was enough blood spilled on the earth of Midvinter this day, let us not soiled it further", Thaerd spoke with eyes shifting to each of the men only to gauge their intentions in their physicality. His words fell on deaf ears and the five men had only hate in their hearts and still held the blood lust in their eyes.

"If you break with tradition your Clan will be exiled in the eyes of the Crown", he tried to reason with them, but to no account. A quick look to the Old Bear to see his position Thaerd moved to flank them, they are outnumbered five to two is not good odds but Thaerd had a sense that the Old Bear would be a force to be reckoned with.

The men did not speak but through their swords, and they attacked going for what they believed to be the weaker of the two, and set upon the Old Bear.

 

[Gregor Arthmael]

[member="Thaerd Thawbearer"]

Gregor flexed his old bones and cracked his knuckles, he would not die in some mead hall scruff. "I do not wish to have another clan disbanded, I would not recommend you force my hand." But the men attacked regardless, they obviously believed that the old man had lost any vigour he once had. They were surprised when Gregor caught the first ones blade as it met his hand, cutting deep into it. Another blade striking the old man's armour, penetrating it slightly. It cut very slightly into his rib cage, but the old man ignored the pain. "I tried to warn you lads."

Gregor pulled the blade from the man's hand and hit him in the face with a massive fist, sending him tumbling backwards into his friends. He then grunted as the second man pulled his blade out of Gregor's ribs and swung the sword at his neck, but the old man caught the man's sword by his arm and broke it with a strong grasp. He threw the man aside and as the rest began to charge him, Gregor drew his sword to defend himself against them.

 

[Julius Sedaire]

Lugaid had been warming by the fire. He had, by ill fortune, missed most of the battle. The sad fact of being honestly too young to be valued much. Listening to the Bard play he nodded off a bit, dreaming as was his want. The fire seeped warmth into his bones and he settled into his furs and oil-skin, sighing softly. His hood had kept up and been designed to keep his rather rare and flaming red hair concealed.

The sound of the Old Bear's fists slamming to the table brought him awake, and he eyed the gang as the fell in on him. This just wouldn't do, not at all. With a surge, the young man stood up, but didn't draw... Not yet... The old man was fighting back, and doing a fair accounting, if being injured. But as the sword sunk into his ribs, Lugaid grunted, and instead of drawing picked up a chair and rather unceremoniously broke it on the back of the head of one of the assailants, sliding up to stand next to the Elder, smiling. His hood still hid most of his appearance, but a shock of red hair stood out from the folds of the oil-skin hood.

"Apologies m'lord.... Not that you need the help, I just don't like ingrates disturbing my revere... Do you mind if I join this dance?"

[member="Thaerd Thawbearer"] | [member="Gregor Arthmael"]

 

[Coci Heavenshield]

[member="Lugaid Sigurdsson"] | [member="Gregor Arthmael"]​

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The five men cared little for tradition it seemed and soon the fight began. From nowhere a men with flaming red hair stirred from the hearth side and came to assist, it is unusual for the people of Midvinter to have such colour around them, the only other one Thaerd has known is his cousin. And if this man is anything like her, then a temper of the high fire will erupt.

The situation is untolerable to Thaerd, to insult Midvinters treaty on the hours after battle can not be accepted. He reached behind his back and hidden under his long snow white hair is the hilt of his great sword, his long fingers grasp the leather bound hilt and the song of steel against steel rang out in the room and the long blade came to bare.

He would not spill blood this eve, to much had already stained the earth, however his sword blade fell upon the nearest man, cutting the leather of his trousers and biting the flesh of his leg. Immediately his leg collapsed as the sword hit behind the knee and incapacitated him. The man fell to the floor of the Mead Hall yelling in anger as well as pain.

The Old Bear although slightly injured stood tall and strong against men much younger, there is still much life in the Elder yet. Thaerd smiled recalling their conversation, yes the Gods have another design for him. Thaerd could not help wonder what that might be.

Pondering will have to wait, as more of this vengeful men appeared to join their brothers.

 

[Gregor Arthmael]

[member="Thaerd Thawbearer"] [member="Lugaid Sigurdsson"]

Gregor looked down to his side as he heard a crash, a man had tried to go for his back and a man with fiery red hair had stopped him with a chair. The old man gave him a nod of acknowledgement and lifted his sword to two men to his left. "Aye, a dance isn't something that one should do alone." Gregor laughed a bit, but the cut in his ribs stung heavily. He was beginning to feel the troubles of his age.

One of Gregor's hands went down to his side to caress his wound, it hurt much more than it usually would have. It was then that the two men saw their opportunity to attack the Old Bear. Their first one came with a pickaxe and made a cleaving strike to try to plant the thing into Gregor's skull and the second went with a dagger, aimed for Gregor's belly. They obviously wanted him dead, but they would have to try harder than that.

Gregor lifted his sword with one hand to block the axe, pulling both it and the other man's weapon downwards and then staggering him back with a headbutt. Then the other man tried the dagger and the bear caught his hand and broke it. Gregor lifted him into the air by his arm with some struggle and then spat blood in his face and whipped him outside through the window. The first man had gotten back to his feet and drew a sword, aiming for Gregor's heart. But the Old Bear had seen it coming and caught it under his arm. He then grabbed the man by the throat and lifted him up a support beam choking him.

 

[Julius Sedaire]

Lugaid kept mostly back, eyes darting as he watched the venerable warrior. There was, at the time, little to assist with, so he dropped the chair remnants and drew a long single edged knife from his waist, smiling at the rest of the room's occupants as he rolled and flicked it across his knuckles between his fingers. The action was almost defiant, and the grin was irreverent and cocky, as if he waited for someone to engage the old bear so he could slip in and show them.

"Hmmmm... Shame, you took all the good partners"

[member="Thaerd Thawbearer"] | [member="Gregor Arthmael"]

 

[Coci Heavenshield]

[member="Lugaid Sigurdsson"] | [member="Gregor Arthmael"]​

​

Thaerd saw stars as a table hit him hard across the back and head, he shook his head to regain thought before turning on the man that had assaulted him so rudely. One of the patron's drunk with mead had decided to join them in the fight, not having decided on which side to take, he took his own.

The man lumbered forward once more, unstable on his feet which would prove not match for Thaerd. Gripping the hilt of his sword and turning it so the blade pointed behind him, he punched the man in the face sending a spray of blood from his mouth as his teeth shattered as the hilt hit home.

The man fell in a heap on the floor and out for the night. The Old Bear and the new comer well versed in fighting in close quarters, it is a natural thing to partake of in Midvinter as much as Thaerd did not have stomach for it. Much preferring the noble art of a duel. However, there is no time of conversations of nobility now.