In the Name of the Father

[Eva 'Skuld' Stark]

Being called back by Ysgrámör reminded her so much of her old mentor, Urdun. So much so, that she smiled... but the smile faltered slightly in remembrance. She burned his body with eleven others at the attack on Stark Hall; so few in number in comparison to those that fell under her ax, but still too many. For a moment, the Jarl allowed herself one moment of grief as she pulled over the quenching tank towards the old Warlord, icy eyes glittering in contemplation.

The environment was similar. The smells, the arrangements... it was as if all smiths were trained by the same code. Orderly within the forge, but she was absolutely certain the man's living quarters were a different manner entirely, down to the arrangement of tools within the drawers.

It was so like home, once again she was temporarily taken aback. Wordlessly, she stepped back, arms crossed as she watched in contemplation. Like two children, it seemed, watching a clansman at work. Though Urdun never worked a forge a day in his life, it was his guidance that drew her to ships. His patient hands with a model scale, down to the precise fuel balance and the smallest painted details.

Gjun.

A name she was unfamiliar with... but perhaps it meant something here. A clansman, perhaps? Or an old friend to them both... but Wardruna's tone implied something else. Something that their meet-up was privy to; the slight smile melted into a neutral expression as she waited, gaze pensive.

@Korvo

 

[The Storyteller]

In the aftermath of Uhtred's words, Ysgrámör said nothing. Silence hung in the air heavily, and the old warlord simply exhaled slowly through his nostrils.

"ᚷᛃᚢᚾ.. ᛁ ᚺᚨᚡᛖ ᚾᛟᛏ ᛋᛖᛖᚾ ᛏᚺᚨᛏ ᛒᛟᚤ ᛁᚾ ᛗᚨᚾᚤ ᛞᚨᚤᛋ. ᛒᚢᛏ ᛁ ᚺᛖᚨᚱ ᚺᛖ ᛁᛋ ᚲᚨᛚᛚᛖᛞ ᚷᚱᛖᚤᛞᚱᚨᛖᚴ ᚾᛟᚹ", he said without apparent concern.

"ᚨᚾᛞ ᚤᛟᚢ ᚨᚱᛖ ᚱᛁᚷᚺᛏ, ᛁᛏ ᛁᛋ ᚾᛟᛏ ᛒᛖᛋᚴᚨᚱ. ᚲᛟᚢᛚᛞ ᚾᛖᚡᛖᚱ ᚹᛟᚱᚴ ᛏᚺᚨᛏ ᛗᛖᛏᚨᛚ ᚨᛋ ᛏᚺᛟᛋᛖ ᛁᚱᛟᚾ-ᛒᛚᛟᛟᛞᛋ ᛞᛟ, ᚨᚾᚤᚹᚨᚤ."

Seemingly changing the subject, Ysgrámör brought the metal he had been hammering and submerged it into the quenching tank that Skuld had brought over. Lashes of fire danced near the tank's summit as the metal rapidly cooled, and once pulled out, revealed a somewhat rough and tarnished-looking rod of metal. It was obvious by its appearance that it was in the shape of a sword, however.

Walking over to the mechanized grindstone, which reflected the dim light, as it was reinforced with diamond-dust. It was old fashioned to be sure, but could produce high-quality results if one had the patience and skill. Sitting at the grindstone, Ysgrámör activated it and began the slow process, seemingly ignoring Uhtred's meaning behind his statement.

"ᚷᛃᚢᚾ ᚺᚨᛋ ᛏᚹᛟ ᚤᛟᚢᚾᚷᛖᚱ ᛒᚱᛟᛏᚺᛖᚱᛋ. ᛁ ᚨᛋᛋᚢᛗᛖ ᚤᛟᚢ ᛗᛖᚨᚾ ᛃᚨᚱᛚ ᚴᚡᚨᛋᛁᚱ."

Ysgrámör didn't look again toward Uhtred, but instead kept at his work in grinding down the metal that would eventually become a sword.

"ᛁᚠ ᛏᚺᚨᛏ ᛁᛋ ᛏᚺᛖ ᚲᚨᛋᛖ, ᛒᛟᚤ, ᛏᚺᛖᚾ ᚤᛟ ᚨᚱᛖ ᚨ ᛚᛟᚾᚷ ᚹᚨᚤ ᚠᚱᛟᛗ ᛒᚨᚾᛞᛟᛗᛖᛖᚱ."​

​

​

​

​

​

​

 

[Uhtred Wardruna]

Ah, that silence. That old wolf always loved leaving words and thoughts hanging in the air. To be honest, that often annoyed Uhtred. He preferred getting direct reactions, direct answers... but this time, he almost appreciated the pauses. After all, there was much on his mind.

As Ysgrámör continued his business, Uhtred knew that he had been heard. After all, Ysgrámör had commented about his mention of Gjun, but then turned back to his work. While it wasn't the foremost thing on his mind, Uhtred was mildly curious about the obvious sword being made. The metal didn't look anything like beskar, and his uncle confirmed as much. Even so, most metals weren't worth working on in such a personal and attentive way. The only other thing Uhtred could guess was that the weapon was something requested by an influential figure, perhaps another warlord.

"ᚤᛖᛋ", Uhtred stated simply. "ᛁ ᛗᛖᚨᚾ ᚴᚡᚨᛋᛁᚱ."

Uhtred might have been an ally of Gjun, but he hadn't known Kvasir very well. In fact, probably the most Uhtred knew about Gjun's family is that their tribe had long controlled Clan Wardruna. Gjun's brother was Jarl, and their father was Jarl before him, and his mother before him. By contrast, Uhtred had almost no history, due to his mother marrying into Clan Wardruna from Clan Uriksbane. They were 'old blood'.

"ᛁ ᚺᚨᚡᛖ ᚨ ᚡᛁᛋᛁᛟᚾ, ᚢᚾᚲᛚᛖ. ᛏᚺᛖᚱᛖ ᛁᛋ ᛋᛟᛗᛖᛏᚺᛁᚾᚷ ᛁ ᚹᛁᛋᚺ ᛏᛟ ᚨᚲᚺᛁᛖᚡᛖ, ᚨᚾᛞ ᛁ ᚨᛗ ᚹᛁᛚᛚᛁᚾᚷ ᛏᛟ ᚠᛁᚷᚺᛏ ᚠᛟᚱ ᛁᛏ. ᛁ ᚨᛗ ᚹᛁᛚᛚᛁᚾᚷ ᛏᛟ ᚠᚨᚲᛖ ᛏᚺᛖ ᛞᛖᚨᛞᛚᚨᚾᛞᛋ ᛟᚠ ᛋᚡᛁᛞᛁᛒᛖᛁᚾ ᚠᛟᚱ ᛁᛏ. ᛏᚺᛖ ᛟᚾᛚᚤ ᚲᛟᛋᛏ ᛁᛋ ᛏᚺᛖ ᛒᛚᛟᛟᛞ-ᛈᚱᛁᚲᛖ. ᛗᛁᚾᛖ, ᛟᚱ ᚺᛁᛋ", Uhtred spoke plainly, albeit perhaps being a bit dramatic. He didn't want to die, after all. But risk death? Risk judgement, should his life have been dishonorable? Yes, that much he was willing to put on the line. Besides, his uncle always liked the theatrics.

"ᛁ ᚺᚨᚡᛖ ᛏᚺᛖ ᛒᚨᚲᚴᛁᚾᚷ ᛟᚠ ᚲᛚᚨᚾ ᛟᚱᛟᛋᛁᛁ. ᚨᚾᛞ ᚨᚾ ᚨᛚᛚᚤ ᛁᚾ ᛏᚺᛁᛋ ᛟᚾᛖ", Uhtred said, gesturing to Skuld and inviting her to introduce herself.

"ᛒᚢᛏ, ᛁ ᚹᚨᚾᛏᛖᛞ ᛏᛟ ᚺᛖᚨᚱ ᛁᛏ ᚠᚱᛟᛗ ᚤᛟᚢ. ᚤᛟᚢ ᚺᚨᚡᛖ ᛋᛈᛖᚾᛏ ᚨ ᛚᛁᚠᛖ, ᚨ ᛚᛟᚾᚷ ᛚᛁᚠᛖ, ᛋᛖᛖᛁᚾᚷ ᛟᚢᚱ ᛈᛖᛟᛈᛚᛖ ᛞᛖᛋᛏᚱᛟᚤ ᛏᚺᛖᛗᛋᛖᛚᚡᛖᛋ ᚠᛟᚱ ᚨᛗᛒᛁᛏᛁᛟᚾ. ᛁᛋ ᛗᚤ, ᛟᚱ ᚨᚾᚤ ᚨᛗᛒᛁᛏᛁᛟᚾ, ᚹᛟᚱᛏᚺ ᛁᛏ ᛁᚾ ᛏᚺᛖ ᚠᚨᚲᛖ ᛟᚠ ᛟᚢᚱ ᛋᚢᚱᚡᛁᚡᚨᛚ?"

@Killa Ree

 

[Eva 'Skuld' Stark]

She exhaled slowly as Uhtred gestured in her direction; the implications of a Clan Leader attending so informal clicked into place as surely as any other piece in a puzzle would, and her chin tilted slightly, surveying the pair together.

Her voice was calm and clear, even with the hammering and the hiss of the quenching tank humming in such a space. It was not large, and not suitable for a fool grandstanding as something with more power than she had. This was not Ando Prime, nor Hall Stark. This was someone else's home, and she treated it with far more respect than she would have before the council, or any other figures of authority.

"ᛖᚡᚨ ᛋᛏᚨᚱᚴ, ᛃᚨᚱᛚ ᛟᚠ ᚲᛚᚨᚾ ᛋᛏᚨᚱᚴ. ᚠᛟᚱᛗᛖᚱᛚᚤ ᛋᚴᚢᛚᛞ." She highly doubted the man knew of her, or her circumstances. Most clans did not bother with news of each other, unless it was something great. She looked as though she were about to say something else... but then kept silent, icy eyes watchful as she glanced between Uhtred and his uncle. A camaraderie she envied; her own father had cut himself off from his brothers, and all the sons of Baldr Stark went somewhere within the Empire or the stars never to be seen again. She often wondered what the Stark Clan would have been like with wild men such as those... but that was for another time.

Uhtred's words hung in the air... and it was then, she knew she wanted him to be her ally in her own personal fight. She would tell her plans, perhaps... but not before Ysgramor. Who knew how the man would react knowing this stranger had ambitions beyond her own clan. Dreams, even, of things beyond their culture and people, to see it thrive.

Another time, perhaps, but that expression suddenly seemed keenly interested in what the older man had to say now.

@Korvo

 

[The Storyteller]

Ysgrámör eyes lifted from his work, if only for the briefest of moments. It wasn't what Uhtred had said, not this time. It was the other. The woman that held the name 'Stark'. It was from long ago, but he knew that name, he did.

"ᚺᛗᛗ... ᛏᚤᚱ'ᛋ ᛞᚨᚢᚷᚺᛏᛖᚱ, ᛁᛋ ᛁᛏ?", he said, gently nodding his head. "ᛁᛏ ᛁᛋ ᛏᚺᛖ ᚲᚢᚱᛋᛖ ᛟᚠ ᚷᚱᛖᚤ ᚺᚨᛁᚱᛋ, ᛏᚺᚨᛏ ᛁ ᚺᚨᚡᛖ ᚾᛟᚹ ᚲᛟᛗᛖ ᛏᛟ ᚴᚾᛟᚹ ᛗᚨᚾᚤ ᚠᚨᚲᛖᛋ. ᚨᚾᛞ ᛗᚨᚾᚤ ᛗᛟᚱᛖ ᚾᚨᛗᛖᛋ."

Ysgrámör had seen many Battle-Masters and Warlords rise and fall, many Jarls come, only to be replaced. In fact, he himself had witnessed more than his fair share, and with that exposure came knowledge. Knowledge of faces. Knowledge of names. And Ysgrámör… he knew a great many, many names. For what it was worth, it was perhaps something worth thanking the gods that his memory had not begun to fade with the color of his hair.

"ᛒᛟᚤ, ᚤᛟᚢ ᚹᛟᚢᛚᛞ ᛞᛟ ᚹᛖᛚᛚ ᛏᛟ ᛈᚨᚤ ᚨᛏᛏᛖᚾᛏᛁᛟᚾ ᛏᛟ ᛏᚺᛖ ᛚᛁᚠᛖ ᛟᚠ ᚤᛟᚢᚱ ᚠᚱᛁᛖᚾᛞ ᛒᛖᛋᛁᛞᛖ ᚤᛟᚢ. ᛋᛁᚾᚲᛖ ᚤᛟᚢ ᚹᛖᚱᛖ ᚨ ᚲᚺᛁᛚᛞ, ᛁ ᚺᚨᚡᛖ ᛏᚨᚢᚷᚺᛏ ᚤᛟᚢ ᛚᛁᚴᛖ ᚤᛟᚢ ᚹᛖᚱᛖ ᚨ ᛋᛟᚾ. ᚤᛟᚢ ᚴᚾᛟᚹ ᚹᚺᚤ ᚨᚾᛞ ᚺᛟᚹ ᛟᚢᚱ ᛈᛖᛟᛈᛚᛖ, ᚹᚺᛖᚾ ᛟᚾ ᛏᚺᛖ ᛒᚱᛁᚾᚴ ᛟᚠ ᚨ ᛋᛖᚲᛟᚾᛞ ᚷᚱᛖᚨᛏ ᚨᚷᛖ, ᛞᛖᚲᛚᛁᚾᛖᛞ ᛏᛟ ᚹᚺᛖᚱᛖ ᚹᛖ ᚨᚱᛖ ᚾᛟᚹ. ᚨᚾᛞ ᚤᛟᚢ ᚴᚾᛟᚹ ᚹᚺᚨᛏ ᛁᛋ ᚾᛖᛖᛞᛖᛞ ᛏᛟ ᛋᛖᛖ ᛟᚢᚱ ᛈᛖᛟᛈᛚᛖ ᚱᛁᛋᛖ ᚨᚷᚨᛁᚾ."

Ysgrámör ceased working on the sword and stabbed it into the ground. It was still largely dulled and needed a tremendous amount of work before it was remotely close to being presentable, but it was well on its way.

"ᚹᛁᛏᚺᛟᚢᛏ ᚨᛗᛒᛁᛏᛁᛟᚾ, ᛏᚺᛖᚱᛖ ᛁᛋ ᚾᛟ ᛋᚢᚱᚡᛁᚡᚨᛚ. ᛋᛟ ᛞᛟ ᚾᛟᛏ ᛞᚱᚨᚹ ᚨᚹᚨᚤ ᚠᚱᛟᛗ ᚹᚺᚨᛏ ᛒᛟᛁᛚᛋ ᛁᚾ ᚤᛟᚢᚱ ᛒᛚᛟᛟᛞ. ᚹᚺᛖᚾ ᚤᛟᚢ ᛞᛟᚢᛒᛏ, ᚺᛟᚾᛟᚱ ᛏᚺᛖ ᛟᛚᛞ ᚷᛟᛞᛋ ᚨᚾᛞ ᚱᛖᛗᛖᛗᛒᛖᚱ; ᛒᛖ ᚹᛁᛋᛖ, ᚨᛋ ᚱᚨᛞᛖᚷᚨᛋᛏ. ᛒᛖ ᛏᛖᚱᚱᛁᛒᛚᛖ, ᚨᛋ ᛋᚡᚨᚱᛏᚢᚱ. ᛒᛖ ᚺᛟᚾᛟᚱᚨᛒᛚᛖ, ᚨᛋ ᛋᚨᛚᛞᛟᛖᛗ. ᛒᛖ ᛗᛁᚷᚺᛏᚤ, ᚨᛋ ᛃᛟᚱᛞᛁᚾᛖᚤᛞᛁᚱ. ᛒᛖ ᚱᛖᛋᛁᛚᛁᛖᚾᛏ, ᚨᛋ ᚨᚾᛚᛟᚷᚢᚾ. ᛒᛖ ᚠᛁᛖᚱᚲᛖ, ᚨᛋ ᛞᚨᚢᛚᚨᚺᛏᚱ."

All the while, Ysgrámör walked toward Uhtred and placed his hand at the back of Uhtred's head, and nodded in silence. Then he promptly smacked Uhtred upside the head and returned to grinding the to-be sword.

"ᚷᛟ ᛟᚾ, ᛒᛟᚤ. ᚷᛟ, ᛞᛟ ᚹᚺᚨᛏ ᚺᚨᚡᛖ ᛏᛟ. ᚨᚾᛞ ᚹᚺᛖᚾ ᛏᚺᛖ ᛏᛁᛗᛖ ᚲᛟᛗᛖᛋ, ᚷᛁᚡᛖ ᚢᛋ ᚨ ᛋᚺᛟᚹ. ᚨ ᛃᚨᚱᛚ'ᛋ ᚱᛁᛋᛖ ᛋᚺᛟᚢᛚᛞ ᛒᛖ ᚱᛖᛗᛖᛗᛒᛖᚱᛖᛞ."
/ENDTHREAD
@Killa Ree