- Joined
- Dec 21, 2018
- Messages
- 177
- Reaction score
- 97
The Blood-Price There was an expression Uhtred has heard before, that thoughts could be heavier than any helm. It had always made him laugh as a child, and even beyond. But in recent years, the young warrior had come to realize just how true the statement was, and never moreso than this day. This day was everything, now. His rebirth, or his death. He would either rise as a Jarl and Battle-Master, or see Svidibein before the setting sun. Everything would be decided would be decided soon. So much could go wrong, there were so many choices that would need to be made now, in this moment and the moments to come. For better or worse, this was his hour.
And there was doubt. Lying would serve no purpose, nor would it benefit him. He had doubts on whether he could succeed. So Uhtred sat alone, in the dark of his cabin onboard the Sceadugenga, allowing his head to hang and his hair to fall and envelop over him. His hand rested on the bed where he sat, tightly gripping his axe. His mother gave the weapon to him, many years ago now. With its point against the metal floor, Uhtred's other hand tightly grasped the hilt of his sword, a beskad, a gift from his father. These weapons were his life. When uncertainty struck, he struck back with them. The only question now was if it would be enough.
ᛒᛖ ᚹᛁᛋᛖ, ᚨᛋ ᚱᚨᛞᛖᚷᚨᛋᛏ… ᛒᛖ ᛏᛖᚱᚱᛁᛒᛚᛖ, ᚨᛋ ᛋᚡᚨᚱᛏᚢᚱ… ᛒᛖ ᚺᛟᚾᛟᚱᚨᛒᛚᛖ, ᚨᛋ ᛋᚨᛚᛞᛟᛖᛗ… ᛒᛖ ᛗᛁᚷᚺᛏᚤ, ᚨᛋ ᛃᛟᚱᛞᛁᚾᛖᚤᛞᛁᚱ… ᛒᛖ ᚱᛖᛋᛁᛚᛁᛖᚾᛏ, ᚨᛋ ᚨᚾᛚᛟᚷᚢᚾ… ᛒᛖ ᚠᛁᛖᚱᚲᛖ, ᚨᛋ ᛞᚨᚢᛚᚨᚺᛏᚱ…
"ᛒᚨᛏᛏᛚᛖ-ᛗᚨᛋᛏᛖᚱ?", came a voice.
Uhtred tilted his head upwards and drifted his eyes toward his doorway. Light was cast into his dark room, and the silhouette of a figure stood, staring at him in the darkness.
"ᛁᛏ'ᛋ ᛏᛁᛗᛖ. ᚹᛖ'ᚱᛖ ᚺᛖᚱᛖ."
Uhtred inhaled sharply and let his head fall down again. Then he stood and walked calmly toward his armor, which was set up against the wall of his room.
"Any trouble from the Mandalorians?"
"Um… no? Your clearance was accepted, we're bound for Vetarhold. Or Valthon, whatever it is they're calling this place. Battle-Master, why are we speaking in—"
"—it's a good distraction. Besides, you could use the practice."
"If you say so. Battle-Master, we shouldn't we have waited for a response? What if he denies you?"
"He won't", Uhtred said simply, sheathing his weapons as he finished donning his armor.
"How can you be sure?"
"Because he's a Wardruna. For us, destiny is all. If he is challenged by an equal, he will answer it.", Uhtred said simply, sheathing his weapons as he finished donning his armor.
"And... if he doesn't?"
Uhtred turned and grinned darkly. "Then I cut off his head and take his place anyway."
A gathering of warriors, most of them of Clan Wardruna, were in attendance. Several drums were being beaten, as were some elders among the clan carrying chants into the air from their voices. For the most part, Uhtred hadn't looked at any others as he walked into battle-circle. But of course, he couldn't help notice his uncle, Ysgrámör, and a surge of confidence pulsated through him.
"ᚤᛟᚢ ᚴᚾᛟᚹ, ᛏᛟ ᛏᚺᛁᛋ ᛞᚨᚤ, ᛁ ᛋᛏᛁᛚᛚ ᚠᛁᚾᛞ ᛁᛏ ᚨᛗᚨᛉᛁᚾᚷ ᚺᛟᚹ ᛞᛁᚠᚠᛖᚱᛖᚾᛏ ᚤᛟᚢ ᚨᚱᛖ ᚠᚱᛟᛗ ᚷᛃᚢᚾ", Uhtred said, stopping a little under two meters away from where his opponent sat. It wasn't a throne, but was obviously a makeshift chair for the occasion. Uhtred hadn't planned on arriving late, and indeed, he figured he was early, if anything. "ᛁᛏ ᚱᛖᚨᛚᛚᚤ ᚺᚨᛋ ᛒᛖᛖᚾ ᚨ ᛚᛟᚾᚷ ᛏᛁᛗᛖ, ᚴᚡᚨᛋᛁᚱ…"