T
thestoryteller
Guest
I look at my birth village of Gna Faste with a foul taste in my mouth. Memories long gone of the days I once played in the woods with my father, gathering timber for his crafts, trading with the Arachite and Svartalf who dwelled nearby. Those fond memories tainted by the day they came, the monstrous wolven beasts with glowing eyes of pure hate, the Drakulv.
For the past fifteen seasons I have grown up with my grandparents, who have done their best to tame the wild hatred that’s lived inside of me for all these years. Far way in Haggerfel they kept me from returning to the place where my lifes path was turned into a bloody nightmare. For all this time I still can see the darkened night when they came to our peaceful village, ransacked our homes, slaying all those in their path.
Danima Ulofsonn, my mother and the greatest tailor in the realm. My father, Kedric the most prized weapon smith of all Midgard. We lived in Gna Faste for as long as I could remember, my parents traded food and clothing with the Svartalf who mined Sindlehalla, under the watchful eye of the Arachite. He would buy their precious metals, and repair their tools when needed, the Arachite only came to us for food during the winter, the rest of the year they would roam in packs through the undergrowth. Together it seemed for formed a symbiotic family, living in harmony.
It was the winter of my tenth season. A village meeting had been called; a stranger was coming to town to ask for a truce. I remember the mists that night were eerily thick, even the hunters had returned early from the southern edge of Myrkwood, even their vision impaired by the fog.
The townsfolk gathered outside the guard tower on the edge of the village; young and old alike the whispers and rumours grew louder with anticipation of this arrival. All the elders had said was the visitor was coming from Skona Ravine, a place my father had told me once was home to many Vikings, but now lay deserted after a great battle, with whom I knew not, as no-one ever discussed it further.
I could hear some of the villager’s words, “cannot be trusted” one announced, “betrayal I smell” the voice of another came. But yet still we waited in the cold night air.
A silence befell the village, one of the guards on the tower bellowed “To the west, they come!”, and all eyes faced down the path. Through the misty haze, five shadows tall and broad came, in the darkness I could see their eyes glowing red, and their ivory fangs shone in the torch light. This was the first time I had seen any of the Drakulv, beings I had grown to believe mythological, only fables had been told to frighten small children, myself included. Seeing them in the flesh however, put those stories to shame.
The party of five drew into the centre of the circle. The largest one stretched up his arms high and gave a deep and terrifying growl echoing around the crowd. I could feel the fear in everyone around me, my mother grasped my hand as tight as she could, it hurt that I knew, but my mind blocked the pain as I stared in awe at this menacing creature.
“We claim the right Askheim, our sacred burial ground that lies to the west, you will no longer desecrate, know you’re boundaries humans, and keep your troll bretheren away from our domain! Any who should feel it their business to venture into our lands will not return, this is your only warning!”
Askheim was a burial ground, once used by the Svartalf as a religious ground, but now was fenced in to protect the souls buried within. Since my earliest memory it had always been this way. We had always respected their grounds.
“Lord Garthed, the Svartalf grounds are sacred, we cannot give you this land, it belongs not to us, and you should seek their consort.” the village elder cried.
“Weak minded fools, you have had your only warning, if you desire to tell the Svart, so be it, they would not dare oppose us!”. Steam poured from his drooling mouth as he uttered his words, the elder backed away slowly, with a look of terror on his face.
“My Lord, we have no quarrel with you and your kind, we beg you leave our village and respect the lands of the Svartalf.”
The Drakulv turned his back on the elder, before walking off he muttered “A warning you have, none more shall we give!”.
The five started back the way they came, brushing aside the warrior guards in their path, growling menacingly, their eyes filled with hatred. Silence befell the crowd as they departed, wide eyed and pale faced they stared at the retreating aggressors.
Behind us the bushes rustled rhythmically, although something was stepping through them. The branches parted and several Svartalf stepped into view. I recognised their leader, one my father had often traded with in the past. He stepped forward and bowed to the elders;
“This has been a long time coming, the priestess Araxia of the Arachite fortold of this day, you must leave the village, go to safer grounds of Gotar. This fight we cannot ask you to help in, we cannot accept your losses in this war.”
Galden, the chief elder spoke up, raising his staff in the air; “For many years we have lived in peace with you, we see you as our kin and friends, we cannot leave you in this moment of need, we are willing to fight besides you!” A huge roar went up from the crowd, swords and hammers raised in fury, the sky lit up with spell casts, my father cast Thors might and the air filled with electricity.
“We ask you not for help, our friends you have been this time tis true. If you stay to fight, we cannot ask you not, but can only thank you deeply. But we beg only the warriors stay, women and children a place for them is not, their blood we cannot have spilt.”
Murmurs rushed through the crowd, heads turning from one partner to another, kin looked at each other with angst, you could see the thought of separation scared the populus.
“Then so it shall be” cried Galden, turning towards his audience, “I beg you all, pack what you need only, take the horses and carts and head to safety in Fort Alta, there warn others of the impending battle, and pray to Odin that he will make this a triumphant battle!” Again the crowd raised its weapons and a huge cheer went up.
My father picked me up, smiling in a way I had not seen for a long time, a glint in his eye once again sparked the fire inside him he had not had since he retired his great hammer. This mighty Thane once more could feel the power flowing through him, and being so close to him I too could feel its awesome beauty. “Take care of your mother boy, you are the man of the family until we reunite, be strong for you both son, may Thor watch over you.” He smiled again as a tear gently rolled down his cheek, clearing a path down his face through the forge soot.
For the past fifteen seasons I have grown up with my grandparents, who have done their best to tame the wild hatred that’s lived inside of me for all these years. Far way in Haggerfel they kept me from returning to the place where my lifes path was turned into a bloody nightmare. For all this time I still can see the darkened night when they came to our peaceful village, ransacked our homes, slaying all those in their path.
Danima Ulofsonn, my mother and the greatest tailor in the realm. My father, Kedric the most prized weapon smith of all Midgard. We lived in Gna Faste for as long as I could remember, my parents traded food and clothing with the Svartalf who mined Sindlehalla, under the watchful eye of the Arachite. He would buy their precious metals, and repair their tools when needed, the Arachite only came to us for food during the winter, the rest of the year they would roam in packs through the undergrowth. Together it seemed for formed a symbiotic family, living in harmony.
It was the winter of my tenth season. A village meeting had been called; a stranger was coming to town to ask for a truce. I remember the mists that night were eerily thick, even the hunters had returned early from the southern edge of Myrkwood, even their vision impaired by the fog.
The townsfolk gathered outside the guard tower on the edge of the village; young and old alike the whispers and rumours grew louder with anticipation of this arrival. All the elders had said was the visitor was coming from Skona Ravine, a place my father had told me once was home to many Vikings, but now lay deserted after a great battle, with whom I knew not, as no-one ever discussed it further.
I could hear some of the villager’s words, “cannot be trusted” one announced, “betrayal I smell” the voice of another came. But yet still we waited in the cold night air.
A silence befell the village, one of the guards on the tower bellowed “To the west, they come!”, and all eyes faced down the path. Through the misty haze, five shadows tall and broad came, in the darkness I could see their eyes glowing red, and their ivory fangs shone in the torch light. This was the first time I had seen any of the Drakulv, beings I had grown to believe mythological, only fables had been told to frighten small children, myself included. Seeing them in the flesh however, put those stories to shame.
The party of five drew into the centre of the circle. The largest one stretched up his arms high and gave a deep and terrifying growl echoing around the crowd. I could feel the fear in everyone around me, my mother grasped my hand as tight as she could, it hurt that I knew, but my mind blocked the pain as I stared in awe at this menacing creature.
“We claim the right Askheim, our sacred burial ground that lies to the west, you will no longer desecrate, know you’re boundaries humans, and keep your troll bretheren away from our domain! Any who should feel it their business to venture into our lands will not return, this is your only warning!”
Askheim was a burial ground, once used by the Svartalf as a religious ground, but now was fenced in to protect the souls buried within. Since my earliest memory it had always been this way. We had always respected their grounds.
“Lord Garthed, the Svartalf grounds are sacred, we cannot give you this land, it belongs not to us, and you should seek their consort.” the village elder cried.
“Weak minded fools, you have had your only warning, if you desire to tell the Svart, so be it, they would not dare oppose us!”. Steam poured from his drooling mouth as he uttered his words, the elder backed away slowly, with a look of terror on his face.
“My Lord, we have no quarrel with you and your kind, we beg you leave our village and respect the lands of the Svartalf.”
The Drakulv turned his back on the elder, before walking off he muttered “A warning you have, none more shall we give!”.
The five started back the way they came, brushing aside the warrior guards in their path, growling menacingly, their eyes filled with hatred. Silence befell the crowd as they departed, wide eyed and pale faced they stared at the retreating aggressors.
Behind us the bushes rustled rhythmically, although something was stepping through them. The branches parted and several Svartalf stepped into view. I recognised their leader, one my father had often traded with in the past. He stepped forward and bowed to the elders;
“This has been a long time coming, the priestess Araxia of the Arachite fortold of this day, you must leave the village, go to safer grounds of Gotar. This fight we cannot ask you to help in, we cannot accept your losses in this war.”
Galden, the chief elder spoke up, raising his staff in the air; “For many years we have lived in peace with you, we see you as our kin and friends, we cannot leave you in this moment of need, we are willing to fight besides you!” A huge roar went up from the crowd, swords and hammers raised in fury, the sky lit up with spell casts, my father cast Thors might and the air filled with electricity.
“We ask you not for help, our friends you have been this time tis true. If you stay to fight, we cannot ask you not, but can only thank you deeply. But we beg only the warriors stay, women and children a place for them is not, their blood we cannot have spilt.”
Murmurs rushed through the crowd, heads turning from one partner to another, kin looked at each other with angst, you could see the thought of separation scared the populus.
“Then so it shall be” cried Galden, turning towards his audience, “I beg you all, pack what you need only, take the horses and carts and head to safety in Fort Alta, there warn others of the impending battle, and pray to Odin that he will make this a triumphant battle!” Again the crowd raised its weapons and a huge cheer went up.
My father picked me up, smiling in a way I had not seen for a long time, a glint in his eye once again sparked the fire inside him he had not had since he retired his great hammer. This mighty Thane once more could feel the power flowing through him, and being so close to him I too could feel its awesome beauty. “Take care of your mother boy, you are the man of the family until we reunite, be strong for you both son, may Thor watch over you.” He smiled again as a tear gently rolled down his cheek, clearing a path down his face through the forge soot.
