(no subject)
It had been a pleasent enough afternoon, riding around the hilly countryside, past old ruins of long-dead cities which had once held the descendants of the first sea-faring warriors that sailed with kings whose names had passed into legend. It was in one of these fortified cities that the bloodline which held the title of Wartooth had once lived and prospered, though it had been a thousand years since that time. No written record had passed down which definitively told where the bloodline had settled, and only through spoken tales could one find where they had taken up roots, once they stopped their ventures into unknown lands.
Teja had done extensive research throughout his life, about his ancestry and surname. Ten years of his days off had led him to frequent bars and storytellers on the northern coast of Norway, where he spent countless hours listening to the tales of locals and historians, to the unchanged spoken lore and history of the brave warriors who had sailed with the hero, Sigurd, in search of the treasures of Odin.
One warrior who bore the fierce name of Thurden had traveled with Sigurd, in times far before the great man had slain Fafnir. This Thurden had earned the title of Krigtann, due to his ferocity in battle. He'd literally bite into the throats of his enemies and rip their necks straight open, if provoked. Some called Thurden Krigtann one of the first Berserker warriors. The stories told that after he had become too battle-weary to fight and sail, he retired in the now-ruined settlement of Högfjellskogen. At his death, he was given a mound burial in the barrows nearby, and his eldest son inherited his land and wealth.
Teja had dug deeper, to find the ancient ruins of Högfjellskogen, but came to an impasse when all the locals could tell him was that it was one of four now-abandoned towns that all buried in the same barrow site. However, they provided the next best thing - a map to the barrow site itself. While he would never be able to fully tell which ruins were those of Thurden's village, nor would he know which barrow was his ancestor's, he found his place of pilgrimage, and was content in finding even that.
He'd been coming to the ruins for nearly ten years now, a bi-yearly journey to honor his ancestors, and spill blood for them, and pray to their spirits for guidance and strength. It had only just become a shared event, when he decided that Charles should come to visit, as well. This was only the second time around that Charles had accompanied him, but the comfort of it, and the natural trust that he had in the other man had kept things from feeling isolated to him. That truly, this was a celebration, not a man mourning the loss of heritage.
Dusk had started to creep along the edges of the sky once they made it to the barrows. The ride on his draft horse had been a rough one, but Teja had no desire to complain - he'd been through far worse than a couple saddle sores and riding fatigue. But the site of the mounds was a welcome one, and with a gentle tug to his reigns, he stopped his mount and slipped off, stifling a groan and sigh of relief. His aching legs and sore back complained enough for him, without his help.
"Looks like we came just in time," Teja said to Charles, as he grabbed the pack from the back of his horse, pulling it down and shouldering it as he walked into the rows of the timeless cemetary. "They are said to be most active just before the last bit of sunlight."
He had walked through this area hundreds of times before, and was always strangely drawn to one particular barrow. It was not the largest, nor the most signifcant looking one of the group. In fact, if one were not paying attention, they would almost certainly miss it. He settled on one knee beside it, and patted the slightly upraised ground. "I can't be sure if this is him, but my gut feeling is that under this mound of dirt lies the ashes of one of the first men who bore the name of Krigtann," Teja murmured over his shoulder to Charles. "Do you have the sacramental wine, sir?"
Teja had done extensive research throughout his life, about his ancestry and surname. Ten years of his days off had led him to frequent bars and storytellers on the northern coast of Norway, where he spent countless hours listening to the tales of locals and historians, to the unchanged spoken lore and history of the brave warriors who had sailed with the hero, Sigurd, in search of the treasures of Odin.
One warrior who bore the fierce name of Thurden had traveled with Sigurd, in times far before the great man had slain Fafnir. This Thurden had earned the title of Krigtann, due to his ferocity in battle. He'd literally bite into the throats of his enemies and rip their necks straight open, if provoked. Some called Thurden Krigtann one of the first Berserker warriors. The stories told that after he had become too battle-weary to fight and sail, he retired in the now-ruined settlement of Högfjellskogen. At his death, he was given a mound burial in the barrows nearby, and his eldest son inherited his land and wealth.
Teja had dug deeper, to find the ancient ruins of Högfjellskogen, but came to an impasse when all the locals could tell him was that it was one of four now-abandoned towns that all buried in the same barrow site. However, they provided the next best thing - a map to the barrow site itself. While he would never be able to fully tell which ruins were those of Thurden's village, nor would he know which barrow was his ancestor's, he found his place of pilgrimage, and was content in finding even that.
He'd been coming to the ruins for nearly ten years now, a bi-yearly journey to honor his ancestors, and spill blood for them, and pray to their spirits for guidance and strength. It had only just become a shared event, when he decided that Charles should come to visit, as well. This was only the second time around that Charles had accompanied him, but the comfort of it, and the natural trust that he had in the other man had kept things from feeling isolated to him. That truly, this was a celebration, not a man mourning the loss of heritage.
Dusk had started to creep along the edges of the sky once they made it to the barrows. The ride on his draft horse had been a rough one, but Teja had no desire to complain - he'd been through far worse than a couple saddle sores and riding fatigue. But the site of the mounds was a welcome one, and with a gentle tug to his reigns, he stopped his mount and slipped off, stifling a groan and sigh of relief. His aching legs and sore back complained enough for him, without his help.
"Looks like we came just in time," Teja said to Charles, as he grabbed the pack from the back of his horse, pulling it down and shouldering it as he walked into the rows of the timeless cemetary. "They are said to be most active just before the last bit of sunlight."
He had walked through this area hundreds of times before, and was always strangely drawn to one particular barrow. It was not the largest, nor the most signifcant looking one of the group. In fact, if one were not paying attention, they would almost certainly miss it. He settled on one knee beside it, and patted the slightly upraised ground. "I can't be sure if this is him, but my gut feeling is that under this mound of dirt lies the ashes of one of the first men who bore the name of Krigtann," Teja murmured over his shoulder to Charles. "Do you have the sacramental wine, sir?"