Archon Basileus
First Post
The Murders of Port Grandael
Brother against brother. Such are our days.
The sadness in the lawgiver’s voice struck true as he ordered young Fritjof restrained. The men dragged him towards his own household, to be kept under vigil, along with his fellow men.
“Such a silly dispute”, the rotund lawgiver said, right before forcing everyone else back to their own duties.
The whole port had stopped to see Fritjof and his brothers being imprisoned. Eight men, eight strong men, lost to madness, along with those they killed at sundown.
“All because of a debt”, one would say, and another would go “Volund had decided already”. A third one would go, “Einar decided, Volund was silent”, and a fourth, “It was not fair”, “It was the law”, “They hated each other”, and so on. Gosta Stormwind, the victim, was killed by the eight brothers as he returned from the north, bringing spoils, a heritage, or something like that. He didn’t even have a chance to leave the longboat. Neither had his men. Burned alive by unnatural fires, thrown by the young men’s own hands. “Witchcraft!”, people yelled, desperately trying to control the flames that threatened to engulf the docks along with the longboat.
A sad turn of events, perhaps. The boy loses his head, learns some magic tricks and decides to use them against his enemies. And soon enough everything is out of control.
Except for one thing.
As the eight boys were dragged down the streets, wet faces and confused glances, they could not understand why they were being imprisoned.
They remembered nothing.
***
Night falls. The eight brothers are sure to be kept under the lawgiver’s estate, a solid stone house not far from Volund’s keep. The docks are silent, scorched by the disaster, thieves and cutthroats running around as usual. In the mead halls, people try to forget this unfortunate day and mention, between their teeth, the names of the victims.
[Arvid has cause to suspect. You begin at any point you choose, as long as it is in the city.]
[MENTION=24380]Neurotic[/MENTION]
Brother against brother. Such are our days.
The sadness in the lawgiver’s voice struck true as he ordered young Fritjof restrained. The men dragged him towards his own household, to be kept under vigil, along with his fellow men.
“Such a silly dispute”, the rotund lawgiver said, right before forcing everyone else back to their own duties.
The whole port had stopped to see Fritjof and his brothers being imprisoned. Eight men, eight strong men, lost to madness, along with those they killed at sundown.
“All because of a debt”, one would say, and another would go “Volund had decided already”. A third one would go, “Einar decided, Volund was silent”, and a fourth, “It was not fair”, “It was the law”, “They hated each other”, and so on. Gosta Stormwind, the victim, was killed by the eight brothers as he returned from the north, bringing spoils, a heritage, or something like that. He didn’t even have a chance to leave the longboat. Neither had his men. Burned alive by unnatural fires, thrown by the young men’s own hands. “Witchcraft!”, people yelled, desperately trying to control the flames that threatened to engulf the docks along with the longboat.
A sad turn of events, perhaps. The boy loses his head, learns some magic tricks and decides to use them against his enemies. And soon enough everything is out of control.
Except for one thing.
As the eight boys were dragged down the streets, wet faces and confused glances, they could not understand why they were being imprisoned.
They remembered nothing.
***
Night falls. The eight brothers are sure to be kept under the lawgiver’s estate, a solid stone house not far from Volund’s keep. The docks are silent, scorched by the disaster, thieves and cutthroats running around as usual. In the mead halls, people try to forget this unfortunate day and mention, between their teeth, the names of the victims.
[Arvid has cause to suspect. You begin at any point you choose, as long as it is in the city.]
[MENTION=24380]Neurotic[/MENTION]