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Crowns of Ice - A Tale of Blood and Betrayal - Chapter I - The Isle of Heildam
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<blockquote data-quote="Archon Basileus" data-source="post: 7034696" data-attributes="member: 6855545"><p style="text-align: center"><strong><span style="font-size: 18px">CHAPTER 1 – THE ISLE OF HEILDAM</span></strong></p> <p style="text-align: center"><strong></strong></p><p><strong></strong></p><p><strong>‘In halls of blinding light and thundering laughter, a warlock and a man in disguise share fresh mead and play. A shy, innocent game, it begins. The warlock of solemn virtue glides a king through the tawlbwrdd. The disguised, so sly, pushes a peon around, hiding two more in his sleeve. “One eye too short to see” – the sly man says, while the other retorts – “my king will see it for me”</strong></p><p><strong></strong></p><p><strong>Both men drink from cups always full, both man boast, and argue, and laugh. Both men think the tawlbwrdd is theirs. Each move one makes brings the other to wrath, the first thinking of conquest, the other thinking of payback. So far do both go, the one-eyed warlock and his masked companion, that both demand from the bard a song to be played in a lyre. The thing, huge and golden and sturdy, resounds as the laughing musician strikes it with care. Onwards they go, happy, furious, mad. If only they knew! The lyre sings with the bard for an instrument as the tawlbrwrdd plays its hand with men for slaves…’</strong></p><p><strong></strong></p><p><strong>Clear skies and the burning light of spring, a mild day for a mild sea, as if the hands of the gods were joined to give the world a moment’s rest…</strong></p><p><strong></strong></p><p><strong>And yet some men were never in peace.</strong></p><p><strong></strong></p><p><strong>Such cruelty from the gods, to weave the threads of fate in such contrived and painful ways! Young lovers thrown against each other to cause the deepest wounds, wounds no enemy could possibly inflict. Such madness from the gods, yet to test the loyalties of kin without restraint, fathers, daughters, brothers and wives, all for a ransom’s price.</strong></p><p><strong></strong></p><p><strong>Alas, if a single tear is to be shed by humankind’s breath, the skald, the bard will be the one to deliver. The corners of Midgard resound with his voice and bend for his chords, sweetly, softly, under the wind. And so great Bragi sings once more a vibrant memory, a shard of men’s lives. </strong></p><p><strong>Who’s to know who wept the first weep? Was it Bragi in sorrows that made men suffer, or the world in its pains took Bragi to tears?</strong></p><p><strong></strong></p><p><strong>It would be easy to say, yet again, “the gods smiled upon them”. That song does not continue like this, though. The gods compelled the snekkja through mirror-like oceans towards Heildam. And what a meeting point for man and god alike! Asgard’s sorrow would bring solace to feeble mankind for countless days, up until the bitter end, when war would envelop everything, and the little altar of peace would mean nothing, a drop, some lost hope, perhaps.</strong></p><p><strong></strong></p><p><strong>The black stone that paved the island was outwitted here and there by patches of lively grass, adorned by flowers of rare breed. All that was minor sought out protection in such an isolated place. Rabbits and foxes ran around feeding from the fruits of the land, unwilling to disobey the slain god and its eternal truce. How instigating to reach a place yet untouched by strife! The god’s imperative lived on, and even beasts refused to do harm to each other!</strong></p><p><strong></strong></p><p><strong>The bay of black sands receives the travelers with a light-hearted disposition, greeting any wanderer with the sounds of paradise itself. Cold streams cascade from nearby cliffs, cast under shadows of harsh, black walls. No disposition would be violent, and for a moment the legends hold may truths. Maybe the swords won’t come out of their scabbards; maybe arrows will break; or maybe a man’s heart will weep blood before risking a stain upon such beauty.</strong></p><p><strong></strong><em><span style="color: #FF0000"></span></em></p><p><em><span style="color: #FF0000">[Welcome again! You may post preparations, or you may go straight to the meeting, as you prefer!]</span></em></p><p><em><span style="color: #FF0000"></span></em></p><p> @<em><strong><u><a href="http://www.enworld.org/forum/member.php?u=2820" target="_blank">Fenris</a></u></strong></em> @<em><strong><u><a href="http://www.enworld.org/forum/member.php?u=8058" target="_blank">Queenie</a></u></strong></em> @<em><strong><u><a href="http://www.enworld.org/forum/member.php?u=6855204" target="_blank">tglassy</a></u></strong></em> @<em><strong><u><a href="http://www.enworld.org/forum/member.php?u=6855130" target="_blank">Jago</a></u></strong></em></p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Archon Basileus, post: 7034696, member: 6855545"] [CENTER][B][SIZE=5]CHAPTER 1 – THE ISLE OF HEILDAM[/SIZE] [/B][/CENTER] [B] ‘In halls of blinding light and thundering laughter, a warlock and a man in disguise share fresh mead and play. A shy, innocent game, it begins. The warlock of solemn virtue glides a king through the tawlbwrdd. The disguised, so sly, pushes a peon around, hiding two more in his sleeve. “One eye too short to see” – the sly man says, while the other retorts – “my king will see it for me” Both men drink from cups always full, both man boast, and argue, and laugh. Both men think the tawlbwrdd is theirs. Each move one makes brings the other to wrath, the first thinking of conquest, the other thinking of payback. So far do both go, the one-eyed warlock and his masked companion, that both demand from the bard a song to be played in a lyre. The thing, huge and golden and sturdy, resounds as the laughing musician strikes it with care. Onwards they go, happy, furious, mad. If only they knew! The lyre sings with the bard for an instrument as the tawlbrwrdd plays its hand with men for slaves…’ Clear skies and the burning light of spring, a mild day for a mild sea, as if the hands of the gods were joined to give the world a moment’s rest… And yet some men were never in peace. Such cruelty from the gods, to weave the threads of fate in such contrived and painful ways! Young lovers thrown against each other to cause the deepest wounds, wounds no enemy could possibly inflict. Such madness from the gods, yet to test the loyalties of kin without restraint, fathers, daughters, brothers and wives, all for a ransom’s price. Alas, if a single tear is to be shed by humankind’s breath, the skald, the bard will be the one to deliver. The corners of Midgard resound with his voice and bend for his chords, sweetly, softly, under the wind. And so great Bragi sings once more a vibrant memory, a shard of men’s lives. Who’s to know who wept the first weep? Was it Bragi in sorrows that made men suffer, or the world in its pains took Bragi to tears? It would be easy to say, yet again, “the gods smiled upon them”. That song does not continue like this, though. The gods compelled the snekkja through mirror-like oceans towards Heildam. And what a meeting point for man and god alike! Asgard’s sorrow would bring solace to feeble mankind for countless days, up until the bitter end, when war would envelop everything, and the little altar of peace would mean nothing, a drop, some lost hope, perhaps. The black stone that paved the island was outwitted here and there by patches of lively grass, adorned by flowers of rare breed. All that was minor sought out protection in such an isolated place. Rabbits and foxes ran around feeding from the fruits of the land, unwilling to disobey the slain god and its eternal truce. How instigating to reach a place yet untouched by strife! The god’s imperative lived on, and even beasts refused to do harm to each other! The bay of black sands receives the travelers with a light-hearted disposition, greeting any wanderer with the sounds of paradise itself. Cold streams cascade from nearby cliffs, cast under shadows of harsh, black walls. No disposition would be violent, and for a moment the legends hold may truths. Maybe the swords won’t come out of their scabbards; maybe arrows will break; or maybe a man’s heart will weep blood before risking a stain upon such beauty. [/B][I][COLOR=#FF0000] [Welcome again! You may post preparations, or you may go straight to the meeting, as you prefer!] [/COLOR][/I] @[I][B][U][URL="http://www.enworld.org/forum/member.php?u=2820"]Fenris[/URL][/U][/B][/I] @[I][B][U][URL="http://www.enworld.org/forum/member.php?u=8058"]Queenie[/URL][/U][/B][/I] @[I][B][U][URL="http://www.enworld.org/forum/member.php?u=6855204"]tglassy[/URL][/U][/B][/I] @[I][B][U][URL="http://www.enworld.org/forum/member.php?u=6855130"]Jago[/URL][/U][/B][/I] [/QUOTE]
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