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Message: <blockquote data-quote="Archon Basileus" data-source="post: 7050008" data-attributes="member: 6855545">ARVIDPreparations for the trip are solemn and fast. A well-rounded sum is gathered from Einar’s private spoils – or so he says. The pieces might as well be Volund’s. Who would know? And if the legends held any truth, Einar’s men might have fought some watchers during their search. “Such noble effort for a man to deprive himself of his riches in order to save his bride…” – said one of his closest men as he crossed the longhouse after his master’s son. No one was to know of the occurrence, that much was obvious, and as long as they were served – or, even better, drunk - no one would. Mead flowed even more now, and drinking games were stimulated around the halls. The groom was a smart man, for sure.Back at Einar’s private rooms, Arvid meets the Jarl’s son alone. His face holds concern, perhaps even some grudge against the captors, against his dark-haired companion, against the gods. Who knows. He gestures towards a chair on the opposite side of a large table. The food is untouched, the mead, unserved. “Help yourself, Arvid.” – he lowers his face, heavy with chagrin. “Gods know I’ve no appetite.” – his features are a mix of concern and reason.“High up in that hall, above my father’s chair, lies his spear. You’ve seen it, have you not? You have, of course you have. The hall was built around the damn thing.” – Einar’s grey-green eyes are distant and cold as he glances through the window. “I was resolved to use it today, to recover my bride from whoever took her away. Such dishonor to Volund and his house, such dishonor to Grandael, such dishonor… To me. Why not hold that spear as I marched through the enemy’s line? So many years since I last did this. And yet, as soon as I define my fate, all the lines so clear to me… I am reminded of my duty. Here, among my people. By the side of my sick father.” – he breathes deeply, heavily. “Look at you, Arvid. You bear your scars with such honor. They may call you a half-man, and it would be a lie. You’re hole. More than men like me will ever be.” – he falls silent, as if letting this simple truth sink in. His expression is unfathomable, still bathed in the pale light that enters through the open sheets of the window.“What a pair we are, my friend.” – he reaches for the mead, serves two pints and salute the other. After a long sip, he cleans his graying beard with the palm of his hand. “You are stuck to a bruise, and I’m stuck to a chair." @<a href="http://www.enworld.org/forum/member.php?u=8058" target="_blank">Queenie</a>  @<a href="http://www.enworld.org/forum/member.php?u=6855204" target="_blank">tglassy</a> @<a href="http://www.enworld.org/forum/member.php?u=24380" target="_blank">Neurotic</a> [MENTION=2820]Fenris[/MENTION]</blockquote>

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