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Tæün: Reflections (Updated 11-1-04)
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<blockquote data-quote="Hjorimir" data-source="post: 1419699" data-attributes="member: 5745"><p>Time for a short update.</p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p><strong>4 – Ask the Sheep</strong></p><p></p><p></p><p>A quick note on Fjoti pronunciation: Ð and Þ (or ð and þ as the case may be) are pronounced with a hard ‘th’ as in word the. The letter j is spoken as the letter y and f is spoken as v (the proper pronunciation for Fjoti is ‘Vee-yo-tea’ and not as ‘F-joe-tea’).</p><p></p><p>So, with that…</p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p><strong>Concerning Fjoti</strong></p><p>Inhabiting the Hiemalmark, are the Fjoti, an old people with a long, bloody history of leaving destruction in their wake. The region is comprised of cold forests and icy fjords along the northeastern coast of Emoria before it finally turns east to form an isthmus with the distant continent of Darlundia. </p><p></p><p>Life in the hard lands of the north bred a hard people. Considering them little more than cruel savages, the other peoples of Emoria value the Fjoti nonetheless; their presence in the Hiemalmark providing a convenient defensive barrier against any invading Vastil hordes that attempt to cross the land bridge from Darlundia during the Low and High Burnings every few years.</p><p></p><p>In time, missionary Vascinian friars, whom are called prestrs in the tongue of the north, came to the Hiemalmark and worked to convert the fierce Fjoti from their neopagan beliefs of warring goðar (gods) while giving them the benefit of an enlightenment that only Æhüthianism could provide. </p><p></p><p>The prestrs taught of peace and joy and the value of life (even if that life belonged to another). These were neoteric concepts to the brutish Fjoti who had long consigned themselves to the forces of urðr and vyrd (doom and fate). Urðr, especially, had been a fundamental part of life in the north where it was taught to accept one’s destiny without fear, a belief the visiting friars completely failed to see as being anything other than tragically fatalistic.</p><p></p><p>Along with the proselytization of Æhüthianism, the prestrs advanced the Fjoti’s skill in working with stone and steel and with letters and numbers. This heralded a new era for the northerners who had been living in simple wooden longhouses at the time. The oral traditions that they had relied upon were recorded in the written word for the first time in history. In doing so, the itinerant clerics were able to better understand the fierce warrior people and the way they thought.</p><p></p><p>But, regardless of all the wondrous gifts the prestrs brought, Æhüthianism only ever managed to partially integrate itself into the Fjoti culture. Its presence has created a schism in their people; the fróðar (wise or enlightened) who built cities within walls of stone, worked steel, and learned the written tongue (rudimentary as it was) and the þjóði (the people or folk) who still lived deep in the wild forests and strictly adhered to the old ways while spurning the new teaching. Even the fróðar, however, continued to honor the older traditions and simply started to worship Æhü right alongside the goðar who had protected them for ages.</p><p></p><p></p><p>***</p><p></p><p></p><p><strong>Outside Edelhorn, The Hiemalmark</strong></p><p>The fjölkunnigr, Álfarr, had patiently waited nine days outside the hut along with his lamb. While most men would scoff at the idea of such a long tenure, he had endured learning the secrets his people call <em>rúnar</em>, which took years. He was a patient man, so he sat and he waited and he watched.</p><p></p><p>The völva, Hulda, who lived within the hut, was completely happy to ignore the magician whom she considered something of a witless, mongrel outcast being something between both fróðr and þjóð. Though people were often wary of such dangerous men and the power they wielded, she was unworried. As far as she was concerned, if he didn’t like it, he could complain to the Alföðr or maybe appeal to Véorr. So she left him sitting by the door to freeze.</p><p></p><p>But he and the sheep were starting to smell and with no rain in the foreseeable future things stood to get worse. Hulda found the situation becoming completely unacceptable and decided to take action.</p><p></p><p>“Leave me,” she dictated, as she lorded over him with the afternoon sun at her back transforming her into a sparkling silhouette.</p><p></p><p>Squinting up at the völva, he answered, “No.”</p><p></p><p>“I could summon the huscarls,” she threatened while pointing to the great hall of the jarl she served. “At my word they would descend upon you and leak the sword dew of your body.”</p><p></p><p>“I have summonings of my own,” he challenged. “Spare your men, Hulda.”</p><p></p><p>A bit surprised by his daring, she asked, “Who are you?”</p><p></p><p>“Men call me Álfarr, my master has called me maggot.”</p><p></p><p>“How appropriate and who is…” she started.</p><p></p><p>Already knowing her next question, he interrupted her mid-sentence. “The Dwarf.” His words caused the völva to catch her breath.</p><p></p><p>The Dwarf was in reference to Yngvi, an enigmatic and dangerous mage who was known to tamper in the calling of <em>önd</em>**. His reputation, which was far spread beyond the confines of the Hiemalmark, placed him as one of the preeminent conjurers in Emoria. There was more legend than fact known about Yngvi and Hulda knew this.</p><p></p><p>“Are there no prestrs within the Edelhorn to tend to whatever ills you?” she sighed, her face showing defeat. “Why must I be bothered with such things?”</p><p></p><p>“I am not ill,” Álfarr answered. “I have had dreyma* and I require your Sight.”</p><p></p><p>“You lie, why would any goð visit the likes of you?”</p><p></p><p>“Tell me,” he shrugged. “You have the white dots under your nails,” he said, looking at her hands. Such marks indicated the ability to see the urðr and vyrd; Hulda was an oracle.</p><p></p><p>Hulda returned inside and closed her door, once again leaving Álfarr to wait outside in the cold, while she considered the magician’s request for the evening. She knew she had to proceed carefully. If the upstart wizard was on some errand for Yngvi, it could prove troublesome for her not to submit to his request.</p><p></p><p>Early the next morning she exited, woke Álfarr with a rather firm kick to the chest, and said, “We will ask the sheep.” The magician had shown hubris by bringing a sacrifice with him as he was assuming she would concede and perform the ritual. This only fueled the disdain she had for him all the more.</p><p></p><p>Álfarr nodded, climbed to his feet, passed her a handful of gold coins and the leash of the lamb.</p><p></p><p>Hulda led the sheep over to a <em>hörgr</em> (an alter comprised of stacked stones) and started the <em>blóð</em> (blessing). Her hands held a horn, high above her head, as she called out to the goðar. Thrice she blew the blóð-horn, hallowing the ground.</p><p></p><p><em>“Hallinskíði, bright holder of the horn, hear our worthy words!”</em></p><p><em>“Véorr, mighty warder of the garðs, guard this stead for holy works!”</em></p><p><em>“Hail Oski, The Alföðr, for your wisdom and forethought in guiding us forward through the year to come and for the knowledge you have shared with us. Hail Oski!”</em></p><p><em>”Hail to Árguð for the bountiful harvest you have brought to us. Hail Árguð!”</em></p><p><em>”Hail to Hörn for the love and life we hold to our hearts. Hail Hörn!”</em></p><p><em>”Hail to all the Ases and Wanes for the mighty work that you do. Hail the Ases and Wanes!”</em></p><p><em>”And Hail to our Ancestors and Wights of the land. Hail to the All who have crossed Bilröst before. Hail the Ancestors!”</em></p><p></p><p>With a long, hooked knife, she skillfully slaughtered the lamb, capturing its blood within an earthen bowl. She then dipped a dark, wooden wand into the bowl and stirred its contents as she spoke in tongues. Turning to Álfarr, she whipped the wand, sprinkling droplets of blood upon him before pouring the remaining liquid upon the altar. With the blóð now completed, she delved into the spilled entrails of the carcass to see the urðr and vyrd of the magician.</p><p></p><p>The priestess smirked and pronounced, “Your doom lies within shadow, maggot.” The words sounding victorious as she delivered them.</p><p></p><p>Álfarr, understandably concerned, pressed for more, “Is that all you can tell me, woman?” His words coming harder than he intended his face softened.</p><p></p><p>“Have a care, fjölkunnigr, lest I take offense and put the mark of níðingr*** upon you!” she spat. “But, yes, there is more.” </p><p></p><p>Letting her spirit flow free, she swayed slowly, seeking the truth of his destiny with the spirits beyond the veil. Her eyes snapped open, each now a differing color, as a chorus of voices issued forth, speaking in perfect unison. “Within the lands of the eventide hunt out the snow of the nest. Therein spawns the path unto the echoes of being.”</p><p></p><p>Álfarr rolled the words in his head, attempting to decipher the meaning before he gave Hulda a final nod.</p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p>* Dreyma are visions sent by the goðar. Literally, it translates as ‘it dreamt me.’</p><p></p><p>** Önd are powerful spirits of Fjoti belief. The term can be thought to refer to any of a variety of nasty outsiders.</p><p></p><p>*** A níðingr is one without out honor. To be marked as such would make him an anathema unto all of the Fjoti who could lawfully attack him without provocation. Such punishments are rare and usually reserved for the traitorous, thieves, or those living in such a manner to be found distasteful.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Hjorimir, post: 1419699, member: 5745"] Time for a short update. [b]4 – Ask the Sheep[/b] A quick note on Fjoti pronunciation: Ð and Þ (or ð and þ as the case may be) are pronounced with a hard ‘th’ as in word the. The letter j is spoken as the letter y and f is spoken as v (the proper pronunciation for Fjoti is ‘Vee-yo-tea’ and not as ‘F-joe-tea’). So, with that… [b]Concerning Fjoti[/b] Inhabiting the Hiemalmark, are the Fjoti, an old people with a long, bloody history of leaving destruction in their wake. The region is comprised of cold forests and icy fjords along the northeastern coast of Emoria before it finally turns east to form an isthmus with the distant continent of Darlundia. Life in the hard lands of the north bred a hard people. Considering them little more than cruel savages, the other peoples of Emoria value the Fjoti nonetheless; their presence in the Hiemalmark providing a convenient defensive barrier against any invading Vastil hordes that attempt to cross the land bridge from Darlundia during the Low and High Burnings every few years. In time, missionary Vascinian friars, whom are called prestrs in the tongue of the north, came to the Hiemalmark and worked to convert the fierce Fjoti from their neopagan beliefs of warring goðar (gods) while giving them the benefit of an enlightenment that only Æhüthianism could provide. The prestrs taught of peace and joy and the value of life (even if that life belonged to another). These were neoteric concepts to the brutish Fjoti who had long consigned themselves to the forces of urðr and vyrd (doom and fate). Urðr, especially, had been a fundamental part of life in the north where it was taught to accept one’s destiny without fear, a belief the visiting friars completely failed to see as being anything other than tragically fatalistic. Along with the proselytization of Æhüthianism, the prestrs advanced the Fjoti’s skill in working with stone and steel and with letters and numbers. This heralded a new era for the northerners who had been living in simple wooden longhouses at the time. The oral traditions that they had relied upon were recorded in the written word for the first time in history. In doing so, the itinerant clerics were able to better understand the fierce warrior people and the way they thought. But, regardless of all the wondrous gifts the prestrs brought, Æhüthianism only ever managed to partially integrate itself into the Fjoti culture. Its presence has created a schism in their people; the fróðar (wise or enlightened) who built cities within walls of stone, worked steel, and learned the written tongue (rudimentary as it was) and the þjóði (the people or folk) who still lived deep in the wild forests and strictly adhered to the old ways while spurning the new teaching. Even the fróðar, however, continued to honor the older traditions and simply started to worship Æhü right alongside the goðar who had protected them for ages. *** [b]Outside Edelhorn, The Hiemalmark[/b] The fjölkunnigr, Álfarr, had patiently waited nine days outside the hut along with his lamb. While most men would scoff at the idea of such a long tenure, he had endured learning the secrets his people call [i]rúnar[/i], which took years. He was a patient man, so he sat and he waited and he watched. The völva, Hulda, who lived within the hut, was completely happy to ignore the magician whom she considered something of a witless, mongrel outcast being something between both fróðr and þjóð. Though people were often wary of such dangerous men and the power they wielded, she was unworried. As far as she was concerned, if he didn’t like it, he could complain to the Alföðr or maybe appeal to Véorr. So she left him sitting by the door to freeze. But he and the sheep were starting to smell and with no rain in the foreseeable future things stood to get worse. Hulda found the situation becoming completely unacceptable and decided to take action. “Leave me,” she dictated, as she lorded over him with the afternoon sun at her back transforming her into a sparkling silhouette. Squinting up at the völva, he answered, “No.” “I could summon the huscarls,” she threatened while pointing to the great hall of the jarl she served. “At my word they would descend upon you and leak the sword dew of your body.” “I have summonings of my own,” he challenged. “Spare your men, Hulda.” A bit surprised by his daring, she asked, “Who are you?” “Men call me Álfarr, my master has called me maggot.” “How appropriate and who is…” she started. Already knowing her next question, he interrupted her mid-sentence. “The Dwarf.” His words caused the völva to catch her breath. The Dwarf was in reference to Yngvi, an enigmatic and dangerous mage who was known to tamper in the calling of [i]önd[/i]**. His reputation, which was far spread beyond the confines of the Hiemalmark, placed him as one of the preeminent conjurers in Emoria. There was more legend than fact known about Yngvi and Hulda knew this. “Are there no prestrs within the Edelhorn to tend to whatever ills you?” she sighed, her face showing defeat. “Why must I be bothered with such things?” “I am not ill,” Álfarr answered. “I have had dreyma* and I require your Sight.” “You lie, why would any goð visit the likes of you?” “Tell me,” he shrugged. “You have the white dots under your nails,” he said, looking at her hands. Such marks indicated the ability to see the urðr and vyrd; Hulda was an oracle. Hulda returned inside and closed her door, once again leaving Álfarr to wait outside in the cold, while she considered the magician’s request for the evening. She knew she had to proceed carefully. If the upstart wizard was on some errand for Yngvi, it could prove troublesome for her not to submit to his request. Early the next morning she exited, woke Álfarr with a rather firm kick to the chest, and said, “We will ask the sheep.” The magician had shown hubris by bringing a sacrifice with him as he was assuming she would concede and perform the ritual. This only fueled the disdain she had for him all the more. Álfarr nodded, climbed to his feet, passed her a handful of gold coins and the leash of the lamb. Hulda led the sheep over to a [i]hörgr[/i] (an alter comprised of stacked stones) and started the [i]blóð[/i] (blessing). Her hands held a horn, high above her head, as she called out to the goðar. Thrice she blew the blóð-horn, hallowing the ground. [i]“Hallinskíði, bright holder of the horn, hear our worthy words!” “Véorr, mighty warder of the garðs, guard this stead for holy works!” “Hail Oski, The Alföðr, for your wisdom and forethought in guiding us forward through the year to come and for the knowledge you have shared with us. Hail Oski!” ”Hail to Árguð for the bountiful harvest you have brought to us. Hail Árguð!” ”Hail to Hörn for the love and life we hold to our hearts. Hail Hörn!” ”Hail to all the Ases and Wanes for the mighty work that you do. Hail the Ases and Wanes!” ”And Hail to our Ancestors and Wights of the land. Hail to the All who have crossed Bilröst before. Hail the Ancestors!”[/i] With a long, hooked knife, she skillfully slaughtered the lamb, capturing its blood within an earthen bowl. She then dipped a dark, wooden wand into the bowl and stirred its contents as she spoke in tongues. Turning to Álfarr, she whipped the wand, sprinkling droplets of blood upon him before pouring the remaining liquid upon the altar. With the blóð now completed, she delved into the spilled entrails of the carcass to see the urðr and vyrd of the magician. The priestess smirked and pronounced, “Your doom lies within shadow, maggot.” The words sounding victorious as she delivered them. Álfarr, understandably concerned, pressed for more, “Is that all you can tell me, woman?” His words coming harder than he intended his face softened. “Have a care, fjölkunnigr, lest I take offense and put the mark of níðingr*** upon you!” she spat. “But, yes, there is more.” Letting her spirit flow free, she swayed slowly, seeking the truth of his destiny with the spirits beyond the veil. Her eyes snapped open, each now a differing color, as a chorus of voices issued forth, speaking in perfect unison. “Within the lands of the eventide hunt out the snow of the nest. Therein spawns the path unto the echoes of being.” Álfarr rolled the words in his head, attempting to decipher the meaning before he gave Hulda a final nod. * Dreyma are visions sent by the goðar. Literally, it translates as ‘it dreamt me.’ ** Önd are powerful spirits of Fjoti belief. The term can be thought to refer to any of a variety of nasty outsiders. *** A níðingr is one without out honor. To be marked as such would make him an anathema unto all of the Fjoti who could lawfully attack him without provocation. Such punishments are rare and usually reserved for the traitorous, thieves, or those living in such a manner to be found distasteful. [/QUOTE]
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