MacLismore Cycle- Part One

   

     The fields surrounding the keep of Gaer’Lismore were usually empty, save for the herds of highland cattle and sheep. But today, a small city of tents and stalls had sprung up as the clans under the Great Clan MacLismore gathered for the Comdhail and the following games. Caelach, a man of short stature and auburn hair wandered through the passages between the assembled pavilions. 

     By his side, a new addition to the clan; Bjorn Thal Velson, a replanted Skaldi from the north lands. Bjorn was much taller than Caelach, standing at least two heads greater. His fair hair  and beard danced in the breeze coming off of Loch Lismore. His chest was broad and his arms thick. 

The pair found their way to the central market, where clansmen peddled their wears and traded goods. Young children dashed in and out of the bustle of their elders, laughing, screaming and shouting. Caelach’s face darkened and he searched for the closest ale cask and filled his horn. He could feel Bjorn’s steel eyes watching him as he drained the horn and replenished it. The Skaldi moved in, brushing Caelach aside as he filled his own horn.

     “You drink very much,” grunted the northman. Caelach wiped a dribble of ale from his chin with his sleeve. He gave the northman a sideways grin. Bjorn had yet to fully grasp the Caerbic language, and it still made Caelach smile.

     “That is a deep praise coming from you.”

     “As I say in the north, you is éngi tvagallmák,” laughed Bjorn.

     “What does that mean?” chuckled Caelach. Bjorn’s face screwed up trying to come up with the Caerbic words.

     “Not weak gut,” he hammered out. Caelach raised his horn.

     “Kalg!” exclaimed the northman. They both pointed their horns to the sky and drained them of ale. Bjorn clapped Caelach on the shoulder.

     “Methinks you have found eyes,” whispered the northman.

     “Huh?” blinked Caelach. Bjorn jerked his blonde head towards a nearby stall. Caelach peered through the throng towards the direction indicated. His eyes fell upon a woman with hair like the feathers of a raven, and eyes of a summer oak. Their eyes met for a moment before her face turned red and she looked back down at the bolts of cloth she was inspecting. He recognized her instantly. She was Flora MacAmbraise-Evinyn. Bjorn looked down at Caelach.

     “She know you?” he questioned.

     “Hmm?” murmered Caelach turning his head, but his eyes were transfixed on Flora.

     “She know you?” repeated the northman.

     “Oh, yes. I’ll be right back,” said Caelach taking a swig before making his way towards the raven maiden.

     Caelach casually slid up next to Flora. Her emerald eyes shot towards him and blush filled her cheeks and she kept inspecting the folds of plaid. 

     “Hello Flora,” he smiled. Her face burned.

     “Hello Caelach…” she muttered. Caelach could feel the grin of the weaver. He looked at the greying woman. She beamed, winked, and stepped out from behind the stall, leaving the pair to themselves. Flora wore a simple blouse and bodice with a blue and purple tartan skirt. 

     “You look very beautiful this day,” said Caelach. Flora twirled a loose jet strand around her finger and bit her lip.

     “Thank you,” she grinned meekly.

     “Are you going to compete in the games?” she asked.

     “Of course!” boasted Caelach. He leaned close. “I plan to fight for your hand in the melee.” She gave him a weak smile and rubbed her neck.

     “Just be careful…” she murmured.

     “I always am!” he proclaimed. She allowed him a small chuckle and turned back to the fabrics.

     “They are so beautiful! Elfyn is so talented,” praised Flora.

     “Thank you lassie.” The greying weaver had returned.

     “What would you like for this one?” asked Flora, holding up a red and purple tartan. 

     “Hmmm, that one would be four boars.” Flora’s face fell.

     “Oh, I don’t think I could afford that…” she lamented. 

     “Here.” Caelach reached into the folds of his kilt and withdrew five golden coins with a relief of a boar etched into once side and handed them to the weaver. Elfyn counted the coins and made to give one back, but Caelach refused.

     “Keep it,” he grinned. The weaver’s face lit up.

     “Much appreciated!” she cried before lifting the bolt of cloth and handing it to Flora.

     “Here you go lass, you better make something beautiful with that!” she winked.

     “Caelach! How could I ever thank you!” she cooed. Caelach grinned, leaned forward and brushed his lips against hers. 

     “Like so,” he said, giving her a wry smile.

Creation Myth of Heimurinn (Complete)

Here is the Creation Myth of the world called, "Madstrag" or "Duintraile" depending on who you ask.
But for simplicity, we will refer to it as "Heimurinn". The differing names are those given to the Companions by the Skaldar and Caerduine respectively.

*****

At the beginning of time, there was nothing. The Void, as the sages call it, was what existed; a great expanse of darkness. Despite the darkness of the Void, it was not empty. Creatures of unknown shape and figured dwelled here. This period of darkness continued for a millennium. The creatures of darkness wallowed in the grime and filth of the void.

This is when newcomers appeared in the Void, the Eight Companions. With them, they brought light. The creatures of darkness hated the light and recoiled from it.

Now like the world, the Eight are known by different names.

The leader was called Worgi -or- Wathain. He was the eldest of the group, and bore a blond beard.
The second was Valling -or- Malla. She was so beautiful that she glowed with radiant light.
The third is named Velfur -or- Spairod. These three were sibilings, though it is unknown who begat them.

Then there was Riggsi -or- Farthach. He was the biggest of the Eight, and stood twice as tall.
There is Fryigg or Dorcha, her hair was as black as the Void itself.

There are the twins, Kjallisi -or- Oghear and Bjarndur -or- Faohier. These two brought two of the most powerful things into the world, Ice and Fire.

The last of the Eight was, Laturan -or- Baseag. He was queer. Quiet and sneaky, he loved the darkness.

So the Void Creatures hated the Eight. They cursed the light and fled from it. One of the creatures, whose name has been long forgotten decided to try and kill the Eight. He gathered and army and plotted to wipe light form the Void forever.

Not there was one being who like the light and did not like the idea of it being snuffed from existance. His name was Madur -or- Duin. He told the eight of of the Forgotten One's plan. The eight began to argue. Worgi, Valling, and Velfur, trusted Madur; but Kjallisi, Bjarndur and Laturan didn't. Riggsi and Fyrigg wanted nothing to do with the conflict.

The Forgotten One, seeing the divide decided to corrupt the Eight. He poisoned them with a dark spell. Those who trusted Madur were able to fend off the poison, but those who didn't, succumbed to the pestilence and joined the Forgotten One.

Thus the battle began. Worgi, Valling, and Velfur were fallen upon by the hordes of darkness. Surrounded on all sides, the three fought valiantly, but it appeared that all was lost. Untill Worgi pushed his way through to the Forgotten One.

The Forgotten One raised his axe and mace and charged at Worgi. There in the middle of the field they clashed. The Forgotten One cleaved Worgi's shield in twain, and shattered his sword. Worgi stumbled backwards, feeling for a weapon. The Forgotten One Raised his weapons to the sky in victory and made to strike Worgi down. But luckilly Worgi's hand found the shaft of a spear and jabbed it into the Forgotten Ones throat. He fell and disappeared.

Upon their leader's death the armies of darkness fell away in retreat.

The three who had been poisoned returened to their natural state and the day was theirs. But battle is not with out price. Madur had fallen during the battle. The Eight gave him a funeral, which all funerals of man mimic.

Creation Myth, Part I.

Here is the Creation Myth of the world called, "Madstrag" or "Duintraile" depending on who you ask. But for simplicity, we will refer to it as "Heimurinn"

At the beginning of time, there was nothing. The Void, as the sages call it, was what existed; a great expanse of darkness. Despite the darkness of the Void, it was not empty. Creatures of unknown shape and figured dwelled here. This period of darkness continued for a millennium. The creatures of darkness wallowed in the grime and filth of the void.

This is when newcomers appeared in the Void, the Eight Companions. With them, they brought light. The creatures of darkness hated the light and recoiled from it.

Now like the world, the Eight are known by different names.

The leader was called Worgi -or- Wathain. He was the eldest of the group, and bore a blond beard.
The second was Valling -or- Malla. She was so beautiful that she glowed with radiant light.
The third is named Velfur -or- Spairod. These three were sibilings, though it is unknown who begat them.
Then there was Riggsi -or- Farthach. He was the biggest of the Eight, and stood twice as tall.
There is Fryigg or Dorcha, her hair was as black as the Void itself.
There are the twins, Kjallisi -or- Oghear and Bjarndur -or- Faohier. These two brought two of the most powerful things into the world, Ice and Fire.
The last of the Eight was, Laturan -or- Baseag. He was queer. Quiet and sneaky, he loved the darkness.

So the Void Creatures hated the Eight. They cursed the light and fled from it. One of the creatures, whose name has been long forgotten decided to try and kill the Eight. He gathered and army and plotted to wipe light form the Void forever.

Not there was one being who like the light and did not like the idea of it being snuffed from existance. His name was Madur -or- Duin. He told the eight of of the Forgotten One's plan. The eight began to argue. Worgi, Valling, and Velfur, trusted Madur; but Kjallisi, Bjarndur and Laturan didn't. Riggsi and Fyrigg wanted nothing to do with the conflict.

The Forgotten One, seeing the divide decided to corrupt the Eight. He poisoned them with a dark spell. Those who trusted Madur were able to fend off the poison, but those who didn't, succumbed to the pestilence and joined the Forgotten One.

The Lay of Frithgar and the Snow Maid; Part II. Frithgar & Fridjolti the Giant

From the Heimurinn Cycle

The Lay of Frithgar and the Snow Maid

Part II. Frithgar & Fridjolti the Giant

Thus Frithgar left his home and aett behind.

This, of course, was a grave misfortune for Blasith.

The gothi he planned to slay had disappeared,

So he asked all those he could find,

Where the good gothi had ran off to.

A young boy gave him the answer he sought.

“He set off along the north road,

He left in the night, I saw him with my own two eyes!”

Furious, Blaisth set off along the same trail as Frithgar.

The whole while planing the best way to slay his foe and claim his lands.

Frithgar was unaware,

Of Blasith’s treachery and schemes.

He traveled north,

Until he came upon a cavern,

Who’s yard was strewn with bones.

Before he could hurry past,

A booming voice called out to him,

“Lo! Who approaches?

Who dares to cross the threshold of Fridjolti,

The great troll of Midgard!”

Thinking quickly Frithgar shouted his answer.

“It is I, Frithgar!

I am but a simple traveler making for the north!

I did not mean to intrude upon your lovely home,

And certainly meant no offense by it!”

There was laughter,

And then the earth trembling footsteps of a massive beast.

The giant strode out of his cave.

Frithgar could see that the etinn stood as tall as ten men

And was more hideous than a rotting corpse.

Frithgar sought concealment from the creature,

Among some boulders.

He could hear the giant stomping around.

“Where are you treeling? I can smell you, but I can not see you!

Or are you a craven!? The troll bellowed a mighty laugh.

No man can resist the challenge of cowardice

So Frithgar climbed atop a boulder and drew Steelclaw

“Lo! Here I be, abomination!

I Frithgar, be no coward or craven!

And I shall slay you beast!”

The giant looked at Frithgar

And began to laugh.

He laughed so hard,

He fell to the ground. 

It was then that Frithgar saw his opportunity.

He fell upon the troll with a mighty roar

Steelclaw sang, 

As it bit into the giant’s hide

Howling, Fridjolti the Trol swung wildly

Trying to drive Frithgar into the ground.

Now, giants may be massive,

Towering over humans and gods alike

But they are stupid and brutish

And not very thoughtful 

And most of all… Giants are slow

Frithgar danced away from the giant’s blows

And back among the safety of the boulders.

The troll cursed him and plodded around the yard

Crunching the litter of bones.

The troll yelled in frustration.

Frithgar snuck up the hill,

And stood atop the mouth of the giants cave.

He threw a stone,

And hit the giant in the side of his ogreish head.

The troll spun and shouted.

“Ahh!!! Stealthy this one is!

Light on your feet! 

Yes, this will be a challenge!

But you should not worry treeling!

I will make a meal of you anyways!”

Frithgar called back,

“Oh my mighty foe,

I’m afraid that your desire is for naught!

See, I shall make a terrible meal!”

He chuckled.

There was a roar,

And the giant leapt towards Frithgar

Frithgar fell upon the ogre again.

And leapt into the beasts mouth

And buried his sword in the roof of the giants maw.

Taking care to not slip down the creature’s throat,

Frithgar climbed atop the ogres bulbous nose.

He said, “Hullo!

I warned you, Fridjolti the Dead!

I would be a awful snack!”

The Lay of Frithgar and the Snow Maid; Part I. Prologue & Frithgar's Dream

From the Heimurinn Cycle

The Lay of Frithgar and the Snow Maid

Part I. Prologue & Frithgar's Dream

Here begins the tale of Frithgar Cold-Heart,

Son of Ivrik Arnbjornson,

Gothi of the Haekkadings, ruler of the mead-hall, Lindsulla

Widower of Ren and Rihildr

Slayer of Andgith Silver-Tongue and Rurik Unnurson

Frithgar sired no sons or daughters,

And his brothers and sisters had gone forth,

To sit among the gods

To feast with their ancestors,

In their great halls.

He was granted his name by his aett.

Named as such due to his frozen core.

As being left alone and weary,

Drives a man to hate the world.

And wish for death.

Hear this, the world is full of wicked men.

Who seek to gain much

With no effort

Or with sly words or tricks

And this brings us to Blasith the Trickster.

Blasith was a queer man.

Round and plump,

With breasts larger than the most buxom of maidens.

In fact, many have said that he was not actually a man at all

But a woman who could grow a beard.

No one ever saw Blasith bathe,

Nor change tunics 

Nor trim his shaggy beard.

And every small child knows,

Never trust a man who does not keep a neat set of bristles.

Now Blasith was welcomed by Frithgar

Into Lindsulla, the mead-hall

He was given a place by the fire and a hot meal,

And Frithgar shared his bed 

As is expected of any host.

While he sat next to the fire 

And ate his host’s food,

Blasith learned of Firthgar’s troubles and loneliness

He listened and played sympathetic

To the ails of his host.

It is known to all people of Midgard,

That should a gothi be slain,

He or she who does the slaying

May take the seat of the fallen

Assuming the challenger as the favor of the aett.

This task,

Blasith set out to do.

So he went to all the Haekkadings,

And began to sow the seeds

Of mistrust and doubt

Once the time was right

Blasith was to appear at Lindsulla,

Challenge Frithgar to single combat,

Slay the gothi 

And rule of the Haekkadings would be his.

While Blasith talked among the people,

Spredding falsehoods

And embodying, Loki the Frost Giant,

Frithgar had other things to think about

In fact, many believe, Blasith was actually the Trickster God in disguise.

Now Frithgar was beset by a dream.

This dream, was of great distress to Frithgar

And he could not discard what he had seen,

And one night he made a journey,

To speak to the Seer.

Hear that when a man or woman

Is distressed or has a question for the gods,

They must make a pilgrimage into the mountains

And there, they will the speak to the Seer.

The Seer had asked Firthgar, what he had seen while he slumbered.

He said, “I have seen a spring, cloaked with mist,

I have felt it’s warmth and smelt it’s pines

And heard the rapids it feeds 

And seen the light dancing across it’s bed

And seen the woman bathing in the pure waters.”

“Her hair was the color of wind-bitten cheeks of a Fjallar maid, in the dead of winter.

Her eyes were portals of the sea, during the calm after a great storm

And her skin, shone with the light of Sunna, And was smooth like that of a newborn babe,

And as pale as a freshly fallen snow.

And she sings sweet things in my ears while I sleep!”

Since the Seer knows many things of the world, She knew at once who Frithgar spoke of.

She told him, “I know of the maid, of who you speak.

She lives far away, in the frigid north.

She calls for a husband, as she is sad and alone.

Just as you, Frithgar, feel at Lindsulla.”

Frithgar who still mourned,

For his long dead wives,

Did not know what to make

Of the Seer’s words.

The Seer told him, “You must go questing to find her.”

He replied, “I cannot leave my home.

Winter is fast approaching 

And the north is covered with snow

Up to the eaves 

And lowermost braches!”

The Seer, cast a fist of herbs into the fire

And breathed deep.

“Leaving your home now,

May be the best course, for you to sail.

Renounce your position, and you will find your bathing maid.”

Frithgar asked, “Lo, you are very wise Seer! But how will I find this woman?”

The Seer breathed in the herb-smoke,

She said, “Find the lair of the giant,

Then you must walk along the serpents spine,

And in the dark forest, you will find your singing bath girl.”

Frithgar heeded the Seer’s words,

He left Lindsulla,

Only taking with him,

His cloak, and shield,

And his blade, Steelclaw.

Why "A Song of Ice and Fire" has Ruined Traditional Fantasy for Me

So most people have heard of HBO's "Game of Thrones" series based upon George R.R. Martin's epic fantasy series "A Song of Ice and Fire". ASoIaF is based around the conflict engulfing the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros. It involves Intrigue, Murder, War, Sex, all mixed in with magic and dragons. All this has been combined masterfully into a sweeping epic of vast proportions, spanning hundreds of characters and viewpoints.

Now I was late to the party, discovering a Game of Thrones after the end of Season 2. I began watching the show and was immediately drawn into the world. I fell in love with the gritty realism of the world and how it showed "real" characters each with flaws and desires. Nothing was as it seemed. No one is safe.  In the words of Cersei Lannister, "When you play the game of thrones you win or you die... There is no middle ground."
Now before you say "Oh the books are so much better than the show". I still am in the process of reading the books, I am on "A Feast for Crows". Also, shut up. The show has exposed more people to the world of Westeros than if they had remained books. And if they really wanted to have the full experience I would encourage them to pick up the books and read them.

Being a history buff, the rich mythology and histories that make up the world of Westeros and Essos, gave me immense joy. Having loved reading Tolkien and his wonderful mythos woven for Middle Earth,  discovering the past of Westeros has been wonderful experience.

Now, onto my point. In the world of Westeros, there is NO good or evil (Not including the Others). Only varying shades of grey. Life or Death... Survival. Now I have been playing D&D, and other various RPGs for about six years now and a well known staple of D&D is the Alignment Chart. The Alignment Chart places every character into a strict, well... Alignment. The Character has no ability to act outside of their Alignment under threat of being turned evil, in which causes them to be hunted down and killed. Because Evil is bad.

Now, while reading aSoIaF and other various genres, I have become disenfranchised with the strict alignment system. Being forced to choose "Chaotic Neutral" Alignment, to allow my character to make choices that can be perceived as good or evil depending on the situation.  Having a character that choses based on their experiences and emotions, makes for a more interesting character to play and read. Even an Evil person does not think he/she is doing evil.

Example: I'm playing a character who constantly is seeking the answer to a question posed to him by a colleague who disappeared. The question, "What is the Truth?". My character wants to better the world by finding out the Truth. He genuinely wants to help, though he does so his own way. So I assigned him the example of Chaotic Good.  Now my character is a Wizard of the Divination School. He has spent numerous years of his life staring into the stars asking himself what is out there? He as spent so much time trying to learn "The Truth" from "The Stars" (a mystical force who he believes provides him with his visions and glimpses), that he has forgotten his own age, saying, "Somewhere between 100 and 500." Now this line of thought has driven him to believing in Chaos. He has become in awe of the vastness of the cosmos and the unpredictable surf of reality. Because of this, he thinks in grand terms while still holding on the the smaller things. He just made "friends" with a miserable little urchin on a dismal isle.

Now this character would rather uncover a great mystery, even if it meant the destruction of a civilization. To him this would be even more great of a gift because to him, that brings him one more step closer to the Truth which he plans to use to bring the world into an "Age of Light". Is this wrong in his eyes? No. He thinks he is helping the people of Faerun.

But this is generally considered a Chaotic act and would fall under the Chaotic Neutral Alignment.

In the words of George R.R. Martin,

"I love fantasy and I’ve been reading it all my life, but I’m also very conscious of its flaws. One of the things that drives me crazy is the externalization of evil, where evil comes from the “Dark Lord” who sits in his dark palace with his dark minions who all wear black and are very ugly. I’ve deliberately played with that, where you have the Night’s Watch who even though they are filled with thieves and poachers and rapers are heroic people — but they all wear black. And then there are the Lannisters who are tall and fair but aren’t the nicest people."

This. This is why traditional fantasy has become so dull to me. I know who the BBEG is. He's that asshole sitting up in his spiky black tower or fortress, surrounded by hordes of Orcs, demons and other nasty beasts. That's no fun. It's more interesting to not know who the bad guy is. In our world, there is no BBEG. Just people. People trying to survive.

This is why George R.R. Martin's "A Song of Ice and Fire" has ruined fantasy for me. It has made me wish for something more real. Which has in turn influenced my own writing style.

Remember, Valar Morghulis, "All men must die".

Helund

The town of Helund was nestled into a bend of the fjord. The steep hills and cliffs were blanketed with conifers and hardwood trees. The water in this area of the fjord was placid and almost motionless. A hall stood in the center of town. Built upon a foundation of stone, the walls bowed and gave the appearance of an overturned longship. Surrounding the hall was a handful of longhouses. The houses closest to the hall where walled with wattle and daub, but as they houses got further from the hall they were walled with planks or logs. A dock stretched out into the tranquil water with enough room for about half a dozen longships, nearby along the shore was a half-built ship. Birds flitted about among the rooftops, and dogs chased each other through the buildings. A pen of chickens sat near the forest accompanied by an enclosure of goats.