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Viking has a minion!

Tor the Bjarki




Viking
Legacy Name: Vikings


The Glacier Sheeta
Owner: PinkPanther

Age: 13 years, 10 months, 3 weeks

Born: May 8th, 2010

Adopted: 12 years, 2 weeks, 1 day ago

Adopted: March 14th, 2012


Pet Spotlight Winner
November 27th, 2013

Statistics


  • Level: 23
     
  • Strength: 63
     
  • Defense: 61
     
  • Speed: 60
     
  • Health: 59
     
  • HP: 59/59
     
  • Intelligence: 12
     
  • Books Read: 12
  • Food Eaten: 0
  • Job: Weapons Expert


The Promise

Despite the bitter cold, the trees were a vibrant green; most being various types of pine, as the smell of them wafted through the air with fervour. The snow that blanketed much of the land had not settled on the seashore, which Valnore had begun to meticulously comb. Upon reaching this foreign county in the longboat, Valnore could see the many hills and mountains a great distance away; it had not seemed much different. Yet, there was no denying he was not on his native soil, for he quickly noticed strange beasts roaming out in the open.

When the vessel first landed, Valnore was eager to explore the area. He had not been out long, when he came across a particularly puzzling creature; a massive white cat. It was as long as a grown man was tall, much larger any feline he had ever seen. Its face was wider with thick muscular hind legs and could support a child on its back, if one could get passed the fierce set of teeth to attempt such a feat. The animal swiped its paw and snarled at Valnore when he approached it. At the sight of the sharp curved claws head towards him, he retreated. The cat issued a low roar, turned and entered into the forest. Valnore recalled his father’s tales of such monstrous beasts and daemons that would rip out the arm from a warrior or eat him whole; yet all his experience of battle was done in the confines of his home with his father watching over.

When he was not practicing his battle skills, he cleaned the horses’ stalls, fetched water from the well and did all he could to help run his father’s farm alongside the many slaves his family had. Valnore’s father had helped to run his father’s farm as did his father before him, and so it would be for Valnore’s son should he have one. The reasons for this were simple; a boy grew strong arms tending to animals, he learned patience nursing the sick ones back to health, he learned to observe behaviours to ensure that none of the live stock was killed by each other, and he learned humility by cleaning up after them.

Tired of smelling like animal waste and ready for adventure, Valnore was glad his time to join the warriors had finally come. The thrill of the stories he had heard about the glory and riches were enough to make his head swim. He longed to prove himself amongst the warriors. If Valnore died in battle, he awaited the glory of Valhalla where he would join in the Great War at Ragnarök and battle by day and feast at night; it was a good afterlife, so he was told.

The reality of his situation sent a thrill throughout Valnore’s body. He had travelled farther than he ever had, he was on the shore of a new place and he was about to begin his first battle. Combing the beach, Valnore smiled thinking of his upcoming fight and the promise he had made his sister the day his journey began.

* * *

Valnore woke to the sound of the rooster crowing. An arrow could not have flown from a bow as fast as Valnore did from his bed. Today was his twelfth birthday; today was the day he would become a man. Ærdís, his five year old sister, was in the kitchen bouncing up and down with barely contained enthusiasm. “Please, Mother, let me wake him!”

“Child, be still. Do not rouse your brother.”

Ærdís folded her arms, her bottom lip curling under. “But, Mother…” “If you were a more observant and patient child, you would have heard Valnore stir. He approaches. Go greet him, but do not make loud noise!”

The child turned and ran towards Valnore. Jumping into his arms she exclaimed, “Brother! You shall go a-Viking to-day! I wish to go!”

Valnore set his sister back onto the ground. He noticed her thin blond hair flowed freely and now reached her waist. She was growing tall and strong. “The time shall come for you to do great things, my sister. You shall be a great Valkyire one day and help to serve Odin in choosing warriors for the battle at Ragnarök.”

Ærdís frowned. “I was not born to be a girl. Why must I sit and wait, whilst you go to become a man?”

Dropping to his knee and placing both hands on her shoulders, he said, “The plans of the gods are not known to us. Walk your own path; the gods will steer you. Now, come I am hungry.” Valnore entered the kitchen with his sister clinging to his hand. “Is it true of what Ærdís speaks, Mother? Shall I be going to sea this day?”

“It is true, my son. Njorðr has calmed the waters and set it right for travel. Your Father gathers the warriors and makes preparations.”“When you get back, shall you tell us of your battle, like Father does?”

Every time his father returned from his voyages, he would bring home trinkets for Valnore and his sister and tell the story of his journey around the fireplace. Valnore smiled at the idea of emulating his father and said, “I shall compose a song to sing of my battle, and I shall bring you back something. What should you like me to bring back for you?”

Ærdís placed her finger to her mouth, clearly thinking hard about her gift. “I think I should like you to return with a pretty rock from the shore.”

“As you wish, so shall it be. And should the gods favour you with a choice of colour or design?”

“Oh if they should, I would fancy a purple rock or a shell of that colour.”

Valnore placed his hands on his hips and smiled. “So shall it be my sister. I promise to you that I the moment my feet are planted on the ground, I shall set about finding you this very trinket. And should I find one exactly as you have described then we shall know Odin favours us.” Seeing Ærdís smile, Valnore knew he had appeased her. Pride welled inside of him, he was almost a man.

* * *

Valnore heard the shrill call of a sea bird and remembered the task at hand; he must find Ærdís her present. Jökull, one of the higher-ranking members of the warriors, and possibly the meanest, yelled at Valnore, “Pick a rock and be done with it, boy! Battle lies but a small distance away and yet you tarry over a rock!”

Valnore approached the men who were beginning to prepare the night’s meal. He found his courage sinking into his stomach, but he had to respond to Jökull or he would not gain the respect of the warriors. If the men did not respect him, they would not respect his father, the captain, nor would they accept him as a warrior. He craned his neck to take in the vicious image of Jökull, whose body was riddled with battle scars. His right eye had been lost in a combat many moons ago; the cut healed sealing the eyelid closed. But the scar that made Valnore cringe the most and caused him to hiss in a deep breath when he first saw, was the one on his left arm. The long and wide gash was horrifying enough, but every time the thick muscle was flexed the old wound would strain and look as if it would burst open. Valnore gulped at the sight of him. He steadied his voice. “It is not every day that I shall engage in battle to become a man,” he said, “I shall not go until I find what I seek.”

He could feel the tension building inside him. Then Jökull’s laughter boomed forth. “Ha! Your son’s wit matches his courage, Sigarr, may it serve him well.” The men slapped Valnore on the back, laughing heartily as they returned to their tasks. As soon as Valnore’s rubbery legs allowed him, he returned to his search. When the sun finally sunk behind the horizon, Valnore had little choice but to halt his search and join the warriors in the evening meal. In the glow of the fire, he looked on the ground and noticed a small rock slightly covered in sand. Valnore picked the rock up to investigate it. It was smooth and of a purple colour, except for a small white streak that seemed to swirl throughout the rock. It was exactly what his sister had asked for. Feeling as though the gods had intended him to find the stone, he dropped it into his shirt pocket and he knew was ready to begin his battle next day.

Before he was allowed to sleep that night, his father took him by the arm and let him out of hearing range from the men. The thick blanket of animal fur wrapped around Valnore’s body did nothing to comfort him from being away from the fire as the chill of the winter night seeped into his bones. The sounds of the warriors laughing drunkenly mixed with the tide as it rolled onto shore. In the dim glow that the fire provided, Valnore looked up to his father. In the poor lighting he could not see much, but when his father spoke he could hear the pride in his voice.

“Tomorrow you shall engage in your first battle, and should you see the day’s end you shall be a warrior. The pride beats in my chest at the things you have already done. I shall only say but a few more words, for you must rest and clear your mind for battle. Remember, watch your enemy and learn from him. Let your thoughts betray you not; they have no place in a battle. Do not think upon glory. A true warrior expects not to win, but enters the throws of battle expecting to die. Only when a warrior has defeated his enemy does he celebrate. He gives thanks to the gods for his victory and then the mead runs steadily in streams with much merriment for all. This, my son, is what a warrior must do; it is what you must do.”

* * *

The morning was clear. With the sun peering out of the clouds, the slight breeze was less chilling. Before the sun had cleared the horizon, Valnore had engaged in his first battle, swinging his sword at the mighty creature. The beast roared as the blade nicked its arm, allowing for a small drop of blood to escape. If Valnore had not been longing for this day since he was little, he might have been afraid; yet there was no fear in him now. Even as he looked at the hideous fiend from the underworld, he smiled and knew it was time to become a man. The daemon Valnore had engaged in battle was a hrimthursar, a frost giant. Its muscular arms were the length a grown man and its girth was as wide as the length of a bull. Tiny horns covered its face. Two immense horns that curved several times were on the top of its head. The roar it issued forth shook the ground beneath Valnore’s feet. It was menacing, but he had Odin to guide him, not to mention the warriors waiting for his return.

A surge of pride spurred on his desire to defeat this beast. He thought of his triumphant return. He would drag the beast’s head in one hand. In the other hand he would have his sword, which would be christened with the blood of his first kill. He would bow and present the head on bended knee to his father. He would join the ship a man and would be able to claim glory for his people. Those in other lands would fear him, for they would know he was a warrior from the North. Odin would favour him.

Valnore jumped back to avoid getting hit by one of creature’s arms as it swiped towards him. He misjudged the distance and its claws slashed his shoulder, knocking him to the ground. Valnore shook his head, regained his footing and steadied himself. He backed away slowly, noticing a cluster of trees. Once hidden in the trees he tried to think what to do; he knew he needed a strategy. The words his father had spoken to him the night before echoed in his thoughts. “Remember, watch your enemy and learn from him.” Valnore focused on the daemon, which was heading towards him.

The hrimthursar’s movements were swift and beguiled its sheer size. It crashed to the tree line before Valnore could move but three steps backwards. It slashed at the trees, trying to grab him. Valnore rolled underneath the swinging arm, jumped up and ran around the side of the monster, bringing him back into the clearing again. While he watched the animal puzzle for a few moments trying to ascertain where his prey went, Valnore studied its movements. Once the creature realized his quarry was no longer amongst the trees, it turned. Bellowed in disgust at the sight of Valnore in the clearing, it headed towards him.

Valnore circled around the creature, much like he had done in mock battles with his playmates. It occurred to him that only a moon ago he had engaged in a high spirited match against his mates, now it was the real thing. Steadily he tried to find some betrayal in the daemon’s movements, though he quickly noticed that he could not keep track of the beast’s arms at the same time as his feet. Whether this problem derived from the mere size of the daemon or Valnore’s own inexperience, he was unsure. Doubt crept into his mind. How was he to defeat such a beast?

As he tried to think of how to gain the upper hand of this creature, Valnore’s hand closed over his shirt pocket for a brief moment, feeling sister’s pebble through the fabric. All his twelve years had not prepared him to face something found in nightmares. His hand shook and he found himself becoming afraid. The promise of the halls of Valhalla was not enough to keep out his overwhelming thought; I must return home; I must fulfil my promise.

He leapt on top of the bolder near him, raised his sword high and attempted to reach some vital organ, but he was still too short. His blade pierced the belly of the beast, though it was not a fatal blow. The hrimthursar’s shriek rang loud in Valnore’s ears. The giant’s arm crashed into him knocking the air from his lungs and his body to the ground. His blond hair blanketed the snow, while his helmet rolled out of his reach. With effort he regained his footing. Standing blurry-eyed, he tried to focus. The monster grabbed his arm and flung him making a large arc through the air. He thudded to the ground. His sword was no longer in his hand. Valnore saw stars in his eyes but couldn’t make out what was in front of him.

He felt himself being lifted in the air; he had nothing with which to defend himself. This was it. “Odin,” he cried, blood flowed from his mouth, “give me strength to defeat this fiend from the underworld!” He thrust his hand into his pocket and held tightly onto the pebble. He was sure it was an omen from the gods that he would win the battle, yet he felt the hrimthursar’s teeth sink into his skin, sending searing pain throughout his body. The beast bellowed in rage and tossed him back to the ground. As he lay on the ground, Valnore knew his life was over. The pebble fell out of his limp hand.

* * *

Ærdís never meant to end up at the beach. Every day she would try to run errands for her mother, like fetching the water from the well yet no matter what the errand was, or how far it was from the seaside, she would always wind up there. She never meant to remain either, but something would cause her to linger. Her suitors would sometimes follow her, yet she would be so entranced by the rolling waves that she would not notice them. Many moons ago, when her brother had left with the warriors, she walked the shore purposely, watching for signs of the longboat in the distance. Though, when it did finally arrive she learned her brother had fallen in battle.

Since then, she tried to avoid the beach, she tried to play with her mates, she tried to stay away, yet inevitably she would wind up there. Once in awhile, she awoke on the sandy shore in her nightclothes. Her family became worried about her. Her father had tried to stop her from coming. He did not believe it was good for a young girl with so many suitors to be spending so much time alone. He had threatened her, he had locked her in her room and once he had even beaten her, all to no avail.

Her brother once said to her, “Walk your own path, the gods will steer you.” She did not understand what he had meant, but as she sat on the sand staring out into the water she wondered if the gods wanted her on that beach. She saw a ship in the distance and thought of who was on it and where they were bound. She contemplated how many boys would be engaging in their first battles and if they would return home. When the ship was gone she watched the waves crash into the shore and recede. Then, she noticed a small pebble had come to the shore. It was smooth and purple in colour, except for a small white streak that seemed to swirl throughout the rock.

Tears welled in her eyes. She thought of her brother’s promise to return with a rock just like it from the shore of his first battle. Again her brother’s words echoed in her mind, “I shall set about finding you this very trinket. And should I find one exactly as you have described then we shall know Odin favours us.” Holding the pebble in her hands she realised that his final promise could never be fulfilled. Valnore had joined in the glory of Valhalla where he would engage in the Great War at Ragnarök and battle by day and feasted at night; it was a good afterlife, so she was told. She slipped the small rock into her pocket and left the beach. Maybe I shall walk in the forest to-morrow.

Story by Raven Profile and coding by sonata

Information on Njorðr, Ragnarök and Odin from http://www.wikipedia.org and Hrimthursar Information

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