PROLOGUE
“F-Father has finally become þjóðann... What a remarkable time to be alive...”
Jörgen took another pull from his drink, his voice choked with emotion.
He was a bear of a man in his mid-forties.
He was tall and extremely muscular with a shaved head and scars from sword wounds on his brow and cheek. His face was carved with grim features that would make most recruits run and hide at the most casual glance.
In spite of that ferocious visage, however, Jörgen was weeping into his drink with joy. It was an odd scene to say the least.
“Brother Jörgen, it may be time to call it an evening. You’ve perhaps had a drink too many.”
The advice for moderation came from his wraith-like companion.
The man who sat with Jörgen had sunken cheeks and pale skin. In stark contrast to his pallid features, he had a sharp, predatory glint in his eyes. With his ever-grim expression, he seemed like a personification of death itself.
“Don’t be such a killjoy on such a wonderful occasion! Why must you always be such a downer, Brother Ská? We’re drinking in celebration! Isn’t that what life is all about?”
If Jörgen minded Skáviðr’s words, he made no indication of it. He instead offered a lecture of his own to his drinking companion, then gulped down his stein of beer and loosed a boozy belch in Skáviðr’s face.
Jörgen was pretty much the picture of an obnoxious drunk, but given the occasion, it was perhaps understandable that he’d be three sheets to the wind.
The man that Jörgen sincerely respected and admired above all others had ascended to the throne of þjóðann of Yggdrasil.
“I seem to recall you noting the other day after a particularly nasty hangover that you were done with drinking. And given your age, surely it’s not good to indulge so freely.”
“Hrmph! I’d have no regrets even if I died tomorrow. Father’s committed himself to living in these lands and has even become þjóðann. The Steel Clan’s future is assured! I could die in peace!”
“Please don’t say such things. The Steel Clan still needs you for a long time yet, Brother Jörgen.”
“Hah! Never thought I’d hear something so kind from you! Bahahahahahaha!”
Jörgen burst out in raucous laughter and smacked Skáviðr’s back. He held nothing back from those blows, and even the stoic Skáviðr winced at the onslaught.
“I’ve no intention of dying anytime soon. I haven’t even seen the face of Father’s child, after all. I need to see my daughter’s wedding day too.”
“Exactly.”
“So Brother Ská, what about you?”
“What about me, exactly?”
“You know what I mean. This, of course.”
Jörgen stuck up his pinky and grinned salaciously.
Long ago Skáviðr had lost his beloved wife and son. The scars from that trauma had evidently never healed, and Skáviðr had remained a widower, not taking any companions after.
“It’s been ten years, Brother. Surely you can move on.”
“Heh, no, I’ve had enough of losing loved ones to last me one lifetime.”
Letting out a soft chuckle, Skáviðr took a small sip of his drink.
“Besides, being alone with nothing to lose makes things easier in the worst of cases.”
“Hrmph! Don’t try to sound so wise, you whippersnapper.”
“Hah! I didn’t think I’d be called a whippersnapper after passing the age of thirty.”
“Bahahahaha! From my perspective you’re still a mere stripling, lad! Besides, you’ve got the order wrong.”
“The order...?”
“I’m going first. That should be the way of the world no? The old dying before the young.”
Jörgen’s face suddenly took on a melancholy expression as he let out a dry, oddly sad laugh.
They lived in an age of war. No doubt Jörgen had witnessed many men and women much younger than himself die long before they rightfully should. Even those he had cared for. He had his own share of losses, and his own thoughts on the matter.
“That’s the way it should be...”
With those words Jörgen then took another long pull from his drink.
No Comments Yet
Post a new comment
Register or Login