Asbjorn Grimsson Name: Asbjorn Grimsson Race: Aasimar (Scourge)Class: Fighter 1, Warlock 4Background: Noble (Jarl-in-exile from Trollheim)Alignment: Lawful-NeutralAppearance: Asbjorn is a tall, fit and broad-shouldered man with an attractive face framed by his flowing golden-blonde hair and thick, blonde beard. His eyes are strikingly blue and have a tendency to change at times of great emotion, when they start to glow slightly with bright yellow light. He is almost never in public without his thick scale armor and a trusty weapon of some kind. He usually carries either a single-bladed battleaxe or a well-made longsword in his belt as well as a large, round shield.Personality Traits: Ideal: Honor and duty. Since leaving my clan I have vowed to spend my life trying to understand the darkness I carry within me and finding a way to rid my family of it once and for all.Bond: Family. My younger brother now rules in my place and my two younger sisters work as his emissaries. I have left the family to protect them but if they are threatened I will do everything in my power to keep them safe.Flaw: Goals and ambitions: Asbjorn has two main reasons for his self-imposed exile and traveling away from his family. He wants to limit the power of the darkness inside him, that has influenced the his father and all the previous jarls for generations, over his family and keep it away from his brother. But he also wants to vex the dark entity by using his power to do good. For this reason, his day-to day goal is to protect the general population, especially when their local leaders fail to do so. At the same time, he understands that social order must prevail and will not actively undermine the rightful rulers. His long-term goal is to rid himself of the shadow that has possessed his ancestors, and now rests within him, or at least ensure that the curse ends with him.
Backstory The Story of the Bloody Jarls:
The visitor wrapped his cloak around him as he walked into the great hall of Orri No-Nose, the Trollkin jarl of one of the smaller provinces in Thursrike. Despite the bitter frost outside, the roaring fire in the hall of the jarl made the huge hall warm and dry.
"Any traveler is welcome to share my fire and my mead for one night, stranger," the half-drunk jarl intoned, standing up from his throne-like wooden chair at the head of the table, as his guards made sure his human visitor had no weapons larger than the knife he carried in his belt.
"But it is customary for those who come from afar to entertain me and my guests in some way, to return the renowned hospitality of my hall," the burly Trollkin continued.
"How will you uphold your end of the bargain, traveler?"
The stranger accepted a horn of mead offered to him by a servant gratefully and raised it in a toast to his host.
"The hospitality of the great Orri No-Nose is renowned even in my home in Trollheim. As is his appetite for stories. I will therefore sing for my supper, if I may, by telling you a story you may not have heard before, great jarl," the stranger replied, his deep voice drowning out the few remaining Trollkin and Ogres, as well as the few human visitors in the great hall.
"A story you say? A well-told tale is worth a night in my hall. A well-told story new to my ears might be worth two," the jarl shouted in reply, sitting down again and snagging a leg of lamb from the trough in front of him.
"Drain your horn stranger, tell us your name and begin your tale!" he commanded.
The visitor slowly up-ended his horn, gulping the mead from the oversized receptacle.
"It will be as you command, great jarl. You may call me Volundur Two-Tongues, and I will tell you how the travels of Baldur and Loki to Midgard started wars and feuds that have lasted for generations in Trollheim," the stranger began.
"It was on a night like this one, late in the spring, when two strangers came to a small farm, high on a heath in the poorest part of Trollheim. The visitors were tired and hungry after a long day of traveling and asked the farmer for his hospitality. This was, of course, granted by the elderly farmer, and the two men warmed themselves by the fire. There they dried their wet clothes and warmed their bellies with the farmer’s mead, just as I do here, although the farmer’s fire far from as grand as yours, great jarl, and his mead much weaker," the stranger continued. By now, even the smallest Trollkin children had stopped teasing the dogs and each other and had sat down to listen.
"The two visitors could not have been more different. One was tall, fair of skin with blonde hair and beard, and by far the most handsome man the farmer and his family had ever seen. The other was dark of hair and beard with a large nose, and a slight build. You may have guessed that the pair were none other than the gods Baldur and Loki, down in Midgard to have some fun away from the other gods, as was their want," the storyteller continued, ignoring the old Trollkin woman who spat emphatically into the fire when he mentioned the god Baldur but smiled contently when he spoke of Loki.
"Although the two gods were used to dine in the company of such goddesses as Freyja, Sif and Frigg, both were smitten by the looks of the farmer’s youngest daughter, Elva. The fair-skinned blonde girl was of marrying age, but yet unmarried, and spent the evening preparing a meal and filling the horns of the two guests in her father’s small hall," the stranger who called himself Volundur Two-Tongues continued.
"It was clear that both desired to share her bed, but it was clever Loki who set his machinations in motion first. He regaled the farmer and his family with tales of the gods, telling stories so fantastic I could never repeat them. For a long evening he entertained the farmer’s family, his stories becoming rowdier as the fire burned lower. Next to him, Elva took in every word, enthralled by Loki’s storytelling," the traveler said, trying to ignore the unusually attractive Trollkin lady who seemed to take this as an invitation to sit next to him, smiling in what Trollkin might consider a seductive manner.
"But despite Loki’s clever plans, it was not his bed Elva snuck to in the middle of the night, for she was as taken by Baldur’s good looks, as any here would be. A god’s attractiveness is something to behold, and she could no more resist going to his bed than I could resist draining another horn of mead, were it to be offered to me," the stranger continued. After a small pause he gratefully accepted another full horn of mead and drained it in one go. Storytelling was thirsty work.
"Naturally, Loki heard Elva and Baldur, but although he desired the girl for himself, he was compelled to leave her to Baldur this night. And in the morning, after breaking their fast, the two gods continued on their way, ignorant of the gift Baldur had left the girl with. For as you an I know, the fertility of the gods is such that if they spend the night with a mortal woman, she will for sure be with child after the experience," the storyteller said, winking at the Trollkin woman sitting next to him. She winked back, making her intentions very clear.
"The two gods soon returned to Valhalla, thinking no more of Elva or her condition. But no matter how hard he tried, Loki could not get his desire for the human girl out of his head. This is why he returned to the farmstead, more than a year later. But as he approached the farm, he could see Elva walking back from the fields, a small child in her arms. As she cooed to the baby, whose head was already crowned with blonde hair, Loki realized how Baldur had gifted the human girl with his divine child. He turned away, leaving Midgard once again."
"But as easily as his desire for Elva had been raised, so was his jealousy aroused by seeing the fruits of that night in her arms. Once back from his trip to Midgard, he sought out the norns. In part, he was curious what fate had in store for the child, but he was also there with a gift for the norns, for he intended to try to bribe them to shorten the skein of Baldur’s child severely, out of sheer spite," Volundur continued. The old Trollkin hag cackled contently at Loki’s plans, clearly approving of the god’s petty behavior towards his fellow god and his offspring.
"When he spoke to the norns, they told him of this magnificent skein they had just woven, of a boy who would rise from a simple farmer to become a jarl of his people, and how his name and those of his descendants would be known throughout the North, as well as in other parts of Midgard, where men appreciate stories of bold heroes capable of great deeds. Loki saw the skein with his own eyes, smooth and long, and knew nothing he could offer the three norns could cause them to add knots or even shorten the skein of Baldur’s son with Elva, as he had hoped. But gods have other ways to influence the life of us mortals," Volundur said dramatically, the hood of his cloak hiding most of his face as he spoke.
"When Loki realized that fate had great things in store for Baldur’s son, he thought long and hard what he could do. Clearly, he could not change fate. But, ever clever, Loki decided that he could do something to claim the deeds of the young boy in greater part than Baldur could. And so he traveled to those who dwell in the shadow and paid them to forge a weapon worthy of a hero. A weapon that could take any shape and appear in the owner’s hand whenever he desired. The weapon was forged from the shadow itself, quenched in the blood of a king, or so it was said," the storyteller continued, holding the attention of everyone in the hall. The machinations of the god Loki were always popular with Trollkin.
"The forging of the weapon took five long years, but for the gods such time passes like mere days for us mortals. When it was finally done, Loki returned. The creatures in the shadows told him that only the final step of the forging was incomplete. To seal the magic of the blade, its owner would have to sate its thirst with the blood of the innocent. That would bind the weapon and the shadow carried within it to the owner, and all his heirs from that day forth. Loki smiled contently, for he knew this weapon would be what people spoke of when talking about Baldur’s son with Elva far more than his divine heritage. The god of trickery named the weapon Valinn, a play on words since as you know the word means both "The Chosen" and references the fields of the dead after a battle," the man who called himself Volundur said.
"And now, for the third time, Loki returned to Midgard and the farm of Elva’s father. There he found the aging father and his lovely daughter. She was still unmarried, having refused every suitor, since none of them could ever measure up to the god who had fathered her child. Loki, disguised as a wanderer such as myself, asked for the hospitality of the farmer once again."
"Early the next morning, Loki and Thorri, the son of Baldur and Elva, were the first to wake. As Thorri played with his wooden sword outside, Loki sparred with him playfully. But no matter how the young Thorri tried, he could not land a blow on Loki. This, Loki told him, was because his wooden sword was not good enough, and right then and there, outside the farmhouse, he gave the boy the weapon Valinn, forged from the shadow itself," the storyteller said, looking around to see that everyone in the hall was now completely spellbound by the story.
"The weapon took the shape of a deadly axe with a head made from red-tinted steel that made the weapon look bloodied as the rays of the morning sun hit it. Loki encouraged Thorri to show his grandfather and mother his new axe, and the boy returned to the farmhouse, where his family was getting ready for a day in the fields. He walked past one of the servants as the slave bent over the coals, getting a new fire going. As Thorri passed the slave, something came over the boy. He raised his axe and chopped the man’s head from the body, by doing so binding the weapon to himself and his descendants. Later, the only explanation he could give as to why he killed the innocent man was that he was simply in the perfect position to be beheaded, and he wanted to try out his new axe," Volundur continued. The Trollkin around him roared with laughter, clearly enjoying seeing Loki’s plan come to fruition.
"Eventually, the boy who killed his first man at the age of five, became a jarl, just as the norns had foretold, fighting in many battles and fathering a son who would sail further south to raid than any man of the North had done before him. But that is another story, for another night," Volundur said, bowing his head to jarl Orri as he took a seat at a bench close to the fire.
"A good story, well told!" Orri said loudly, thumping the table with his fist, encouraging his warriors to do the same. Once the ruckus died down, he rose to his feet, a little unsteady from the drink.
"You are welcome to stay in my hall for the night, and another night after that, if you wish. But tomorrow night I will call on you to continue the story. You promised wars that lasted for generations, but so far only a lowly human slave has been slain."
The visitor who called himself Volundur smiled, his blonde beard visible from under the hood of his cloak.
"I will, of course, accept your hospitality, great jarl. If that is your will I will continue the tale tomorrow. Then you shall hear how Baldur’s son, wielding Loki’s weapon, started wars and feuds that are still ongoing to this day," he said, bowing his head slightly to the broad-shouldered Trollkin jarl. He could feel the warmth from the Trollkin woman next to him and put his arm over her shoulders. In wintertime it was prudent to share a bed to keep warm. And for other things. And he had to admit, she was unusually attractive, for a Trollkin.
"Volundur Two-Tongues!" jarl Orri No-Nose shouted over his hall as he and the many other Trollkin present had mostly finished the evening meal.
"You owe me a story of feuds and wars, human, and I don’t deal well with disappointment," he bellowed as a dwarven slave brought him another horn of mead.
Far down the long table, a cloaked human stood up, putting down the bowl of meat broth he had been eating.
"Indeed you are owed, and I am a man who always pays his debts," the human said loudly, his deep voice catching the attention of most of the Trollkin around him, as well as the few humans who weren’t slaves forced to serve the Trollkin jarl and his guests.
"Let me continue the story I started last night, great jarl, about the son of Baldur and of Loki’s jealousy," the man who called himself Volundur continued, gratefully accepting a horn of mead from a servant woman.
"Young Thorri, Baldur’s son by the famer’s daughter Elva, was always bigger and stronger than other boys his age, able to outfight and outrun boys several years older from an early age. But despite his fair looks and strong body, there was always something dark about the boy, ever since he killed his first man at the age of five."
"Thorri always seemed to push himself and others too hard. People said he got a neighbor’s son killed by daring him to follow him, leaping over a river in the middle of winter, and one boy he sparred with got Thorri so angry he drew his axe Valinn, gifted to him by Loki himself, and killed the lad with several lethal blows to the head," the visitor continued. The Trollkin warriors around him smiled savagely at this, and he was reminded that life was considerably cheaper in Thursrike than in his home in Trollheim.
"At the age of 12, Thorri went to the town of Hrutsvik with his uncle and his sons to a feast thrown by their jarl early one spring. At the feast, jarl Tumi called upon his warriors to go raiding with him in the summer, and declared his intentions to sail to the southern shores of the Nieder Straits. All of the warriors present rejoiced, but none more than Thorri, who stood up and proudly told everyone present that he intended to go raiding with his uncle and his jarl."
"Now, as you know, humans develop slower than you Trollkin, and no boy had ever been raiding at the tender age of 12," the stranger said, gesturing at some of the younger Trollkin.
"This might be why Thorri’s bravado was met with laughter. And nobody laughed louder than Eysteinn the Tall, the jarl’s own brother. With obvious derision, Eysteinn told the boy that he was too young and too feeble to kill anything bigger than a kitten. You can imagine how that hurt the pride of the boy most people already knew claimed the god Baldur as his father."
"Now, Thorri hung his head and turned away, causing Eysteinn to roar with laughter. His mirth came to an abrupt end when Thorri turned around quickly, his axe Valinn in his hand. He hurled the axe straight over the length of the long table and buried it in Eysteinn’s forehead," the man who called himself Volundur said dramatically, swinging his right arm as if hurling a weapon towards the Trollkin jarl and his family, sitting at the head of the table. Unlike the hand of the young man in his story, his hand was quite empty, but this did not stop some of the Trollkin sitting next to him scrambling to their feet, thinking this visitor was about to murder their jarl. A grin was visible, partially hidden by a blonde beard, as the visitor stood still and gave the Trollkin warriors time to sit down again.
"The hall of jarl Tumi was deadly silent for a moment, but something about the way the boy killed a man twice his age and half again his size made the whole thing seem far more heroic than it really was, and soon the warriors sitting close to him started to cheer. As the shouts celebrating the rash youth reverberated through the hall, jarl Tumi realized that although he could order Thorri’s death, the young boy’s popularity with the men would make it a costly affair, politically at least. He wisely decreed that Thorri could go raiding, but that his share of the loot would go towards Eysteinn’s family as recompence for the murder."
The Trollkin warriors around him made it clear by nodding and laughing that they considered this a fair conclusion, so the man who called himself Volundur Two-Tongues continued the tale.
"As you can imagine, Thorri was a fierce and fearless warrior during the raiding season. By the end of it, he led his shipmates into battle instead of his uncle, so great were both his fighting skills and his leadership abilities. Whether it was his divine blood or the whisperings of the shadow gifted to him by Loki himself he was not only a natural warrior, cunning and fearless, but also a great leader of men, able to inspire his allies to great deeds."
"At the end of summer jarl Tumi’s raiders had a record haul to bring with them to Trollheim. But when his shipmates reminded Thorri that his share would be forfeit to the jarl for killing Eysteinn, Thorri would have none of it. Instead, he told the men to sail the ship to the small cove near his father’s farm. The raiders who sailed with him became his fiercest supporters in the following years of bloodshed, and the core of the warriors formed his bodyguard later, when he became the jarl. But now I’m getting ahead of myself, jarl Orri," the visitor continued, his smile visible under the hood of his voluminous cloak.
"Since Thorri refused to give up his share to jarl Tumi, the jarl was forced to declare a blood feud against the farmer’s son who thought he could stand up to the jarl. He exiled Thorri for three years, and let it be known that anyone who could kill him during that time would not only earn his gratitude, but the hand of his daughter as well. "
"Although he wanted nothing more than to stay and fight, Thorri’s mother convinced him to go into exile and return in three years. The young man spent most of that time in the northernmost part of Trollheim, even further north than Vernerhall and the Den of Fenris. The jarl’s men pursued him, eager to claim the jarl’s daughter and gain his favor. Thorri could trust no one with his life during those three years, wandering the north alone. Even the son of Baldur was hard pressed to survive not one, but three winters in the foothills of the Reaching Mountains, for us humans are not nearly as tough as Trollkin," Volundur continued, easily soliciting murmurs of agreement from the Trollkin around him about the last part.
"Thorri survived his three years in exile, evading some of his pursuers and killing others, even when heavily outnumbered. Back in his home region, his reputation grew immensely during that time, as nothing the jarl did seemed to work and even his best warriors failed to return home after heading after the young exile. When Thorri returned at the end of his three years of exile, he got the welcome of a hero from many of the low-borne farmers and warriors, but most of all from his former shipmates. If jarl Tumi had hoped the exile would marginalize Thorri, he was badly mistaken."
"In the years after this, Thorri built up his reputation as a fearless, cunning and honorable warrior, raiding every summer, buying first one longship and after a while several. His grandfather’s simple farm turned into a village that would one day rival the town of jarl Tumi. It was, therefore, inevitable that the two men would lock horns once again. This happened after Thorri’s warriors drove off families that had cleared the nearby forest and started farming. He claimed the land belonged to him now that his grandfather was dead. Jarl Tumi claimed the land as his own and would not negotiate for it," the stranger said, holding the full attention of everyone present as they sensed the violence to come.
"At first there were skirmishes, where one side killed a few men and retreated, but soon jarl Tumi gathered his warriors in secret and attacked Thorri’s farm. Thorri was away when it happened, but villages and warriors alike were slaughtered and his mother taken hostage. Perhaps jarl Tumi hoped Thorri would negotiate for the life of his beloved mother, but there he was badly mistaken. Thorri gathered his warriors and found that many and more flocked to his banner. Perhaps they sensed that the balance of power was shifting, perhaps it was Thorri’s god-given charisma, or perhaps they were simply tired of being ruled by jarl Tumi."
"Less than a month after his village was destroyed, Thorri led an army in an all-out attack on the jarl’s stronghold in Hrutsvik. It was neither as large nor as strong as your fortress, jarl Orri No-Nose, but it was a well-defended town nevertheless. No one can guess if Thorri and his men would have won the day, had not a group of jarl Tumi’s men betrayed him, opening one of the gates and letting Thorri’s men inside. After that the slaughter began as Thorri spared no man who had taken up arms against him. Jarl Tumi was foolish to allow himself to be captured alive, especially after he killed Thorri’s mother Elva, who had been his prisoner. Thorri avenged his mother cruelly. He had Tumi locked in a cage and slowly roasted over hot coals. It took Tumi over two days to die, horribly blistered and burnt all over, and it is said that the smell of roasted flesh turned even the toughest of warriors off meat for weeks," the man known as Volundur continued. The Trollkin jarl and his men clearly were no strangers to creative execution methods, so the unusually cruel method Thorri used to execute his rival drew only a few disgusted looks from his audience. Mostly, it seemed to give the Trollkin an appetite for more meat and mead.
"Now that Thorri had killed his rival he had become jarl himself. He forced jarl Tumi’s daughter to marry him, presumably to solidify his power base. This did not prevent Tumi’s surviving relatives from declaring a blood feud, which would last for several decades until the last killing took place, wiping out the last surviving family members."
"Jarl Thorri was a strong leader, and under his rule the small jarldom he ruled was constantly being expanded. He went to war with all of his neighbors, often more than one at a time, and won every major battle he fought during his lifetime. He became an infamous villain to many, constantly warring on his neighbors, but to his people he was a generous jarl, feared and loved in equal measure," the visitor to jarl Orri’s great hall continued.
"It would be fair to say that jarl Thorri was known far more for his aggression towards his neighboring jarls and his skill with his weapon, Valinn, than he was for being the son of Baldur, just as Loki had intended. It is said that Valinn whispered ceaselessly to Thorri, ever eager for war and bloodshed, and that Thorri was more than happy to oblige."
"Thorri’s son, and his son after his day, inherited not only the jarldom, but also Baldur’s divine blood. But they also inherited the weapon Valinn, forged from the shadow and given to Thorri by the god Loki. And because of the trickster’s gift, the wars and blood feuds continued for generations after Thorri’s day," the man who had introduced himself as Volundur Two-Tongues said, holding out his horn for a re-fill as a sullen dwarven servant passed him by with a jug of mead.
"But the stories of Thorri’s descendants, who still rule his jarldom to this day, are longer still and the evening is getting late. Perhaps tomorrow would be a good time to conclude the story and tell you how both Baldur’s blood and Loki’s gift have influenced the descendants of Thorri to this very day," the stranger said, bowing his head to the Trollkin jarl.
"Good!" jarl Orri No-Nose bellowed.
"You will stay with us for a third night and we will have the rest of the story tomorrow. But now it is getting late, and Volundur here needs his rest. I know Janna here didn’t give him much time to sleep last night!" the Trollkin jarl shouted, pointing at the Trollkin woman who had shared Volundur’s bed the night before. Janna seemed utterly unperturbed, if not proud, of being singled out like this. She got up off her bench and made her way back to the human storyteller with a grin, causing the other Trollkin to shout with approval, thumping the table and shouting encouragements to both her and the human stranger she had taken a liking to.
For his part, the man known as Volundur drained his horn and got up again. He put one arm around Janna’s hips, pulling her towards him, and made his way out of the hall.
"Look who it is, finally ready for his supper! Volundur Two-Tongues. Two tongues he has and I have not even the one nose!" jarl Orri No-Nose shouted over the ruckus. The great hall was packed with Trollkin, Ogres and the occasional human visitor. The fire roared in the central firepit, keeping the cold winter night at bay.
"Did Janna keep you busy today as well as last night? Too busy to finish your tale, wanderer?" jarl Orri thundered, causing the Trollkin lining his table erupt in laughter. The tall, hooded stranger smiled and bowed politely.
"Any Trollkin woman would be hard for a mere human to handle, jarl Orri, but she is not the reason I came late this evening. You see, I heard that a great warrior, a kinsman of yours, had arrived this afternoon. I simply didn’t want to intrude, since I assumed you would want to hear the stories of his exploits before I continued my tale," the man who called himself Volundur replied.
"My nephew Randvel Long-Stride has returned to us from his travels, and sits at my right side this evening, in a place of honor," jarl Orri replied, slapping the short but muscular Trollkin sitting next to him on his back. A group of Trollkin warriors, also new to the hall, cheered loudest. Randvel clearly didn’t travel alone.
"News of Randvel’s exploits have traveled far and wide and I am glad finally be in his presence. Sadly, he will need to hear the last of my stories without the benefit of the first two to set the scene, but I am sure that a sailor as clever as Randvel Long-Stride will understand the context. I heard that he had visited Trollheim, the scene of my story, so he might have an idea about the players involved," the human visitor to jarl Orri’s hall said smoothly.
"Yes, yes, enough fancy words, finish the story and stay one last night if you will, Volundur Two-Tongues, but a fourth you will not have, so in the morning you will leave us," the Trollkin jarl bellowed, raising an enormous horn of mead to his nephew.
"Skal!" he shouted, upending the horn and guzzling down his drink before sitting down heavily into his throne-like seat.
"As you command, jarl Orri," the man replied.
"Now comes the conclusion of the story. A story about the Trollheim jarls who came to be known as the Bloody Jarls. The first was Thorri, Baldur’s son and wielder of the weapon Loki had crafted, Valinn. His reign was long, but even the son of Baldur cannot live forever. A skilled warrior he might have been, but even the greatest of warriors can be taken by surprise."
"Thorri didn’t die in one of the many battles he instigated with his neighbors, nor in the many raids he went on. No, the first man known as the Bloody Jarl was killed by Ketill, his first-born son, as Thorri supped one evening. Without warning, Ketill buried his axe in his father’s forehead, killing him instantly. After the slaying he proclaimed to everyone who would hear him that now his grandfather, jarl Tumi, had been avenged, for as you recall Thorri forced Tumi’s daughter into marriage," the man called Volundur said. He could sense he was losing the crowd here, since only a few of the Trollkin even remembered jarl Tumi and his daughter.
"What happened next surprised everyone present, Ketill included. Since he had left his axe buried in his father’s head he was unarmed. But not for long. As Thorri’s life left his body, a shadow poured out of his mouth, nose and ear. It hovered over him for a moment and then plunged inside Ketill, as he stood over the dead jarl. Stunned, Ketill suddenly found that his right hand clutched the haft of his father’s weapon, Valinn. To him it was an enormous axe, but it was unmistakably the same weapon. The runes on the haft and blade were the same and the blade was forged of the same red metal that always seemed wet with blood. For it was not only Thorri’s hunger for war that gave him the name the Bloody Jarl, but also the blade of his axe."
"Nobody contested Ketill when he claimed the title of jarl. Like his father his reign was bloody. He always seemed to be at war, expanding his jarldom by warring on his neighbors. He was sorely tested when he defeated an alliance of three neighboring jarls, but even there he prevailed, leading his forces in battle and winning the day against overwhelming odds through tactics, training and the sheer ferocity of Ketill and his men," the stranger continued. As the story turned to war and violence the Trollkin around him finally settled down and gave the story their full attention.
"There have been six Bloody Jarls, starting with Thorri and Ketill. Well, seven, I suppose, but the last one seems to take a different tact from his predecessors. After Ketill fell in battle his son Ymir continued the bloody work of his family, the weapon Valinn ever in his hand. He was slain by an assassin sent by jarl Unnar, prompting his daughter and only heir, the shieldmaiden Helga, to start a blood feud with jarl Unnar that lasted for three generations. Helga was herself slain in this bloody feud, but her son Runar avenged her death," the traveler said, his deep voice carrying well over the now quiet hall.
"The most recent jarl to hold the title of the Bloody Jarl was jarl Grimur, son of Runar. Like his ancestors he fought to expand his holdings, making war on his neighbors. You could call it a family tradition by now. And like his father he was a fierce warrior. In his hands Valin tended to manifest as a sword worthy of a king, and jarl Grimur always felt he should be the king of all Trollheim, rather than just a jarl. For such was the ambition that came with Loki’s gift to Baldur’s son, all those years ago. Never content, a hunger for power and conquest ever gnawing at them. Later in his life Valinn would take the shape of a greataxe, as Grimur’s bloodthirst grew."
"It is less than a year now since Grimur was slain in battle with an alliance of two jarls. But although he died well, taking many of his foes with him and earning his place next to the gods in Valhalla, it was only by treachery that he was slain in the end. A company of mercenaries fought with Grimur that day. Like me, he knew that Trollkin warriors are second to none, so he hired a large group to fight with him. When the battle hung on a knife edge the leader of the Trollkin mercenaries signalled his men and as one they turned traitor, attacking jarl Grimur’s men from the rear. The story I heard was that the leader of the Trollkin, a mighty warrior, slew jarl Grimur, taking the jarl by surprise and chopping his head off," the storyteller continued. The Trollkin around him seemed unsure how to react to this. On the one side, some cheered half-heartedly as one of their own took down a man who was surely a villain to most. But on the other hand, the act could be considered cowardly and dishonorable. And even Trollkin cared for their honor, at least in some ways.
"The Bloody Jarl lost that day, but his two sons and two lovely daughters survived their father, and they were far from defeated. The weapon Valinn, as well as the shadow that used to reside in jarl Grimur, was transferred to his eldest, a young man by the name of Asbjorn. What happened next stunned his father’s enemies. Rather than seeking vengeance, jarl Asbjorn called for a Thing. At the Thing, he started negotiations for peace with his neighbors, something his ancestors would have never done," the man known as Volundur continued. A confused look came over the faces of several of the Trollkin warriors present. Making peace didn't make for as good a story as making war.
"It is hard to say with any certainty why jarl Asbjorn was able to resist the urge to make war, the urge made so strong by Loki’s weapon, Valinn. Some think it might have been the three years he spent as a prisoner of Alaric the Peace Bringer, the dwarven king of Thunder Mountain. Other say that he will be corrupted, just like his ancestors, and that the peace he forged will not survive a year. Perhaps this is why jarl Asbjorn, in an unprecedented move, left his jarldom on a self-imposed exile. He left his brother, Hallbjorn, to rule in his place, with his two sisters, Hledis and Gunnhildur as advisors and emissaries."
"And what of jarl Asbjorn? Where did he go in his exile? Not many know. He left his warriors and family behind, taking only Valinn, the weapon forged for Loki and gifted to the son of Baldur, with him, perhaps hoping that by removing it and the darkness that comes with it from the jarldom there might finally be peace in this part of Trollheim," the man who called himself Volundur continued. Perhaps sensing that the story was about to come to an end, the Trollkin in the great hall of jarl Orri No-Nose started muttering. This was no way for a story to end.
"But fear not, jarl Orri. This is not the end of my tale. In the spirit of the story, it will have a bloody ending. An ending that will have everyone here roaring. For I know where jarl Asbjorn went in his exile. And I also know why he went there," the stranger said dramatically, standing up and draining his horn.
"You know much and more, traveler," jarl Orri replied. Perhaps it were the warrior’s instincts or the excitement over the promised ending that got him on his feet, and he stood unsteadily, glaring at the visitor.
"How is it that you are privy to the thoughts of a jarl?" the ugly-looking Trollkin demanded.
"I have the very best source, jarl Orri. And I can tell you that jarl Asbjorn set off to avenge his father. To seek out the Trollkin traitor who broke his oath to Asbjorn's father and killed him in cowardly fashion," he said, raising his voice to be heard over the clamor. Suddenly, the jarl’s nephew, Randvel Long-Stride, stood, staring at the visitor.
As the Trollkin warrior stood, the man who called himself Volundur shook the cloak off his shoulders. The young blonde human grinned fiercely, and although he drew no weapon, a short-hafted throwing axe suddenly appeared in his hand. The Trollkin around him gasped when they noticed the red runes on the shaft and how the blade seemed to run red with blood in the light from the large fire.
"I will have my vengeance, Randvel Oathbreaker," the man revealed to be jarl Asbjorn shouted as he took one step closer to his father’s killer and threw Valinn with all his might at the Trollkin’s head. His aim was true, but Randvel managed to get his left hand up to ward off the axe. Instead of burying itself in the Trollkin's forehead, it nearly cut off the arm just below elbow. Randvel screamed in pain as his arm flopped around uselessly. Like the others present he was armed only with his knife, but looking around he saw that jarl Orri carried his sword. The jarl neither helped him nor hindered as he yanked out the weapon and advanced on the human.
Despite not moving, Asbjorn had Valinn in his hand again before the Trollkin could cover the distance between them. As his opponent was armed with a sword, he willed Valinn to take the shape of a razor-sharp longsword. The Trollkin around Asbjorn moved as one man to the side, clearing a path for Randvel to approach, as well as an area for the two to fight.
Randvel slowed his approach, and as Asbjorn watched the Trollkin’s arm started to mend. A trollkin's stamina and recovery from wounds was something to behold. Asbjorn frowned. He had really wanted the initial strike to be lethal, but since that didn’t happen he had to use other tools at his disposal. Although he disliked using the shadow that came with Loki’s gift, he did so now, setting it loose as Randvel approached. The shadow’s anticipation for blood made Asbjorn shiver involuntarily, a most uncomfortable feeling.
"Your father was a weakling. Baldur’s blood is spent by now, and like your dead father you are nothing but a man. And now I will kill you, just like I killed your father," Randvel said, circling his opponent. Then, with a roar, he struck, putting all his weight behind a blow that would have decapitated Asbjorn had he not ducked under the swing. Before his opponent could recover, the human thrust his sword at Randvel’s torso. As the blade was extended, the shadow he had carried within him since the day his father died caused Valinn’s red blade to erupt in green-tinted flames. The tip bit deep into the Trollkin, who screamed in a mixture of alarm and pain. Like the trolls from which the Trollkin descended, he knew no worse pain than being burnt by fire.
Screaming in rage, Randvel laid about him, wielding his sword with both hands. Asbjorn was hard-pressed to defend himself, but managed to parry or dodge every one of the blows, ending with his opponent’s blade in a lock with his own. Randvel was clearly stronger, and he grinned evilly as he pushed his human opponent back and struck a mighty blow. This time, Asbjörn was too slow to get his sword back up and the Trollkin’s blade bit deep into his left shoulder.
Wincing with pain, he knew he had to finish the fight now, for he might not survive another blow like this one. As Randvel raised his sword to strike again, Asbjorn vanished, only to appear behind the Trollkin. Despite the temptation, he resisted the urge to strike at Randvel’s unprotected back. Instead, he used the time until the Trollkin noticed where he was to recover his breath slightly.
Randvel bellowed a fierce battle cry when he found Asbjorn again and charged him, his sword held high for a downward chop. As he struck, Asbjorn deflected the blow off his angled sword, letting the Trollkin’s momentum carry him past him. He then spun in a half-circle and swung Valin at shoulder-height. The blade, sheathed in evil-looking green flames, took Randvel’s head clean off. The head landed with a thud on the floor. The stunned Trollkin that had formed a circle around the two combatants stared in shock.
After a moment of silence, jarl Orri No-Nose pushed his way to the front of the throng.
"You have abused my hospitality and slain my nephew. I hope your vengeance was worth your life, for by killing him here you have forfeit it," the Trollkin jarl snarled.
Asbjorn threw Valinn down. The red-bladed sword clattered on the wooden floor of the jarl’s great hall. To the Trollkin closest to the weapon it seemed as if the blade was actually absorbing the blood, leaving the red-tinted steel clean once more.
"It is true, I have abused your hospitality, for which I can only apologize. But slaying your kinsman was my right. An oathbreaker he was and a traitor. He gave his word to my father to fight by his side, and just now he confessed in front of you all that he murdered the man he swore to fight for. I say killing this traitor was my right. My duty as my father's son," Asbjorn said coldly.
As he stood there without his cloak and unarmed, surrounded by angry Trollkin, he somehow seemed far less vulnerable than he should. Slowly a light formed around him, causing the warriors next to him to take an involuntary step back. The light became more powerful and seemingly radiated from the man himself.
"Perhaps Baldur’s blood is not all spent," he stated boldly as he glowed with what even the dimmest of Trollkin recognized as divine radiance.
"It is your right as jarl to kill me for what I have done here tonight. But consider your actions carefully. You were not responsible for your nephew breaking his word. You did not command him to murder my father. But if you take vengeance on me for killing him, this will start of a blood feud between our families. A feud with a family backed by the gods themselves," Asbjorn said, taking a step closer to the trollkin Jarl, the divine light pulsing slightly as he moved.
"Are you willing to make such enemies over your nephew? An oathbreaker?"
Jarl Orri No-Nose was silent for a little while, town between two paths of action.
"Leave this hall, Asbjorn Grimsson. You are not welcome here," he finally said, walking back to his throne. On his way he grabbed a dwarven slave by the throat, lifting him up off the floor.
"You, clean this filth off my floor," he demanded, half-throwing the emaciated dwarf towards the headless body of Randvel the Oathbreaker.
Brief Backstory:
The Bloody Jarl , a nickname Grimur inherited from his father, just as he inherited Valinn. After negotiating with the dwarven king, jarl Grimur agreed to leave his first-born son with the dwarf as a hostage to ensure the safety of the dwarven merchants and timely payment for dwarf-forged weapons and armor.Bloody Jarl finally bit off more than he could chew. He had just crushed one of his neighbors when two others joined forces and struck when jarl Grimur was weak, hoping to end the threat to their lands and their own power. Undeterred, jarl Grimur assembled his forces once more. In addition, he secured the services of a rowing tribe of Trollkin that had fought for him before.
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People say I'm evil and twisted, but I really have the heart of a young boy. In a jar, on my desk. I have taken the Oath of Sangus .
Last edited by kymrel; Sep 4th, 2020 at 04:29 AM .
Aug 15th, 2020, 07:34 PM
