Norseworld

Discussion in 'ROLEPLAY GRAVEYARD' started by Six Million Dollar Man, Nov 18, 2013.

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  1. Imagine a world where polytheistic pantheons, like greco-roman or celtic mythology became prominent throughout the respective parts of the world. What if the Norse Pantheon was the #1 most common of them all rather than christianity?

    And what if the gods and lore were all real? And we lived in a modern day world of swords and rifles, dungeons, today's fashions, dragons and trolls all at once?...


    -

    A lone lad in grey hoodie, orange vest and dark brown pants was traveling down a road towards the Soft-Hide Inn. Behind him were scattered homes and various stores in a simple town. A short distance away one could see farms and encampments of royal guards and their fires and electric lights combined, milling away after the completion of a night's work.

    It had been a long day wrangling boars and taking the meat to market, and now he was lugging an entire beast on his back towards the Inn. It was there he had struck up a deal to assist the couple that owned the place in exchange for a bed and hot food, serving as a hub between his quests. Stepping inside slowly, he saw the silver haired and far larger form of the flannel shirt and apron wearing older man he knew to be Mr. Ostergard. Off to the side was Mrs. Ostergard and her daughter Idun, named after the goddess herself, who greeted the helpful adventurer.

    Magnus handed over the boar to Mr. Jorgensen, the older man thanking him as the younger fellow moved over to a bench to rest for a moment, and sipping a cool bit of brandy and taking a piece of bread left out for himself, the customer who seemed to have simply guzzled most of the wine bottle and left the plate full leaving Magnus a treat for his labors.
     
  2. Slumped over on a table in a far corner of the inn and muttering intermittently between loud bouts of snoring slept a haggard-looking middle-aged man dressed in worn leather pants and a wool jacket. One harm hung limply at his side loosely clutching a cup, the last dregs of the wine it had contained slowly dripping onto the floor. Turning onto his side in his sleep, he dropped the cup but was somehow not awakened by the loud clattering noise it made. His arm rose to his face as if to brush away the curtain of limply hanging matted hair that draped across his forehead and eyes, but ultimately he only scratched lazily at the grizzled stubble covering his chin.

    Biri Borgeson had once been a talented and well-known bard in these parts, but now those days were long behind him. Only a few years before he had made his living by reciting the Eddas as he traveled, telling the old tales to all those who would listen. He had even performed in the halls of lords and kings, but now his reputation was that of a washed up drunk. It had been quite some time since any one had truly listened to him or taken him seriously, and with good reason, as those who were kind enough to lend him an ear were usually only repaid by being harassed for money or had to listen to him tearfully (and drunkenly) bemoan his fall from grace.

    No one was exactly sure what had led Biri to his current downcast state, but all who knew him agreed he had squandered his gifts by letting himself become such a disgrace. The only places he visited now were bars or other places where he could spend what little money he had on drunken carousing, and the only company he consistently kept was with the most disreputable sorts. Where once he had evoked passion and wonder within others, now he only inspired pity and contempt.

    Perhaps it was those long-lost glory days he dreamed of as he dozed fitfully inside the inn. Groaning softly, he slowly raised his head from the table and blinked wearily as he stared around the room. Looking down at the table in front of him and finding it empty, he turned around and bellowed hoarsely.

    "More wine! And make it fast."

    Turning back , Biri rubbed the side of his head and groaned once again as his head throbbed from the sound of his own voice. He slowly lowered his head back onto the table where it made a soft thunk as it met the hewn wooden surface, and within less than a minute he was asleep and snoring loudly once more.
     
    • Cat Like Typing Detected Cat Like Typing Detected x 1
  3. Magnus turned his head sharply at the familiar 'summons for spirits,' as the Inn came to call it. Borgeson had been here lately filling himself with all the brandy and wine he could take. How such an older and experienced fellow could stand to put himself through such a thing was beyond him. Magnus hopped off of his seat, and took the wine from Idun to carry over.

    "Aye, and another bottle for you right here sir." Offered Magnus, setting the bottle down gently before Biri, giving him a little pat on the back and seating himself next to the man. "I see only the chill of sorrow in you. Surely you must have some olden tales to share with a lad seeking his own adventure? Perhaps stories of thrills once spectacular?"

    Sincerity filled Magnus's eyes as he gave the man an honest look that would tell any that this boy's curiosity was appreciative of history as far back or as recent as the stories came. And right now there was a man whose tale had seemingly ended unfairly for the moment in a spiral of depression and sweet sips that were all lies.

    "Please? Spare wisdom and wonder to a good child?"
     
  4. Vanessa Jarlsson let out a heavy sigh while wandering around, her ice blue eyes on constant look-out for thieves or mercenaries. She came to a halt once she was outside an inn and she looked up at the sign for a moment before she decided to step inside, she looked around for a moment, her eyes stopped when she saw someone clad in a grey hoodie next to a middle-aged man. However, being rather shy, she moved to the corner of the inn and sat down by a table hidden in the darkness, a black hood covering her upper facial features so only her nose and mouth are visible. She folded her arms across her chest while she crossed her legs, her eyes constantly scanning the room while she intently listened to the conversations around her.
     
  5. ((OOC: Is her name supposed to be Jarlsson or was that a typo and you meant to write Karlsson instead? Just asking.))

    One table away from Vanessa was a rather noisy group from the other side of the Bothnic Gulf. They were a group of four Finnish heathens only adhering to their own gods, them being mostly Ukko, their god of thunder, Ahti, god of waters and Tapio, god of forests. They held also four different gods for farming and they were Rongoteus, Virankannos and Pellonpekko for rye, barley and oats and Äkräs for pulses, cabbage and root vegetables. They were quite noisy as they had drunk a few glasses of ale already. They were from the province of Ostrobothnia, whose people are known in Finland for their arrogance, confidence, self-esteem and their dialect of Finnish language. Three of them drank happily and celebrated with a lot of noise, while one of them just ate without contributing to the noise. That man was Luukas Tonteri. His companions were Mauno and Tuomo Rasi and Petteri Outokumpu, with Petteri obviously leading the group with the most noise and praising.

    "Thank Ahti for thar' to be fishies for me to catch", praised Petteri. "Aye, and thank Tapio for thar' to be deer for me to hunt!" praised Tuomo. "Thank them indeed", Mauno chimed in, "but we shan't forget to praise Ukko for my crops t'be watered every week!" "You should thank Rongoteus to have any crops to harvest on the first place", reminded Luukas as he finished his eating. He was a slim, much younger man than the other three men with him in their forties with their beer stomachs. "I'm done. I'm going for a walk", he said as he stood up. "Watch out for the smell of the local surströmmings!" cautioned Petteri and the Rasi brothers laughed with their stomachs bouncing up and down. "Ha-ha." Luukas didn't really mind their jokes and usually dismissed them for the junk they were worth but at times they just annoyed him for their repetitiveness. Petteri, Mauno and Tuomo didn't seem to mind at all.

    As he was about to head out, his gaze shifted to Vanessa and they looked at each for a while, until Luukas heard the wolf whistling from his companions and stormed out rather annoyed by their ignorance. Why did he bring his more ignorant than average friends with him again? Even now he didn't know why especially. He took a deep breath of fresh air and scoffed a bit. "Surströmmings..." That joke was already about a century old already, yet his friends didn't know any better.
     
  6. ((Her name is actually Jarlsson. :) ))

    Vanessa looked at Luukas for a moment as she felt his gaze upon her before she looked towards his companions as she heard the wolf whistling and she rolled her eyes slightly as her arms remained folded across her chest. She appeared thoughtful, but it was hard to read the expression on her face due to her hood covering most of it. "It seems as if the drunks came in earlier than one would've thought, today." She thought to herself and she snickered silently before she stood up and walked outside and then looked around to find a nearby smith, one hand now resting on the hilt of her blade while the other was on her hip.
     
  7. Luukas walked and walked for tens of minutes, not deciding where to go specifically. Oh well, he was going for a walk wasn't he? He went down a trail to the coast to see what kinds of items the shops had. There were truly many. For now Luukas needed a bag full of red apples and nothing else, so he just went looking for the freshest on the grocery stand. "These are the best, they are shipped here from Åland", said the seller. "I shall take them, then", Luukas answered. "How much?" "Ten crowns, sir!" "Fine", said Luukas, dug up his pouch from his pocket, took out few silver coins and gave them to the storekeeper. "Here you are, sir." the storekeeper gave Luukas the apples. He turned to leave, and then he saw the woman from before back at the inn at the smith looking for a blade. "You know, I wouldn't recommend the obsidian blades. If you hit something too hard with one, it breaks like glass", Luukas mentioned to the woman.
     
  8. Vanessa raised an eyebrow as she looked over her shoulder and towards the man that spoke of the Obsidian blades, a small scoff escaped her lips. "I am not purchasing any blades, I am getting mine fixed. I would never replace them." She said, the way she spoke of her blades, one could've thought that she spoke of two children.
     
  9. Drengskapr Argrhundr. A youth not yet past his twenties stumbled back into the town's perimeter; his prettyboy face purple from exhaustion, lugging with him upon his back a dozen logs of wood and no less than seven axes of different sizes and shapes, all clacking upon his backpack.
    "Baggre Mey!" Weezed the youngster "Neckay in trife,... jas frr aaf incha timbre..."
    Argr readjusted his browned coat and back luggage, then ruffled his messy black hair.
    "Arr, 'A thans A do frr lav." With care, he took, from one of many coat pockets, a pouch of grass. He checked it for any damage. It was a bit squashed, but it was alright. he put it away again, nice and safe in his coat pocket.

    "Noow than!" spoke Argr in a cleaner accent- not quite clean, but clean enough. He had dropped off the wood at home for his dear fosters, but some of his axes were blunt as middle aged binge drinkers. Thus, he strode into the blacksmith's, where he immediately saw a woman in a dark hood and a man. He reflexively turned to the woman, brushing his hair back while giving a shining grin "Aye aye, dame, Hou's ye?"

    He almost immediately regretted it. The woman looked sort of scary with the hood, and he was no good with girls anyway. He could get as far as looking pretty, but that's it. He shrivelled up a wee bit and coughed his throat clear
    "A-I'll haave me aaxes sharr'nd thaanks..." He hummed to the smith as he waddled over.
     
  10. "Are you from the land of fjords, norrman, up from the north? Just guessing from your accent. I could be wrong though", guessed Luukas. "Well then, if your blades are so special, then might I inquire as to what kind of metal are they made of, and who made them? Might be using that smith later, if your blades even are worth the coin you probably used to get them", he asked from Vanessa.
     
  11. Vanessa raised an eyebrow and turned her head towards the newly arrived man and she looked at him for a moment before she spoke. "I've seen better days, I'll admit." She said and she then turned her head towards the man that asked her about her blades. "They were made out of foreign steel and I'm afraid that you won't be able to meet the smith who made them, as he has passed on." She said and she turned so that she was facing the man. "It was my father who created them, as a gift for me."
     
    #11 Joanna Silverdale, Dec 5, 2013
    Last edited by a moderator: Dec 7, 2013
  12. "I understand, so they have...value based on feelings. What about their functionality, you know, in a battle? How do they trump other blades, if at all? And what makes their steel 'foreign' or 'different' from regular steel used in blades?" Luukas went on with his questions. He was more of a practical person and valued a weapon for their functionality and the way they deal damage or kill beasts rather than family value.
     
  13. "I am not sure of how to describe them, as I am not familiar with smith works. But I know that they are much lighter than normal broadswords and when blood falls upon the steel, it almost instantly slides off." Vanessa said with a small shrug and she brushed some hair behind her ear under her hood. "So far they have served me well and kept me protected with... almost no scratches on my body."
     
  14. "Hmm. Shame", said Luukas and turned away. "Farewell", he said as he started walking back where he came from, towards the inn. Many thoughts were crossing his mind right now. Was it the right thing to come here after all? Should I have just not criticized Vanessa's blades? Out of all the Nordic gals I've met, she sure is a looker... well, time to get back and see what my pals are up to. Luukas thought and tightened up his pace. As he got closer to the inn, he heard the noises of a fight inside. He was right, there he was, Petteri Outokumpu brawling against a relatively muscular and hard-looking Swede. Luukas sighed and slammed his own face with the palm of his hand. This part of the trip was the one he never wanted to experience.
     
  15. "Aaaw, ma whee Carli, louk atchye! Keen a big dous aye awloor agein!"
    Argr gleefully received his simple stone battle axe, it's head no bigger than a man's fist, but sharp and solid and most of all lightweight. "A wee quek fexs 'n'..."
    He cleared his throat.
    "Daapre, thaanks Maarstre Smaath."
    He tucked his axes into a leather blanket an tied them up into it with rope. He managed to catch the end of the conversation between the hooded woman and the curious gent, but said gent left just as Argr turned around. He had been too shy/too tunnelled getting his axes sharpened to actively take part in any talk, but he knew there was talk of blades.
    "Ef yeask me ma- ahem. If yoou aask me Ma'am, tha beest tool es tha wun yoo're muost comftable wheth."
    The young woodcutter tipped forward his head before stepping toward the door.

    "Lassies first?..."
     
  16. Biri blinked blearily at the young man who had approached him with another bottle of wine. He was almost suspicious at first, but then he grinned and plucked the bottle from Magnus' grasp with a swipe of his hand. Biri wasn't one to look a gift horse in the mouth, and with the state he was currently in his judgement was hardly at its best.

    Pulling the cork free, Biri wasted no time with getting another cup. He put the bottle right up to his lips and turned it all the way up, savoring its taste as it poured down his throat. After draining about a third of the bottle, he set it down on the table and wiped his face with his sleeve, smacking his lips before he turned to Magnus and spoke.

    "Good lad! There aren't many your age who would take pity on a man such as I, but it seems there is some hope yet for the young."

    Biri took another drink from the bottle of wine and then sighed contentedly. "So, you want to hear what this old drunk has to tell? Well, it has been many a day since last I told a tale, but I will do my best on account of the kindness and generosity you have shown me this evening."

    Taking another drink, he then pushed the bottle away and cleared his throat. A strange cast came over his eyes as he stared silently off into space for a moment, almost as if he had lapsed into another drunken stupor. There was a keenness in his gaze that would have told anyone watching this that was not the case, however. A faint glimmer of light and warmth as passion long thought dead sprang to life once more. A look of recognition came over his face, and then he begin to sing:


    There once was a tale they sung of old

    Of a maiden with hair as fair as gold

    She sat by the sea both day and night

    From the fall of dusk 'til dawn's first light

    For beyond the waves her love had gone

    To other lands so far from home


    The salt of the ocean and her tears

    Came in with the tides for many a year

    Until one day so lonely was she

    With a heart sad and broken leapt into the sea

    And to this day on that lonely shore

    Her sad cries are heard forevermore


    Biri sat silently for a few moments after he finished. It almost seemed that he was lost in memory, transported beyond this small inn to another time and place. Then he chuckled and reached for the wine once more, drinking deeply before smiling at Magnus.

    "At least I think it went something like that. It has been quite some time and a few words might have escaped my recollection. My memory is not what it once was, sadly. Still, I hoped you liked it." He winked playfully at Magnus and then drank from the wine yet again, this time a little more slowly as he seemed to pensively mull over something in his mind.
     
  17. Vanessa looked at Hans as he left and she then looked towards the man that spoke to her and she then walked over to the door before she opened it as she inclined her head and then stepped outside. She rested her right hand on the hilt of her blade while she looked around and she inhaled the fresh air with a small and content sigh.
     
  18. "Bugger'o Raally, coold in't it? Wal, see yoo laatar Messes. A need ewee cide- Ahem, I need a draank."
    Argr didn't get to practice his fake accent often. It wasn't to hide his own accent, more to make it easier to understand for those not of the Nordic lands.

    The inn was in a right state! Some burly bastards had begun battering some beverage buyers. A full brawl had erupted, and like a hurricane of ale, chairs, ill language and bloody faces, it began to pick up brik a brak and tables and yet more drunkards and soon possibly the windows and floor tiles and maybe even the bartenders.

    "... Fok tha' y'canny brie ar billyen ou' fe me t' goin tha'!"
    Argr turned a full three hundred and sixty degrees and turned and walked away.

    He then remembered that Sally was a regular in that tavern.
    Sally. The prettiest dame in whole the world, or at least in Argr's eyes. Long blonde hair and bright blue eyes. Fun and cheerful, but never too drunk- a sensible lassie who was tall and proud, but kindly and warm hearted. She never once kicked Argr up the arse when they put the 'Kick Me Arse' sticker on his arse.
    If she was in there...

    Argr turned around slowly and took a deep breathe...
    "C'mone, Argrhundr. Myek Drengskapr preud..."

    He charged in head first like a moron, wailing like a moron, arms flailing like a moron.
    And all he could think to himself was
    Yoo're gon ge' baatr'd yoo're gon ge' baatr'd you're gon ge' battre'd you're gon g-....
     
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