Author: Andrew Street

So many of the warriors here talk about the heat of battle, the feeling of blood rushing through your veins, the feeling of time both getting longer and shorter. Clashes feel like they take hours, but moments during them feel so fleeting. I felt a different side of this when looking for the sword of this mysterious potential saint, Rannveig. Their hatred for Sveas and her minions was palpable even in spirit when I met him in my vision, but I learned just how deep that ran. When I came upon the field just outside the eternal storm, I felt…calm, peace knowing this was the place I was sent to visit, that this great warrior would no longer be lost to time or held only in respect through fallible stories, and that my long journey wouldn’t be for naught. As this peace settled, my vision darkened. I rubbed my eyes to clear my vision, but when I came to, I was no longer in the warm sun of the late summer skies. Snow covered the ground, but I found no chill in my bones. In my hand was the sword I was looking for, and before me was a hoard of Sveas’s minions, the undead. My heart swelled, but again a peace washed over me. Death wasn’t something to be feared, but faced head-on. I prayed for strength, wisdom, and endurance in this battle and marched forward toward the encroaching sea of bodies.

A roar escaped my lungs as I swung my blade and immediately cut down four of these creatures, a light flashing on every connection of my blade. These were nothing. There were no weapons or armor on them, just a cold, bloodthirsty passion in their gaze. This wasn’t a battle of skill, but of endurance. I kept my wits about me as I cut down dozens, then hundreds. There was a break in the chaff, and I spotted more coming for me now armed and armored. This fight was only beginning. They rushed me this time and attacked with more coordination and tact, yet they were still no match for me. I focused but felt fatigue setting in. This was the touch of Sveas and I would not let her win. I let out another roar and took down the three that were flanking me. I rushed with determination through the ranks of these monsters and locked eyes with ones that could be considered my equal. They were much larger, and I felt the cold aura of Sveas even from the distance I was at. I rushed toward them, taking down undead left and right.

“Finally, a potential challenge. Here I thought you were toying with me, Sveas. I’ll take down your champions and whatever else you throw at me. I am not your slave. I am Rannveig the Death Defiant.”

I leapt towards the beast, and steel clashed in midair. Blows were traded, cutting down the surrounding troops, and for once, I was taking injuries. They felt cold and numb instead of the typical wounds I’ve felt before. At last, I slashed an arm off the champion, his sword arm, and took the chance to separate its head from its body. It slumped to the ground defeated, and behind it, two more warriors of similar stature approached, cleaving a path of their own troops.

“I thought that was too easy for the god of death. Let’s really see what you have for me.” I cleaved both of them, steel clashing, iron ringing, and my endurance fading. Between the wounds, the supernatural cold, and me fighting for what felt like hours, my abilities were dulling. I collected more injuries on my leg and arm. I took to one knee and felt the grip of Sveas tightening on my wounds. I took a painful breath in, and let out one final roar.

“I AM NOT YOURS, SVEAS! YOU WILL TASTE MY VENGEANCE!” I spun and cleaved the two fighting me, decapitating them in the process. I leapt at those surrounding me and continued my rampage. I knew my time was limited, but I would take as many as I could with me. A long sword slipped between my armor, a hammer battered my arm, a great axe knocked me off balance, and that was it. My injured leg gave out as I fell on my back. The hoard didn’t descend upon me, but instead one more champion walked through a part in the surrounding crowd. With a great sword in his mighty hands, I knew what was to come.

“Even in death you will not take me Sveas. My soul is not yours.” The champion impaled me to the ground as my vision again blurred.

I was back in the field, lying down as he had, sword in hand. The vision of Rannveig the Death Defiant was still humming in my mind. Even during all of that mayhem, I still felt calm. He felt calm. He did not fear death and, as such, faced it physically head on. I will make sure to honor him as best as I can.

The Eparch is dying” Lord Hyutyr let out when he entered the tavern.
“WHAT?!” I took off sprinting into the woods, following behind Mother Superior Solace and a few others, including the good doctor Heimir, rushing to Elias’s aid.
My breath left me, I don’t know if it was the shock of the news or the distance and speed I was running but by the time I reached Elias, My head was pulsing, my sides splitting, my legs cramping. I looked to the others at the scene.
“What happened?”
“Hollow Song. They got him. He’s dying”
With that last word, I was left completely breathless as a frenzy of panic set in.
“No, no, no, I can’t save him then, I haven’t learned what I need to, maybe if I-” A pair of strong weathered hands grabbed me by the collar and before me Lord Knutt stared me in the eyes.
“Vernon, not Erasmus, just breathe. Do what you need to do and be there for him. Emotions will come later”
A warm calm washed over me as he let me go. One I had not felt in a long time. I fell to my knees next to Elias and reached for his hand. It dashed and darted as he tried to get the good doctor to stop his ministrations.

Elias spoke his peace to both me and Solace. I felt my vision darkening as he spoke, as the words grew distant. Finally, Solace looked up to the good doctor and spoke, which brought me back to the moment.

“Heimir, Stop.”
“WHAT?!” Heimir exclaimed with a look of shock and disbelief.
“It’s okay… Let him go.” I put a hand on his shoulder, which was quickly ripped away from me as he backed away.
Finally, his thrashing stopped.
“I’m so proud of you both. Lead these people well. Good…bye.” His breath left him, his muscles relaxed, and his hand slipped from my hand. I fell backward into the soft grass behind me. My vision darkened again as I stared at the ground in front of me. I had failed. I couldn’t protect this man of god from the grasp of death. All my efforts and the knowledge I had gained in the past months were not enough. Shame seeped into my mind as once again a voice pierced the darkness

“Vernon, are you alright? Can you stand?” The Voice of the Tempest extended his hand. I stared for a moment and took it. My legs were tree trunks as I stumbled upright, leaning on the kindly skald with sister solace on my other side. The blood returned to my limbs as we moved back out of the forest. Slowly I was able to support myself again to walk, and speak once again.

“Thank you for that. I feel I would’ve been sitting there a while would you have not had said something” I said to him. I looked ahead and saw the good knight Knutt carrying the body we were to bury shortly. My mind blurred. I moved with what felt like practiced actions. They buried him and I gave him a proper funeral. When I was done speaking the rites, I stepped away from the group gathered and kneeled. Again I felt that darkness creep back. This time not blinding, or hindering, just…dark. I heard my name again and snapped back to reality.

“Would you like some time, Brother?” It was the Voice again.
“Uhm, yes please” They left me alone with the darkness, with my emotions. I sat. The doubt seeped in again; The doubt, the shame, the anger. I failed. How was I supposed to lead these people I met not more than 6 months ago? I let them down. I let this good man of God down. I was weak. I chose this life and this is what I get for it. I felt the tears streaming from my unblinking eyes. I clenched them and felt the sting of the cold winter air. I wiped the tears away with my hand and stared.

“Please, guide me on this new path. What is the best thing I can do for these people?” I placed my tear soaked hand on the freshly laid soil and prayed.

“Do your best, Vernon. Learn what you can, lead these people with that knowledge” I heard in my head.

My face was soaked, my eyes red. I stayed just a bit longer to clean myself up a bit. I stood and returned to the people. The people who I would help, heal, and lead. The people who would support me when I needed it, and I would support in turn.

“I’m home!” Vernon projected his voice through the cozy house that had quickly become a home to him.
“Big brother!” Randolph, Ylva, and Embla, his younger siblings came running to warmly welcome him home after an arduous forum with a group hug.
“Well, welcome home, my hard-working nephew. Glad to see everyone made it home safely,” Manning, a middle-aged, but greying man, gave Vernon a warm smile but shot a couple glares at Randolph and Ylva.
“I am, too. You two took quite a risk coming to see me. Between Skógerblóði, the Hollow Song, and the mages, I was worried you wouldn’t make it home,” Vernon nudged his twin siblings roughly.
“Yeah, well, you taught us well. We made it there fine,didn’t we?” Randolph rebutted. Vernon and Manning rolled their eyes.
“Making it past my watchful eye was quite a feat. I was quite a hunter when I was still with the clan,” Maning boasted.
“It wasn’t exactly hard when you were asleep,” the children giggled.
“Also, wasn’t that quite a few years ago? I remember you leaving a lot up to my parents even before you decided to settle down,” Vernon ribbed.
“Oh hush now, I did plenty. And as for you youngsters, isn’t it past your bedtime? I know you wanted to stay up to welcome your brother home, but come now, let’s get you all in bed.”

After Manning got everyone to sleep, or, at least, in bed, he came and sat with Vernon.

“So I hear you’re set to become a priest? I take it those lessons helped?”
“Yeah, thanks,” Vernon sat staring at the fire that was keeping the home warm.
“Ya know it won’t be easy? When’s that ever stopped ya, though” Manning chuckled.
Vernon just sat, deep in thought, still staring at the fire. Manning sighed.
“I miss them, too.” Vernon snapped a look of both shock and a touch of anger at Manning, “I know, I know. What they did was horrible, but they’re still family.”
“I just can’t forgive them. I can’t reasonably expect them to take care of me or anyone for that matter. They’re monsters,” Vernon uttered this cold vitriol, tears forming in his eyes.
“…But you still miss them, don’t you? I see the rations you make and take to forum, hear the stories you still tell your siblings and I’m sure others you meet in town. I can feel it in your heart, Vernon”
Vernon shuddered, despite being comfortably warm, clenched his eyes shut, tears streaking his cheeks, and, finally, turned to his uncle’s shoulder, sobbing.
It was Manning’s turn now to stare into the fire, gently stroking his nephew’s back as the dark of the night grew.
As Vernon’s cries waned, Manning began humming a soft melody to soothe both Vernon’s and his own soul.