#her giant sword once belonged to her mother who served as a Star Warrior and the weapon was found in a burned summit hupo traveled to once

[stormvanari]

yeah so

🔥 lmao 🔥

[aelsell]

Egilsaga 01 - The Fairytale

Tilda tells her son a fairytale of a princess and her journey. 2.15k words. Part of the headcanon series around Tilda’s favorite story, an old saga centering around the lives and deeds of the nine children of Egil. She first heard of it when she was a child herself from a merchant that came to Esgaroth and spent her life collecting bits and pieces of this tale.

"There once was a powerful lord who lived close to the sea. The seagulls flew about the high walls of his castle and the angry waves crashed upon the rocks this castle was build upon. It was a fortress grown on treacherous soil that bred strong and able men. But the fields landward were fertile and rich with crops so the people prospered and grew. And the Lord himself was one of the biggest and most powerful men in all the land. He had no sons though, only one daughter. She was as beautiful as the flowers that once grew in her mother's garden. Her favorite flowers were thistles, for they came from the gods, and so her best dress was embroidered with the green thorns and lilac petals. It was that dress the young princess wore, for she was a princess in all but name when she left her father's castle. Her journey was long and dangerous but the young princess did not wish for it to end. She had always lived inside her father's castle, protected by its thick walls, caged by grey stones. She had dreamed to fly away with the white birds of the sea many a night. But she had never dared to turn these dreams into wishes, to give them a voice, to give them power. Before her mother had died she had taught the little princess many things, about the gods, about the magick of old, about the power of words. And now, though she had grown into a woman herself, these lessons still lingered in her mind. She did not wish to go against them. Her dreams grew stronger with every night she spent upon the road. At the end of that road her future awaited - and the man she was supposed to spend it with. An ally of her father's had promised his sword and his loyalty in exchange for the lord's most precious possession. And her father had willingly given her away to that stranger. The princess was accompanied on her journey by two handmaidens and many guards. These guards were all loyal soldiers, strong men that had served within the castle for many years. They were skilled in battle, bloodied in many fights. And they were the first to die"

She paused in her tale for but a mere moment, but it was long enough for the little boy to grow impatient, to shift closer, leaning forward as if he could will the next words from his mother's lips. He was desperate to hear how the story continued, to find out what had happened to these good and loyal guards, she could see the curiosity in his eyes. And she smiled. Picking the embroidery back up, making one careful stitch after the other, she could hear nothing but the crackling fire, her son's uncomfortable and impatient movements. And her smile grew even bigger. "And then?", he finally broke the silence, curiosity growing stronger than the wish to not be rude. Just like it had been in herself when she was still a child. The woman shook her head, "I do not know how to tell you the rest of the story. I fear I should not have started it to begin with" A sigh left her lips and she looked up from underneath her lashes, watching his face carefully. "But I need to know how it ends! Did she really have to marry a stranger? How did her guards die?", his voice grew louder as the young boy all but jumped up from his place on the cushions, "Tell me please!" "You ask way too many questions, my dear", her tone was still gentle when she scolded him, "I fear what happened next was way too bloody and violent to tell to a boy like you in such a late hour" "I promise I won't be scared, mother!", he blurted out, folding his hands in a pleading gesture in front of her. "And do you promise", finally she really looked him in the eye, "You will be a good boy tomorrow, and do as you are told? Do you promise you will ask your tutor just as many questions as you asked me and pay attention during your lessons?" She could see in his face, in the way it distorted,  that he did not wish to agree. But she had played him, she had given him no choice. And for a short instant, she felt very bad for that. She needed to make sure though that he went to his lessons instead of hiding in the garden once more, needed to make sure he was best equipped for the hard years she could see lurking on the horizon. When he finally nodded in agreement her smile returned and she put down her needlework once more, pulling him into her lap instead. "Then I will tell you, my dear, how the story continued.

It was late in the day, the sun already crept closer to the horizon. Darkness and shadows began to lure them from their path. But the princess and her handmaids did not fear the coming night. For almost an entire week they had been on the road, spending the dark hours in the cozy rooms of only the best roadside taverns. But a storm earlier had delayed their departure that morning and so they were not as far ahead as the leader of their guards wanted them to be. They had made good progress during the day. But it was not enough. They would not reach the next village in time and soon it would be too dark for their horses to continue on the road. He was scared of bandits and highwaymen, all sorts of wild animals and other dangers that could attack them from landward. Their road was bordered on one side by sandy beaches, steep cliffs, and the deep blue sea. It was that side that he deemed savest and so their encampment was set up with that in mind. His highest priority was to protect the carriage in which the princess and her handmaids were traveling, to protect the tent they would be sleeping in. It made sense. It was a mistake. For when night had gathered and the first stars crept onto the sky their small fires were well hidden from anyone on land by rocks and the cliffside. But it could be seen for miles and miles over the calm sea. The longboat was cloaked in shadows, moving swift and silent over the water. And even though the moon stood full and mighty in the sky above them, the guards on duty did not see the enemy approach. For their eyes were trained on the land and the Northmen arrived from the sea, arrived at their backs. Dogs of war the Lord and his men called themselves in jest when they were drunk on their small victories against other so-called kings. But the men that arrived on the longboat were wolves of war, not trained to lie in front of a warm fire when the battle was over but to continue their hunt forever and ever. The wrath of their gods burned within them, whispering of glory and prosperity. Never speaking of mercy. The princess woke from deep and peaceful slumber as the first scream echoed through the night. Before she could make it out of her tent all hell had already broken loose and before her guards could even turn around and fight their lives were already over. Like demons in the dark, they swept onto the land, killed those in their way, and took whatever seemed to be of use. Now some might call it luck others a cruel twist of fate, but whatever it was it saved the princess's life that night. In her desperate attempt to flee the scene she stumbled and fell, right in front of one of the northern warriors. In the moonlight that reflected in her eyes, he could see some resemblance of strength and beauty. They took her captive. The princess and her handmaids were forced to go with these brutal and violent strangers, to set foot upon their ship that would carry them far away from the shores of home and to a land so different than their own, it scared them to the bone. The warriors brought them to their islands, far off to the northern realms. The wolves of war had a village there, on the foot of a huge mountain that was still controlled by their gods. And their village was in dire need of its warriors for the giants of old, the frozen soldiers, had woken from a centuries-long slumber. And their hunger for blood made them angry. The skald, a seer, saw only one way to appease these dreadful creatures. A sacrifice of blood. The princess did not wish to die. She wished to fight, but her hands were small and weak, she had never held a sword in all her life. So in the dark of the night, she called to her own gods and their ancient magick. And with a lock of hair, with a simple knot, she reached out and stole from one of the young warriors. She reached for his heart, cradled it within her hand. And vowed to never return the beating, bloodied thing. And when he woke up in the pale light of a new and cold morning, his heart belonged to her and he loved the princess with every fiber of his body. He could not watch her die. The day came when the moon was full again, a month since the massacre on the beach, and the wolves of war readied themselves for battle once more. It was the night of the ancient ritual, the last chance they had to stop winter from ruling over their home for centuries, the last chance to stop the giants from taking everything they held dear. The young warrior looked at these creatures, bigger than the house he grew up in, bigger than the hills and mountains he scaled as a kid, and for the first time in his life, he felt fear. But love has always been stronger than fear. And so, when the ritual began, he stood against his mother, against his brothers, against all his people. And he declared that he would not see the princess come to harm. The giants, who had just arrived from their deep caverns within the mountain range, were furious that their sacrifice had been denied and so, with the might of their anger, they shattered the mountains around them, destroyed the valleys. Ice and Snow rained from the sky as a terrible blizzard left their outstretched palms, threatening to destroy every last living thing upon the islands"

The little boy shuddered, his eyes grew big as he leaned back, trying to hide behind a cushion once more. He had climbed out of his mother's lap as the story progressed, aiming to get closer to the fire as if he was feeling the ice giants cold wrath himself. But his mother only laughed. "There is no reason to be scared my dear, it is simply a fairytale", her voice that had been tense and filled with dread only minutes ago was once more soft and kind. It was her voice again, not that of the storyteller, "Maybe it is now indeed time for you to go to bed" He shook his head, but the day was old already and his eyelids very heavy. The maid took him from the room and his mother leaned back once more, her own gaze now drained upon the fire. It was then that her friend spoke, her friend who had been hidden in the shadows for almost all evening. "Will you tell him the true story, one day? Or will you keep calling it a fairytale?", she asked now, stepping closer to where the other woman was sitting. "Will you tell him the reason why this story rings so true with you?", there was no accusation in her tone as Sefa sat down, on the cushion that had been occupied by Drystan only mere moments ago. Tilda only shook her head, not even contemplating such a thought, "I will tell him a happier ending. He is too young to realize that not all princesses are saved in the end" She looked at Sefa, well aware that her friend thought of the same man as she did at that moment. The man who had tried to save them both. Wilhelm. A knight in shining armor. But just as it would be in her story Tilda knew that in real life no princess was ever saved by a knight in shining armor. You either save yourself or you are lost forever.

[ahb-writes]

Book Review: ‘Seven Endless Forests’

Swearing fealty to professional farseers who truthfully divined a 13-year-old child would behead her father in his sleep with a double-headed battle-axe? This novel is about a woman’s journey to a distant land, but there are countless stories within stories.

Searching for an ancient and abandoned Great Hall once ruled by a famous jarl who abandoned his mythic blade upon death? Seeking inspiration from tales of bygone wars featuring bloodthirsty children who ventured into the distant Skal Mountains bearing nothing but gritted teeth and a stolen sword? Wading through wide rivers, under purplish fog, beneath the ethereal gaze of a morning sun that puckers the skin? Swearing fealty to professional farseers who truthfully divined a 13-year-old child would behead her father in his sleep with a double-headed battle-axe? Dancing through nighttime festivals with just the right combination of mischief and bravery to earn goodwill and courage from all manner of singers, storytellers, mystics, magicians, nuns, weapons sellers, and stage actors? This novel is about a woman's journey to a distant land, but there are countless stories within stories. Prophesies. Dreams. Visions. Howl spells. Hearth magic. Hypnosis. Mystical readings. Trees that bleed crimson sap. Ghost witches that are vengeful as hell. Taverns built into treetop villages. Caverns occupied by a family of runaway orphan sorcerers. SEVEN ENDLESS FORESTS unfolds with classical ease. Quests beget quests, challenges beget challenges, and journeys beget more journeys. Several stories from old Europe spiral outward in this way. It's an open question as to whether contemporary readers will tolerate such consistently meandering flights of fancy, but the author, to great credit, navigates all of this rather deftly. For example, to obtain the means to defeat an enemy, one must first earn the trust of an ally. And to discern the path to her goal, Torvi must first sacrifice for the right to know the path at all. For each quest she and her friends undertake, Torvi must complete another, separate, smaller endeavor, and so comes to know herself all the deeper and truer as a result.

Scenes and environments that come alive are often in the foreground for but a moment before the characters are forced to advance or retreat elsewhere.

This novel is fun and exciting and full. Almost too full. In the same way that old Arthurian tales like Sir Gawain and the Green Knight were prodigiously and intensely epic in their scope, so too is SEVEN ENDLESS FORESTS unforgivingly immense regarding its narrative largesse -- the book is linear and true, but it is far from straightforward.

SEVEN ENDLESS FORESTS reads like the foundational literature upon which a dozen future novels are sure to be based. It really is that dense. The good and bad of a novel with such a rich current of mythos are obvious. Readers are encouraged to read more and more, because every treeline, river, tavern, and rustling in the bush has a story to tell. However, scenes and environments that come alive are often in the foreground for but a moment before the characters are forced to advance or retreat elsewhere. The breadth of secondary and tertiary stories that lend context to this novel shift the author's depth and care from the characters in the actual narrative to the stories these characters tell. Morgunn, for example, is Torvi's alcohol-addled younger sister. The character is meant to serve a critical role, but if one reads the novel close enough, it's reasonable to deduce Morgunn likely did not appear in this book's first or second drafts at all. Her constituent function speaks less to a bitter conflict among rival sisters than to the overarching influence of external forces on filial relations. Morgunn should be a necessary character but she's surprisingly worthless.

The lore is strong, but the characterization therein will leave readers wanting.

Uther, the matron bishop of the wolf-priests, gets a raw deal, too. The wolf-priests are half-starved strewn-out theists who burn their victims alive, and yet the author's contrived dissolution of this violent horde is astonishingly placid. Uther is hunted for half the novel and is posited as a villain through and through, but the book's anticlimactic resolution for the tall, muscular, fierce foe is disappointing to say the least. If Tucholke continues to carve from the mountain of mythology an assortment of retellings with a brilliant and engaging edge, as with SEVEN ENDLESS FORESTS, then the world will be grateful. This novel's expanded, stories-within-stories approach to old world heroism and questing is warm and dramatic. One wishes more legends were crafted with such heart. One's only regret, then, is how such dedication and guile frequently yield character development for the sake of weaving a more palpable history, onto which said development might later project. The lore is strong, but the characterization therein will leave readers wanting.

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