Svartur Skjaldengill

With the absence of Caelynn in his daily life, a void grew in Svartur. He had no one to truly look after, or to speak at length with every day. The bond that the two had made over the years, was one that could not be replicated with someone else. Svartur and Mora remained close in the days that Caelynn was attending the Dunadain Conservatory, but the connection was not the same. Ellelon has a small area near the center of town that is used to host local traders every Theris. Svartur made it a point to visit the traders market every week, even though he hadn’t ever purchased any goods for himself. Why was he there? What was he looking for? He would mainly wander around taking in the sights and smells that arrived from the surrounding areas weekly and occasionally making small talk with the traders.   A few months after Caelynn had left, Svartur had interest in a particular trader and her cart. A middle aged halfling stood next to the cart as she announced, “fresh moss honey here, come taste the land’s finest honey!” Svartur had honey before, but moss honey? What the fuck is moss honey? The thought of someone consuming anything with moss in it turned his stomach a bit, but yet, he was still interested in it. As he approached the seller, he caught the scent of what smelled like freshly cut whisper leaf with a sweeter ending note.   As Svartur neared the cart, he took a moment to look over the halfling. She stood just over three feet tall, a stout build, a light pastel blue headband with the symbol of Irise on it laid across her forehead and wrapped behind her hair, which was a deep red and braided in length to above her belt line. He closed the distance on her as he looked into her spring green eyes, as he said, “good day ma’am, how is business today?” The halfling took a step back as the dragonborn was towering over her, not from fear, but to not strain her neck as she looked at him “business is fine for this time of year I suppose. May I interest you in a sample of my delicious moss honey?” Svartur smiled at her and responded “well, I um, am not usually interested in anything with moss in it, but I will admit, it does smell pretty good.” The halfling chuckled before answering “don’t be silly my lord, I wouldn’t dare put moss in this delicious treat! We thought it would be a clever name for it. And, obviously it is green, like moss silly.”   Svartur smiled at her and held out his massive, clawed hand “I am interested, may I try some please?” She pulled a small wooden spoon from a basket behind her, dipped it into an open jar of honey, then extended it to Svartur “Enjoy! The name’s Helianthus by the way” The honey, to him, was quite nice, not too sweet, just right, a smooth earthy tone to it, and most notably, as he smelled earlier, a delicate touch of whisper leaf complimented the honey perfectly. “That is, delicious! Not what I was expecting at all to be honest!” a delighted Svartur blurted out. Helianthus went on about the recipe, and the long process of this honey is finely crafted with love, and attention to detail. Svartur retained some of what she was saying, but he was more concerned about the aura she had, the emotional attachment he was feeling toward her already. He only knew her for a few minutes, but it was feeling like years of being close to someone, she just had an unexplainable kindness to her…   Over the ensuing two plus years, every Theris, Svartur and Helianthus spent hours talking in the market square as she sold her honey to the locals. They exchanged stories of their childhoods, their adventures, their dreams, and religion. He had inquired about her headband that she wore all the time. She told him it was in honor of her goddess Irise, the deity of the forest. Helianthus eagerly told stories of her blessings, her greatness, and most importantly, the guidance she offered. Svartur returned the favor with teachings of his own, schooling her in the ways of his god Aliel, the god of law and order. At the end of each market day, the two spent no less than fifteen minutes praying with each other to both of their respective gods, eventually offering kind words to the others also. Svartur loved this very much.   Svartur spoke at great length to Helianthus about Caelynn, how he loved for her like a sister, how he missed her each day, and most importantly, how a void in him was created the day she left for the Dunadain Conservatory. Helianthus was empathetic in hearing the stories from him. She could see the love in his eyes and hear the pain in his voice as he spoke each heart-warming tale about the two of them. The mighty dragonborn and the joyful halfling had become close friends. Helianthus could never come close to filling the cavity created by Caelynn’s departure, but Svartur at least had a new purpose in looking forward to these days with his new side kick and could not bear the thought of losing another close friend.   During the month of Sumorah, Svartur began having reoccurring nightmares, a replaying scene of Helianthus laid before him, lifeless, in a field of her favorite flowers, and covered in blood. To many, these dreams would be seen as nothing, just a haunting image with no merit, but Svartur is a devout follower of Aliel, who is known for possessing the ability to see the future, felt these dreams might have been a premonition. Svartur never spoke a word to Helianthus about his horrifying dreams, instead he carried on with her as usual, for he did not want to scare her.   The first Theris in Melorah Svartur waited for the arrival of Helianthus in the market as he had done for the last almost three years. She was late, but he was not worried, she had been late a few times before. An hour went by with no signs of her, he began to pace the market square. Two hours, nothing. During the third hour, worry officially hit him. At the fourth hour of being alone, the nightmare he was repeatedly having flashed through his mind. The dragonborn dropped to his knees, stricken with terror and sadness, prayed to Aliel for her to be safe, then jumped to his feet as he set on his way to travel south, a half-day ride to the humble village of Thistledown, the place Helianthus calls home.   A dust cloud followed the strained gallops of Svartur on horseback as he and his steed hastily traversed the open road to Thistledown. Despite becoming close to Helianthus, he had never visited her home. She had described to him in detail the layout of the village, the town center, and the location of her family’s homestead located on the southernmost tip of the land. As the cool autumn air danced across his scales, he felt an emptiness inside him growing as he rode through the forest, through the pastures, and farm trails nearing the town. Svartur reached a crossing atop a knoll that he stopped at to get his bearings. To his right, he saw a modest home and a field amongst the trees he believed belonged to Helianthus and her family. As he was about to take off, he noticed the town square she spoke about, with a large group of people gathered around in a group. A feeling inside him guided him to ride to the center, so he did just that.   Svartur dismounted his heavily breathing steed as he neared the group of villagers. All sorts of emotions could be heard from the town folk. Fear. Worry. Anger. Sorrow. Crying. The dragonborn excused himself through the crowd as he heard them muttering ill felt words in his direction. He did not care at this time, he had one mission, find his cheery little honey selling friend. He made it through the front row of people with ease. When he did, what he saw was an almost mirror image of his nightmares from the past month. Helianthus lay on the ground before him, drained of life, the joy vacant in her corpse. A black handled blade, with an orange gem adorning the pommel, pierced the heart of the once delightful halfling, with a segment of parchment attached between the knife’s edge and her body. Svartur sensed the pure evil emitting from the weapon, and the note, as he collapsed on the ground beside his dead friend.   As tears water falled from the mighty dragonborn’s icy blue eyes, he lay his hands on her shoulders saying nothing. A few scared villagers took exception to the actions of the outsider now cradling their beloved neighbor and friend. Svartur regained some composure as he realized a combination of six or seven of the villagers, made up of humans, half elves and halflings, attempting to remove him from her body and pull him backward. He rose to his feet, now towering over the men. “I mean you folk… no harm, I know…I knew this woman…I knew her well…I am from Ellelon, my name is Svartur.” He said quietly, drowning with sadness.   A three-foot tall halfling with short curly hair under a farmer’s hat, and a large belly stood before Svartur, as he introduced himself. “I’m Finnick, Finnick Hillbelly. I pray its only coincidence an outsider of your stature shows up here, on this most somber day.” Svartur looks him in the eyes, also consumed by hurt and anger, and tells him “It is no coincidence. I have spent the better part of three years with….every Theris…..with Helianthus at the Ellelon market. We’ve become very close….close in the last few years….when she did not show today…I had to try and locate her.” Finnick felt at ease with these words, as he could see the pain overwhelming the large white dragonborn in front of him. For nearly a minute, Svartur, Finnick, and the rest of the town stood silent, in an unspoken moment of silence for their fallen friend, only the leaves of the canopy above breathing with the wind, and a few cries could be heard.   Finnick reached his hand outward and up to Svartur “come with me friend, let’s sit for a moment, to discuss everything.” They took a few steps before Svartur stopped “wait, the note, what does the note say?” Finnick about faced, and walked to Helaianthus while softly saying “yes, I suppose it is time we remove this wretched blade, and this despicable bit of writing from her.” Finnick gently removed the knife, laid it on the ground, then removed the note from her chest and handed it to Svartur. He lifted the blood covered parchment and read aloud slowly “Sariel visits you this Melorah. This sacrifice is your only warning. Prepare your offerings. We will be back when the Stillness begins. – Tlusci Bandyci” Svartur lowered his head a bit, for he knew what was coming, and these poor people were not prepared for it. He knew what he had to do now.   Svartur, Finnick, and three other town elders sat around a table sharing a meal and discussing the impending matter at hand. It was obvious the town and its people were ill-prepared for a battle, because these inhabitants were simple farmers and tradesmen, with no combat training or proper weapons. Finnick, the jovial halfling, suggested they give the Tusci Bandyci what they demanded in order to save the village from any casualties. Arvin and Dan, the half-elf and human representatives, both agreed with Finnick. The third councilman, a halfling, sat there, silent, staring at the table in front of him, occasionally glancing at the dragonborn across from him. Svartur remained quiet as the four men deliberated.   Upon the conclusion of the meeting, the silent halfling approached Svartur and spoke deliberately “We cannot let these demons get away with this. We cannot give them our stock. We need it for our survival. We cannot let the murder of my daughter go unavenged.” As Svartur heard the last of his words, he looked the barely over three feet tall man in his eyes, appearing to have no life to them, presumably consumed by anger and sadness. Svartur lay a hand on the man’s shoulder “Helianthus was a wonderful woman sir. If it is your wish, I will do everything in my power, by the grace of the gods, to assist you and your people.” Both men seemed to understand what the other was feeling without speaking a word about it. The halfling reached into his pocket, pulled out a folded up blue cloth, and handed it to Svartur “My name is Beaumusco, if I can help in any way, tell me what to do. May these items aid you in your mission, they have no use for me now.” The dragonborn accepted the gifts and nodded his head as he turned toward the forest.   Svartur followed a stream in the forest that led him to a small waterfall. He felt a warm glow caress his scales as he dropped from his horse. Yellow flowers lined the shoreline, vines coiled the trunks of a few of the larger trees, sun rays cascaded through the canopy above, and a cool mist rose from the turbulent waters. This was the ideal location for the dragonborn to receive guidance from Aliel. Svartur reached into his pack and produced the blue cloth given to him by Beaumusco. As he unfolded the cloth, he saw the sign of Irise, and realized this was the headband worn daily by his fallen friend. Inside the long blue cloth was a chain, with a plain silver ring around it adorned with a small green gemstone. Svartur studied the necklace and ring, but found no markings or writing, however he could feel a comforting presence around him as held the jewelry.   Svartur held the headband in his right hand, the necklace in his left, and kneeled on the ground as he began to speak with his god of law and order. After what felt like fifteen minutes of meditation he opened his eyes, and to his surprise, two humans, a man and a woman, stood before him looking down upon him. The man had a wrinkled face, long white beard, an elegant crown atop his long wavy gray hair, and was wearing a gold trimmed white cloak. The stunning brunette woman wore a dress made of leaves, vines, and flowers, and wore jewelry with brilliant green gemstones. Svartur remained on his knees as he gazed upon the magnificence of the two standing in front of him, as he could feel the power surrounding them.   “On your feet my son. I am Aliel” said the god of law and order. “And I am Irise” spoke the goddess of the forest. Aliel took a step toward Svartur “The two of us have heard your prayers. We are here to offer you guidance for what lies ahead. If you are to help the humble servants of Thistledown, you must ride to the neighboring villages and recruit as many followers as you can to help fight the rotten followers of Sariel.” Irise also moved closer to Svartur telling him “We will help in the combat, but we must not join in the fight ourselves. Have faith in us, and victory shall be yours.” The old man walked over to the horse and removed Svartur’s shield “A fine shield you have here, a little plain, but formidable for sure.” As the god spoke, a warm bright light enshrouded the shield as an engraving of an angel was instantly etched into it. “Pray to me in a time of need, and my power will guard you from harm.” Svartur took the shield back and ran his hand across the angel. As he looked back up to the god, Irise was hanging the necklace with the green gemstone around his neck “My blessing to you, my dear. May the forest always offer you comfort.” And with that, they both vanished before Svartur could thank them.   Svartur took a minute to collect himself and regain his composure. He was in shock from two gods visiting and speaking with him. What a life-changing experience this was for him. He had always believed. He prayed daily. He knew the gods existed. But to be personally blessed by two of them was an unbelievable experience for him. He looked down at the headband in his hand before tying it to his belt “I will make this right Helianthus. I will save your family and your friends from any further harm.” Emboldened by what just occurred, he mounted his horse and rode through the forest to the village of Hastowe.   Over the next nine days Svartur rode to Hastowe, East to Bayley, North to Asfield, then West back to Thistledown. Svartur showed the note left by the Tlusci Bandyci to each of the town’s leaders and told them how they murdered his friend Helianthus. All of them agreed that this threat had to be met with proper force, and put down, for they feared they would be next in line to be exploited. Svartur and his steed galloped back to Thistledown at a steady pace. He used this time alone to take in the beautiful scenery of the land he was traveling through, remember the good times he spent with his lost friend, and mentally prepare himself for the inevitable battle to be fought less than a week away.   Svartur rode through the forest and the fields as the morning sun gleamed off of his wintery white exterior. As the main town came into sight he heard the chopping of wood, and to his surprise nearly a dozen cheval de frise had been constructed around the perimeter. He trotted past the blacksmith, which judging by the heat surrounding it and the crude swords thrown about, they haven’t had a minute of rest since the time he departed ten days ago. He slid off his horse as he met Finnick and Beaumusco at the front of the town center. They were peering over a rough sketch of the town and its roads, with rocks as markers for defenses. Both halflings turned to Svartur as he approached their table.   Beaumusco greeted Svartur “I pray you have good news for us lad, we do not have enough here to defend against them fucking demons alone.” Both men looked tired and dirty, no doubt caused by planning and giving direction to the town folk. Svartur looked both men and the map over as he told them “Hastowe, Bayley, and Asfield have all pledged to send men, and follow orders upon their arrival.” They thanked him as both sighed a sign of relief. Finnick asked Svartur to give some basic combat training to the men and women that have volunteered to be part of the front-line defense. “I will do what I can with the little time remaining.” The next few days included an all hands-on deck approach as every able bodied adult was busy doing what they could in preparation for the invaders.   Two days before the Stillness, men and women from the surrounding towns had arrived and began establishing camps inside the hastily built town walls and defenses. Numbering in the hundreds now, half elves, humans, halflings, and one dragonborn hustled around the town, turning what was once a cheery undefended village, full of humble peaceful inhabitants, into what now appeared to be a somewhat formidable force to be dealt with. The first day of the Stillness arrived. Svartur joined the Thistledown council, along with the leaders from allied towns for one last meeting in finalizing their strategy. As the men geared up Finnick poured the group a tall drink of stump mead. They all raised their tankards as they looked at one another and said in unison “SIGUR.”   With the men and women in position around the town, Svartur and the leaders slowly rode through them, speaking words of encouragement, until they reached their destination, at the front of the nearly two-hundred men and women assembled outside the town’s main entryway. Svartur dropped his chin and began to pray one last time before the bloodshed. Before he could finalize his words, he was interrupted by the rhythmic chants of the evil invaders. He opened his eyes in time to witness a few dozen riders and what looked to be about five-hundred men forming ranks on the hill side. Two riders galloped their way toward Thistledown and stopped a few hundred yards shy, a middle ground between the town and the invading army. Finnick and his best friend, Littwin also a halfling, rode out to meet the two men.   A drow and a human, both on horses waited for the two halflings to meet them. Both men were wearing leather armor trimmed in a deep purple. The human looked at Finnick “Do you have what we demanded.” The man spoke in a low coarse tone. His eyes seemed to be surveying the scene behind the two halflings. Finnick answered “Sir, perhaps we can reach an agreement. We would be willing to sell some of our goods, but we are unable to just hand over our stock.” The man ran his fingers over the pommel of his sword and down the handle “Were our demands not clear to you? We are not here to negotiate.” The drow remained motionless during the conversation, he just seemed to be staring right into the soul of the jolly halfling. Finnick trembled a bit, he was far from his comfort zone at this point “Please, please see reason here. Surely you don’t want to put the lives of your people at risk over this.” The man hissed back, filling with rage as he spoke “Your pathetic group of farmers do NOT scare us. We will kill every one of you. We will fuck your women. We will enslave your children. We will burn your village to the ground!”   There was a sinister stillness in the air as the Tlusci Bandyci remained chanting behind the four men, as it appeared only one side was attempting a peaceful resolution. Finnick was now consumed by anger and fear as he uncharacteristically snapped back at the threatening human “We will fight you! We will be…” The drow snapped to life as he waved his hand and shouted “Rapensi!” Finnick was blasted from his horse and fell to the ground. The human drew his sword before Littwin could react, and drove it straight through his neck, laughing as blood squirted from the hole and sprayed onto his own armor. The drow leaped from his horse, landing in front of Finnick as he was recovering to his feet. The bloodthirsty invader unsheathed two daggers, and in one motion drove them up through Finnick’s armpits. As the halfling cried out in pain, the attacker pulled his sword from his side, and as the moonlight danced off the blade, he effortlessly cleaved Finnick’s head from his body. There would be no peace on this night.   The marauders cheered as they witnessed their leader behead the helpless Finnick. Svartur resisted the urge to charge into battle, he knew leading the defenders to the Tlusci Bandyci would be suicide, he had to wait for them to come to him. The drow and the human returned to their people, blood soaked, and readied the attack. They began to march through the trees and across the farm field to the town. Svartur urged his army to hold position and not to attack until they were directly in front of them. A volley of arrows arched over the marching army aimed at the ranks of men and women defending their homeland. They hid behind shields and walls as the arrows neared, but to the surprise of all, every arrow ricocheted off of what could be explained as an invisible shell atop the town folk. Another volley came, and as before, each arrow deflected and landed harmlessly on the ground. Svartur looked upward and thanked Aliel for the help as the invaders entered a sprint toward him.   Cries rang out across the land as steel met steel when the two armies collided. “Kappi Ijos” Svartur bellowed as his war hammer emitted a bright light and he swung at the first of what would be many casualties caused by his hands. Svartur could only think about the lifeless face of Helianthus, and the gruesome scene of Finnick as he mauled his way through the evil invaders. He was determined to clash with the drow on the battlefield. He had to make the man pay with his life for his actions. As the dragonborn carved a path of destruction, he could see large branches of the trees grabbing the purple clad demons and pummeling them into the ground. There have been tales of trees coming to life and fighting unsuspecting adventurers, but not in these lands. Surely this was the doing of Irise, the goddess of the forest has entered the fight. Svartur smashed and bashed his way into the ranks of the enemy with no ally close to him. As he became surrounded, he called out to Aliel. The angel on his shield animated as a brilliant warm light cascaded outward, and from it a golden specter spread its wings and enveloped Svartur. As the dragonborn became shielded, he roared a skin crawling battle cry as a cone shaped spray of ice and snow left his mouth and eviscerated a dozen enemies in front of him. The drow stood nearly twenty feet in front of him, a bloody dagger in each hand, staring at Svartur, seemingly daring him to attack.   As Svartur took his first step toward the drow, spikes and thorns erupted from the ground around him causing him to slow his march while he began to bleed from his legs. As he took another step, the thorns retracted as fast as they appeared. The drow showed a sign of uncertainty as he opened his hand toward Svartur and spoke in a tongue unknown to the dragonborn. Two purple quasits appeared in front of him. The one on his left immediately took a swipe at him as the other stood there and heckled Svartur, telling him how they killed his friends, they died scared, they were nothing. Svartur took two heaving blows at the attacking demon, reducing it to a pile of viscera. The dragonborn now found himself unable to move as the other quasit released a small stream of fire at him. He shook off the pain and fought through the inability to move as he lunged at the demon and shield bashed it to the ground, and with a mighty step put his clawed foot through it’s head, silencing it for good. Svartur spoke the words “Graedandi Ijos” as his wounds healed, the drow ran at him readying an attack. The two warriors stood toe to toe, exchanging attacks, until at a critical moment in the combat Svartur landed a perfect swing of the hammer, pulsing with warm light, to the side of the drow’s head, dropping him to his knees. Svartur stood over the purple clad drow as he muttered “These moments will haunt you forever. Sariel has the souls of your friends. Haha-ha….” Svartur quieted the devilish laughter as he drove the spike of his war hammer into the top of his head.   With the sight of their commander dead under the trees, the remaining Tlusci Bandyci fled the battlefield. The fight was done, but as Svartur surveyed the scene, he could see many good people lost their lives this night, in a distance he spotted Beamusco sitting at the base of a tree. When Svartur reached the halfling he noticed blood pooling on his stomach. The dragonborn knelt down, put his hands on the wound and spoke “laeknandi hendur.” Beaumusco stood up and looked at Svartur “Thank you. You seem to be full of surprises. Thank you so much for all you have done for us.” The white dragonborn bent over and embraced the halfling “You need not thank me sir. I only wish there was more I could have done. If you or your people ever need me, do not hesitate to send word.” Beaumusco stood quietly as he watched Svartur depart through the woods, the last he saw of him was the blue headband tied to his belt, flowing proudly in the wind