To reach into Ginnungagap
Are Jormsson
Cobbler / Leatherworker

Age: 23 | Height: 6'4" (193cm) | Race: Accepted | Nationality: Outlander
Level: 3 - Strg: 20 - Dext: 12 - Endr: 20 - Luck: 6
Played by: Wiggen Offline
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Posts: 301
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#1


Are
Her words still haunted him, night and day they taunted him and gnawed on his sanity. Peeling away the layers left frayed by the occasional burst of color and pain. Neither the Rathskeller nor the woods had brought him the peace he so desperately sought. Neither had they granted him the clarity to finally pierce the fog to the elusive treasures he knew was to be found inside.

A name to the image he kept repeating for himself, like a mantra to keep him grounded. As if forgetting and letting go was the same thing and would both lead to Are, son of Jorm being lost to the tides of time. Washed away by forces of a new and strange world. Left on beaches he'd never seen to meet people that wasn't there.

Jorm, Jörunn, Roar, Ragnar, Sven, Assar, Vibjörn, Dagrun, Estrid and Birger.

All names with clear faces, people he once knew and loved, people still alive in his memories. Yet out of all of them there was one, a face with no name, a song without melody or lyrics.

But the song was accompanied by a drone of a name he knew. Tantalizing whispers calling him back to one that could make it all right. The easy route to make him something he never would be without it. A good man. One who knew the name of the one he loved and could see it brought to Valhall in a blaze of glory.

He laughed at the futility of it all as he dragged his feet in the early morning light. Walking the path past the pond, a new possible new favorite place had the waters not reminded him of the ones that sent him away from home.

Before entering the circle he set down what little he'd brought. "One thing, nothing else." Are whispered as he rifled through his things to find what he knew was there. The silvery king of yore peered back at him from the face of the coin he found lodged under another pair of shoes he'd meant to deliver on his way back. "Kristinn bastard, one thing you'll be good for at least." he hissed and spat on the ground before stepping into the circle.

"A name, that's all. Rest I can manage." making sure all his ducks was in a row was far easier said than done. Saying it was one thing, but knowing it something far different. Could gods see into his heart?

Of course they could, lest he wouldn't ask them for gifts he knew none but they could grant. Still he feared their prying eyes would tug on strings he couldn't hide, nurturing fantasies better left for another era. A cobbler, and a husband. Nothing else.

"Gods of this world!" he said as he stood before the center of the circle. "I, Are, come to ask your guidance. I seek something that has been taken from me. For it, I will give away what I have left of the world it came from." he laid down the silver coin and held his breath in fearful anticipation as to whom or what would answer his prayer.
Force and magic use OK.


Age: 1 | Height: | Race: Attuned | Nationality: Natural
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Played by: Admin Offline
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#2


A warm breeze drew around the outlander, encircling him like a faraway embrace. Distant but distinctive the breeze twirled and danced, bending the grasses and flowers alike. However no divine presence appeared to answer the man's call, and eventually the breeze died away.
Are Jormsson
Cobbler / Leatherworker

Age: 23 | Height: 6'4" (193cm) | Race: Accepted | Nationality: Outlander
Level: 3 - Strg: 20 - Dext: 12 - Endr: 20 - Luck: 6
Played by: Wiggen Offline
Change author:
Posts: 301
MP:
#3


Are
A touch, a caress, enough to coax him to the edge of tears. A sign from one temptress scorned. Gifts, blessings, thrown back in the face of something far greater, and why? Fairy tales from a world long gone, and a measure of pure, unbridled stubbornness.

As the wind died down, so did his anger. Who was he to assume the gods would answer the pleas of a man showing nothing but contempt and hubris? No, he had been given his sign. A vague answer to questions asked in desperation.

With it, Are collected the memory of home and left the shrine as silent as it had been before his intrusion. Interloper in a world where he didn't belong, stumbling through the dark in search of something that wasn't, and might never had been, there. It was all for naught, to grasp for straws only to come back with snakes.

Gods, had he truly fallen? Gripped by a mood and put in a state of mind he'd always kept out of before. Hopeless. Hopeless, but not without hope. Not as long as there was hot blood running in his veins a path forward, towards what he could never know. Only guess. Smile, worry, and guess.
Force and magic use OK.


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