Author Topic: Assorted tales of Godric Warbornsson  (Read 5653 times)

BarticaBoat

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Re: Assorted tales of Godric Warbornsson
« Topic Start: November 27, 2016, 02:47:57 AM »
After the rout in Noritor

All of his men slaughtered, his loyal captain Otto fighting for his life slung on the back of his horse. Such is the judgement of Tor, that only Godric was deemed strong enough to escape.

The formation had been incorrect. The infantry started too far back and the lone cavalrymen of Xavax, his Mounted Toren, charged the rebel ranks alone. It went as expected. Otto had been violently gored protecting his lord but it had given Godric the time he needed to retreat.

There is no dishonour to retreat for a Toren. After all, dead men fight no battles. The fates ordained this day a loss but the ravenous dirt lords of Semall and filthy western rebels will not see peace. Not white Godric Warbornsson draws breath.

Otto would later die just past the Gates of Xavax, last of the original Mounted Toren. The skalds say with a sigh he regarded the Eyrie of Xavax and returned past the veil. This greatly affected his lord. The next tale is before the triumph in Leibo which is to be immortalized in the Ballad of Uthred.

The fires sharpened the scowling features of the Torenman. Large nose, light eyes, high cheekbones all brought forth by the crackling. A great battle lay ahead. Fear pierced his heart. He had been this way since watching his friend Otto die at the gates of Xavax, wounded in the disastrous battle in Noritor. His faith did not temper the anxiety which coursed through him. He should be excited, such a battle would be bloody and bring him close to Tor. This is the battle where the great men of old would laugh and drink up until it was time and march, trusting that they would be brought into the battle trance by Tor. That space between spaces, the breath between life and death which lesser men taste once but that the chosen find everytime they will it. He recalls a memory of his father.

The Old Toren shows no emotion. Godric sure does. He is scared to be sailing off to the Far East. He was born in Astrum, the Shrine was his home, but it was time to find his own destiny. All preparations have been made and now the Dulbese galley is ready. One short stop in the East Continent where he will charter a Toren longboat to make the final journey. This may be the last time he sees his venerable father alive, a man with whom he did not spend much personal time but has showered him with a legacy. "You are feeling fear. In our tongue it is pfero. It means the same, a calamity, an ambush. But I recall an elderly uncle of mine when I was a child." The Old Toren muses a moment, remembering days some 70 years ago. "He said the word was once peruhw. It meant a risk, but also to try or attempt. You do not feel fear. You feel the weight of destiny. With my blood in your veins you will surely find greatness."

So Godric feels the weight of destiny upon his shoulders. He prays for Tor's strength that he will be able to seize it.

After the triumph in Leibo, the remarks of the Dukeslayer having witnessed Uthred's fall in person.

There was to be no peace this day. Scoundrels, vultures, rebels, invaders. All descended on Leibo. To fear is to feel the weight of destiny upon your shoulders but today Godric's destiny was to be part of the Ballad of Uthred.

Even after his men fled in panic, Godric saw Uthred fight on. Even after wounds that would have killed an ordinary man, Uthred charged forward, destined to be stopped under a hail of arrows. He was no mewling cub but today Godric was awed. Tor lived through men and on this day he witnessed it. The great men of old still walked this world. Uthred was an irresistible force only halted by the finite nature of flesh. The battlefield cowered beneath his presence.

On this day Godric witnessed greatness and resolved himself to it.
« Last Edit: November 27, 2016, 02:52:06 AM by BarticaBoat »