Einn: Spring Rites

Jarl Olaf Henrikson is one of the most powerful men in the North. He is not a member of one of the great families such as the Gats or the Hrolfs, nor is he a resident of Storstrøm Vale where dwells the true old blood of the Northlander peoples. But he is nevertheless jarl of the most populace and cosmopolitan settlement in the Northlands and, as such, commands a great deal of respect and power. He is not even the ruler of Hordaland wherein his city of Halfstead lies, but even the køenig of Hordaland (the closest Northlands equivalent to a king) respects and listens to the words that Jarl Olaf speaks in the mead hall or at the Thing.

It is well know that Olaf Henrikson began his career as a sellsword in the Southlands, where he gained his reputation as a leader of men and as a generous ring-giver. He also amassed his fortune with plunder from his days of fighting for foreign lords before attaining command of his own ships and reaving against the settlements of those same lords. Upon returning to the North at the head of his own fleet of sixteen ships, he landed at Halfstead, at that time a stockaded port town known more for its surly jarl and acerbic residents than anything else, and put the place to the torch. Those residents who did not yield or flee were put to the sword, and a new banner raised over Halfstead — the boar and rings of Olaf Henrikson. That Køenig Ragi Steinson raised no hand against the newcomer brought forth more than a few suspicions as to whether or not the crafty ruler had not paid Olaf to raze Halfstead in the first place. Regardless of any real or imagined collusion, the result was a port rebuilt by Henrikson into a large and prosperous settlement open to trade from abroad and a powerful jarl loyal to the køenig and with a fleet of ships at his command that only grew as his reputation spread.

Today, twenty years later, Jarl Olaf is a settled man raising a family, and Halfstead is a booming Northlands port largely left to its own devices. The local Thing makes most of the decision for the town, though Jarl Olaf does keep a hall within the city from where he holds court and feast twice a month in which to hear complaints and settle legal cases and give rings to the worthy. This also allows him to claim his sizable share of the duties collected from the many visiting merchant ships. The fleet of longships Jarl Olaf maintains is down to four, and these are more prone to patrolling the waters off the peninsula for raiders than going a-viking on their own. But many rightfully expect that should the need arise, the jarl could raise the call and gather a fleet of loyal ships twice as large as what he had before.

A self-made man, Jarl Olaf is enjoying his quiet semi-retirement despite even the recent turmoil for the crown of Hordaland. He remains loyal to Leif Ragison, the young køenig, but holds Halfstead carefully neutral in the current political machinations to keep the port open and prosperous. In his mind, a healthy Halfstead is good for all of Hordaland and the North, regardless of who rules the country. As such, he and his family spend most of their time at his personal hall of Silvermeade, which is situated on the coast halfway between Halfstead and Galvë. It is here that they winter and here that your characters begin their careers in his service.

Spring Rites
Northlands, Hordaland
Silvermeade Hall
Early spring
Late morning


You have been ordered to appear before your jarl, Olaf Henrikson, Jarl of Halfstead, greatest city of the Northlands. For young members in service to his household or visitors who have wintered there but have no immediate plans for pursuing their wyrd, this is a moment of both hope and fear. Hope that he assigns you a glorious task that allows you to prove your mettle, but tinged with fear of his wrath should you fail. Your jarl is a good man, strong and battle-tested, with many famed heroic deeds to his name. Most importantly, he is a ring-giver, one who is generous to those in his service who prove themselves deserving.

After making yourself presentable, you and a few of his other retainers and guests walk through the gates of the great hall’s stockade and present yourselves to the guards at the carved wooden doors that mark the main entrance. After exchanging a few jests with these household warriors that you have known for as long as you’ve been a part of the jarl’s household, Ari Hrokson, your jarl’s herald, comes for you.

"I needn’t remind you to keep polite and let the jarl speak first. And do not keep too much of his time, this is a busy day," the old skald states. He then announces you to the jarl.

"Yäns Leafshadow, husband to your sister’s daughter.
Kara Stendahl, a warrior with the blood of the Nûk.
Runar Stensson, a skald in your service.
Rin, a godi of Silvermeade Hall.
Signy Stone-Eye, a cunning-woman studying under Odi.
And Oren, one of your thralls in good standing."

The hall is dimly lit, for this is a normal day and not a cause for feasting. Only a few huscarls stand about the room, but several thralls busy themselves putting up garlands of flowers and green boughs, preparations for tomorrow’s Feast of Freyja. The jarl is seated at the end of the feasting table in his chair, an ornate piece of work carved from the trunk of an oak. He is leaning in and talking with a stranger, a well-dressed man with the bearing of an envoy. As you approach, you hear the jarl say, "… and thirty-five cattle, that’s all her dowry will be."

The jarl turns to you. "Good, you have come quickly and well comported. This speaks kindly of you and your kin. Sit and partake of an early meal; you will need it, for I have a task for you. My three daughters, Inga, Fastvi, and Runa, wish to go out this afternoon and gather flowers for the feast. As this is a rightful thing for young girls to do, I am allowing it. They need to be guarded, and this is the task I set before you."

"I know you have longed for a chance to prove yourselves and rise in my favor as well as allow your mind’s-worth to shine, but there is no spear-din today and no chance to shed battle-dew" [meaning blood]. "All I have is this task: Spend a spring afternoon watching young girls as they pick flowers in the meadows. When you have your own halls and have seen the swans of blood sip on many a foeman’s wound-sea, such a day as this will be a boon beyond naming. So remember it well and pray that you have many more like it. Now, let us eat. But before that, allow me to introduce our bread-brother this morning, Ottar Gundrikson, skald and herald to the Jarl Ref Solumundson of the Vale..."

As old men are wont to do, they begin engaging each other in tales of battles past, stories from long ago. They pause frequently to allow the epics to sink in, and to allow for questions. It is hard to get a word in edge-wise, but you have the opportunity to ask questions of your jarl.

Kara relishes the stories told as her imagination carries her to battle with the old warriors, accompanies them on the hunt and strides into the fallen stronghold. She listens for information about Ottar Gundrikson's journey here, what he has seen on the road and his attitude and impression regarding this part of Hordaland.

As the occasion arises, careful not to interrupt either of the two important men, Kara states:
"We'll keep them safe, come what may." Then she asks: "Is there reason to worry, my jarl? Any troubles in the meadows as of late?" The young warrior who frequently goes out hunting is curious as to what prompts the concern. Is it fatherly protectiveness for the young maidens or should there be threats and rumors she has not heard yet?

Described as a woman with ‘coal-black hair and gray eyes, Signy’s coloring is more that of the ancient Andøvan that once inhabited the North rather than the current Northlanders’. Her clothes consist of a coarse strap dress and cloak trimmed with beaver fur, and tinkle with small strings of animal bones and talismans associated with a völva practitioner. She portrays an unnerving air of mystery and appears content with her own company.

"Heil Olaf Jarl and herald Ottar" Signy greets at the end of the Jarls monologue, stoney-eyes fixed firmly on the floor in a sort of half bow. Kara’s thoughts instill a sense of concern in her also "What role would this humble cunning-woman have to play in the protection of the Jarls daughters? Unless Kara’s fears ring true and something unusual is afoot"

The stories you hear are from times long past, and nothing to do with the roads presently. In fact, it is noticeable that they do not complain of the roads; while Olaf is the jarl of the area, he takes a keen interest in the goings-on and troubles. When Kara asks of the concerns, the jarl turns to her, sizing her up. "There are always worries," he says in a deep voice. "If not the wolves, then recently an outlaw by the name of Styr the Ugly. I have men hunting down him and his, but even he is not the only danger to my daughters."

He then turns to Signy. "There are strange happenings when snow thaws for spring. Odi has insisted that you accompany the warriors to protect against such an occurrence. A test, she called it; as though she knew what is to come. I do not know about that, but your cunning ways may be of use." Having said his piece, he turns back to Ottar and begins bragging about the last group of bandits he had tracked down, single-handed, in the snow... uphill.

"I fear neither wolves nor outlaws, Signy. And I do not fear tests." Kara's voice is firm, but not unfriendly as she quietly talks to the cunning-woman close to her. Implying that she is afraid .. that she cannot let stand. "Looking for information is not the same as being a coward, mind you."

Her companion's reaction leaves an impression of indecision in Signy’s manner. She shies away ever so slightly as Kara draws nearer and decides to choose her next words carefully, for she did not understand these valiant types. "I do not imply that you are a coward, such a person lets their fear overcome them" Signy responds, considering the errors that might have resided in her former words "but since you have no fears, how could you possibly show cowardice?" she would say with a measured smile, and perhaps a mild air of teasing.

Oren asks no questions of his Jarl as it was not his place to do so. He had heard the Jarl's words and knew what was expected of him. Besides, Oren had always found life more exciting with a little uncertainty.

When Kara and Signy started in with each other, then Oren decided to speak. What fun was brewing between these two, he wondered.

"I've heard that all men know fear, despite boasts to the contrary. Perhaps this is why Kara does not, for she is not a man but a shield maiden of Halfstead! Twice as brave and at least half again as beautiful as any huscarl in the long hall!"

"That fire may bring you greatness, child," the jarl says to Kara. "Be sure that it doesn't bring you your death first." He looks rather amused with the conversation taking place before him; he is also likely amused that he is entrusting his girls to several individuals scarcely older than them. And, as usual, he is quite amused with Oren.

Yäns steps forward when it seems like his turn. He stands long and lean, tall as a spear with his hair and beard in braids held by bone beads. He darkens his eye sockets with charcoal, giving his eyes the piercing look of a huntsman. He does it to absorb the reflection of sunlight off the snow, but he also has enjoyed the look of it when he catches his image in a still pond.
Many runes are burnt into his leathers and carved along his shortbow.
He clears his throat and raises his voice,
Jarl, it is already done. I will see it so. Your daughters Inga, Fastvi, and Runa will be back with their baskets full of the colors of the first blooms by feast time. Be it wolves or witchcraft, bandits or bears, I will see them home safe. As you know, I have no family of my own, so I will do all I can for yours.

Runar, a red-haired lad, is short and wiry for a Northlander. He wears a heavy cloak. "We will not fail you, Jarl," he says. "Though you may have warriors in your service with mightier reputations - I speak only for some of us!" the last said with a rueful smile toward Kara. "Not all dangers can be overcome by swords alone," he continues, "and a wise man guards his treasure with wit as well as strength."

He takes a breath, aware that he may be about to raise a raw subject, and then asks "Jarl, will you tell us of Styr the Ugly? Has he made boast or sworn oath against you?"

The jarl looks pleased with his choices in Yäns and Runar. "Styr is a murderer, thief, and a coward. This we know. What we have heard is that he has taken up with dark forces in the moors. He has sworn no oaths that have reached my ear, though I have no doubts he has whispered such in the privacy of night." It is hard to scrutinize the face of Jarl Olaf at this moment; there are both signs of concern and amusement at war with each other.

"Strange happenings in the spring and dark forces in the moors, Odi must have insisted for a reason" the reply is directed more towards her new companions than the Jarl, and simply suggests that they should not take Odi’s warnings lightly. She would then wait for a break in the conversation between the Jarl and Ottar Gundrikson "I hope that Skald Ottar has not encountered these strange happenings on his journey"

Oren finishes his tankard and reaches for the pitcher to pour another. The grey-eyed Signy catches his attention and Oren slides down the bench to sit beside the mystic woman.

"Signy Stone-Eye, you are wise with the way of mystic power, are you not? What did it take for you to learn this power? My mother was Nûk and her people did not trust such forces but I have traveled far from the place of my birth and have seen many miracles performed."

Signy turned her head to watch the Jarl's favourite thrall slide across the bench, the coldness of her stare reflected in the colour of her eyes. His question brought about that measured smile again, in a strange juxtaposition of features.

"You're an inquisitive one" she begins in humour "I’m just a pupil of Odi, it is she that you should ask about mysticism…I will say however, it is the spirits that choose who they guide" she pauses and turns to drink from her own tankered, eyeing the bard with a sideways glance "you also have an air of miracles about you" admits the cunning woman.

Oren smiles at what he perceives as a compliment and takes a drink.

"I learn what I can from who I meet, a little here a little there, but I would much like to learn the miracles of mysticism! Perhaps I will ask this Odi as you suggest. Thank you Signy Stone-Eye."

The priest who joined you, a godi, remains silent. He is known in the jarldom, and needs no introduction. Skald Ottar tells you that his trip was uneventful, and that he hopes yours is as well. The time for valor is not now; this is the time for celebration, and the picking of flowers.

---

After an early lunch of black bread, butter, the last of the winter’s pickled flounder, fresh spring greens (cooked with white beans and a ham hock), and several pints of beer, you are sent away to meet up with the daughters. Before joining them at the gates of the stockade, you stop by the stables and pick up any mounts you may own; those without a mount are loaned a light horse for the day. The three girls are waiting impatiently at the front gate.

You arrive at the stockade wall to find the gate open and three young women astride fine horses waiting there impatiently. The oldest wears a dress of blue linen with a squared border of small yellow flowers embroidered around the neck. She is tall and fair of face, her golden hair coiled about her head in braids and covered in a silver net. Her face favors her father, and she is introduced by your escort as Inga, the Jarl’s oldest daughter.

Next to her upon a skittish mare sits a girl of perhaps thirteen. Her dress is a plain green smock, and her hair and eyes are dark like her mother’s. She is named to you as Fastvi.

The third girl is the smallest, perhaps nine or ten years old, with a distant and dreaming look on her face. You have heard the rumors of Little Runa’s troubled birth near ten winters ago whispered around the hearth fires out of the jarl’s hearing. The truth of these tales seems to be told in the angry red birthmark that covers her face from left ear to chin, the girl seemingly unaware of the rough, wrinkled texture or the ill portent it marks. Worse from the standpoint of omens are her eyes, one blue and one pale green, the eyes of the aglæcwif — the witch-wife.

Runar, not a natural rider, sits awkwardly astride his mount. "Hail, daughters of Olaf!" Runar keeps his tone friendly but formal as he introduces himself and his companions, instinctively feeling that flattery and familiarity will get him nowhere with these proud young women. "I see you are eager to be away! Is there anything you require before we depart?"

Oren knows the girls well, having sung them to sleep a great many times over the years, and offers a half bow from atop his steed. The halfbreed was fond of the children, though he feared the dark road he was certain the youngest would be made to walk by her birthright.

"Perhaps some accompaniment on such a fine day as this?"

Without waiting for approval the bard begins to pluck a soothing tune on his lyre, leaving the bow on the horn of his saddle.

Inga ignores both Runar and Oren, instead allowing others to speak to the men beneath her status. Her haughty gaze passes over her guard. Both Fastvi and Runa return the greetings, though the latter mumbles her hello in a hushed tone. It is Fastvi who seems interested in talking. Within only a few moments, she asks Runar for a sword, how to use a sword, what kind of sword he prefers, and if he's ever been stabbed by a sword? Her head bobs with the music being played, and even Runa seems to enjoy the tune. Inga, however, remains stoic.