Post by Kinsman Oron the Wolf on Jul 28, 2004 16:41:29 GMT -5
Kinsman Oron the Wolf -- in the beginning (new and improved, version 2.0)
I was born on the Isle of Man, the only child, to a Gealic Druidess, Enna, and a Jarl Northman, Amrik. My mother was Amrik's second or third wife, I do not know. I would only see my father for short times in the late Spring, and early Fall, when the Vikings would land, and reprovision, for raiding the mainlands, or the return trip North with their gains. I would get to spend a week or two listening to their tales of battles, and glory, around the fires of the great hall. A couple of times over the years, the Northmen would spend to much time on the mainland, and would have to Winter on the Isle, for the North Seas turn too rough in late Fall. It would be then, that I would learn much of their ways. My father, and his men taught me to fight, and hunt, and fish.
During the Summers, I would spend many hours in the forest, tracking wild aniamals, and learning the ways of the woods. I used to have to find and bring plants and herbs to my mother. She was skilled in the healing arts of the Druids, and made many remidies for the people, in our village. By the time I had reached the age of ten, I could hunt and track with the best men on the Island.
During the Winter months, I would spend endless hours with my mother, being taught the ancient ways of the Celts. She was not allowed to teach me her magics, for I was a boy child, and that was forbidden. But she taught me the Runes, and how to cast them, and read them. She taught me of the old Gods, and the stories fo her Clan. I learned that I was the only boy child borne to her family in ten generations. If her family ever knew, she would be outcast. This was, however most unlikely, for news of our Isle rarely reached Ireland.
My Father was lost at sea, in a large storm, his ship and it's crew were never heard from again. But, the Northmen still came to the Isle, in the Spring and Fall, and when I was twelve, I was invited (as an honor to my father) to return to Norway with them, and train to fight, so that I might make my fortune. So I packed my meager belongings, and said goodbye to my mother, and sailed away to the North. There I learned many aspects of combat, and spent hours training, with sword, axe, and spear. I fought well in some small skirmishes, and within a few years had begun to gain a reputation.
Although small by Norse standards, I was fearless, and would not back down. What I lacked in size, I made up for in spirit. This, plus my fathers name, brought me to the attention of King Hakkon, who felt that my talents would be served well in the Ulfheadnar (Wolfskins), a lesser sect of the Berserks (Bearshirts). It is with the Ulfheadnar, that I learned the finer points of field combat. We were the insane flankers, that appear from nowhere to nip at your heels, cull out the weak, and bite at your unprotected flanks. There were many that thought we might be shape-changers, and that the very mention of us, might conjure us to the battlefield. Grown men had been known to flee the field, at the rumor that we might join the frey.
Eventually I earned a ship, and at seventeen, set sail for glory, and riches, with a small band of loyal and stalwart companions. I raided towns, keeps, and monastaries. Collected danesgeld from the French. I traveled to Spain, and Constantinople, and in two years had amassed a small fortune. I was going to sail home to Norway, and set up a keep, buy some land, several more ships, and start to create a kingdom for myself. But that was never to be. On my way home, I lost my ship, in a terrible storm, off the cost of Wales. I managed to make it ashore, but I never saw any of my crew again. Not to mention that much of my wealth now lay at the bottom of the sea.
So, here I was, nineteen years old, shipwrecked, alone and penniless, in Wales, were Northmen, are not particulary popular. I decided it was time to be a Celt again, and hope to save my hide. I became a mercenary, a sword for hire, and I fought in every land dispute, and minor battle that I could find. As these things happen, I began to gather around me a small band of the bravest, and truest fighters. We decided that we would do better for ourselves, if we became a unit, and after much discussing, and quite a bit of drinking, we settled on the name Black Dragons. We were most fortunate to on to some success. We fought together for several years, and gained fame, titles, and land. But, one day, in the blink of an eye (or, the signing of a decree), that would all change, and I would become an outlaw.
I was born on the Isle of Man, the only child, to a Gealic Druidess, Enna, and a Jarl Northman, Amrik. My mother was Amrik's second or third wife, I do not know. I would only see my father for short times in the late Spring, and early Fall, when the Vikings would land, and reprovision, for raiding the mainlands, or the return trip North with their gains. I would get to spend a week or two listening to their tales of battles, and glory, around the fires of the great hall. A couple of times over the years, the Northmen would spend to much time on the mainland, and would have to Winter on the Isle, for the North Seas turn too rough in late Fall. It would be then, that I would learn much of their ways. My father, and his men taught me to fight, and hunt, and fish.
During the Summers, I would spend many hours in the forest, tracking wild aniamals, and learning the ways of the woods. I used to have to find and bring plants and herbs to my mother. She was skilled in the healing arts of the Druids, and made many remidies for the people, in our village. By the time I had reached the age of ten, I could hunt and track with the best men on the Island.
During the Winter months, I would spend endless hours with my mother, being taught the ancient ways of the Celts. She was not allowed to teach me her magics, for I was a boy child, and that was forbidden. But she taught me the Runes, and how to cast them, and read them. She taught me of the old Gods, and the stories fo her Clan. I learned that I was the only boy child borne to her family in ten generations. If her family ever knew, she would be outcast. This was, however most unlikely, for news of our Isle rarely reached Ireland.
My Father was lost at sea, in a large storm, his ship and it's crew were never heard from again. But, the Northmen still came to the Isle, in the Spring and Fall, and when I was twelve, I was invited (as an honor to my father) to return to Norway with them, and train to fight, so that I might make my fortune. So I packed my meager belongings, and said goodbye to my mother, and sailed away to the North. There I learned many aspects of combat, and spent hours training, with sword, axe, and spear. I fought well in some small skirmishes, and within a few years had begun to gain a reputation.
Although small by Norse standards, I was fearless, and would not back down. What I lacked in size, I made up for in spirit. This, plus my fathers name, brought me to the attention of King Hakkon, who felt that my talents would be served well in the Ulfheadnar (Wolfskins), a lesser sect of the Berserks (Bearshirts). It is with the Ulfheadnar, that I learned the finer points of field combat. We were the insane flankers, that appear from nowhere to nip at your heels, cull out the weak, and bite at your unprotected flanks. There were many that thought we might be shape-changers, and that the very mention of us, might conjure us to the battlefield. Grown men had been known to flee the field, at the rumor that we might join the frey.
Eventually I earned a ship, and at seventeen, set sail for glory, and riches, with a small band of loyal and stalwart companions. I raided towns, keeps, and monastaries. Collected danesgeld from the French. I traveled to Spain, and Constantinople, and in two years had amassed a small fortune. I was going to sail home to Norway, and set up a keep, buy some land, several more ships, and start to create a kingdom for myself. But that was never to be. On my way home, I lost my ship, in a terrible storm, off the cost of Wales. I managed to make it ashore, but I never saw any of my crew again. Not to mention that much of my wealth now lay at the bottom of the sea.
So, here I was, nineteen years old, shipwrecked, alone and penniless, in Wales, were Northmen, are not particulary popular. I decided it was time to be a Celt again, and hope to save my hide. I became a mercenary, a sword for hire, and I fought in every land dispute, and minor battle that I could find. As these things happen, I began to gather around me a small band of the bravest, and truest fighters. We decided that we would do better for ourselves, if we became a unit, and after much discussing, and quite a bit of drinking, we settled on the name Black Dragons. We were most fortunate to on to some success. We fought together for several years, and gained fame, titles, and land. But, one day, in the blink of an eye (or, the signing of a decree), that would all change, and I would become an outlaw.