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  1. #1
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    Welcome! Grab a drinking horn and...

    Welcome to the Meadhall! Here you can share your various creations - from stories and sagas about your clan to art, videos, and more.

    Everyone knows Vikings love a good tale so make sure to share your own! For example, have you heard of Spjorn Skullcleaver?

    Note, the following story is NOT an official story from The Banner Saga and something posted to just give viewers an idea of things to post...

    - - - - - - - - - -

    Spjornerissaga - The Saga of Spjorn Skullcleaver, Sporkson

    Stop crying like a woman, I've said I'll not kill you. Not this day, at least. Cease also your "sorry-ing", for I am not offended. You fear the vikingr, this needs no apology. Stop hiding - stand tall, with your face in the sun, as a man should stand. My kinsmen and I have a bloody business farther south, and we save our strength and our blades for our enemies. Once we have enough food for the journey, we'll trouble you no more. You Southlanders, with your walls and your letters, you shall always amaze me. Your hands take to craft, but your arms and hearts have withered. Your lives are so easy and your bellies so full you have forgotten the first gift the Alf÷­r gave you: strength, and will like iron. I am a vikingr, born in the lands of savage cold. We cannot forget, or we would surely die. The ice in the North never sleeps, and the jǫtunn and hve­rungr - as you would say, giants and the monsters, do not take prisoners. Be glad that we do.

    I am a vikingr, and I have given you my oath I would not kill you. I will not break my word, for if I did my strength would fail, and the wood in my shield would become as rotten as my liar's heart, and fail me in my next fight, leaving me to be cleaved. I am a vikingr, and I do not lie. You call us "vikings" or "pirates", you fat men of the South, and yet I've never met a one of you who wouldn't lie to save his skin. This is why none of you can stand before our axes and our blades, why we raid you like wolves. Yes, we are like wolves, for our homeland makes us so. In the utter North, when the winters are cold and black, only the wolves are strong and cunning enough to survive to the spring. Long ago we learned their ways, and now we are as wolves among the Sons of Men. Here in your warm, safe lands, you Southlanders have become as cows, fat and simple. You mock us because we have no great cathedrals, because we know nothing of reading or writing and wear no silken finery, and eat with our hands like animals. And I say you have forgotten what it is to live as men did in the early ages of the World. Our strength and our fortitude endures from that time, unabated. For working or warring, the least of my kin is worth ten of you. We take what we need, for any who are weaker than us have no right to it.

    I am a karl, a warrior, an axe-swinger and wound-giver. For a dozen years I have faithfully served the great jarl and kappi Gunnar Gutthormsson, following him to raid and battle, bending my sword and my blade to his will. My axe has cleaved the heads of a full three score men, and I stopped counting ˇvŠttr long ago. My armor was a gift from my uncle, Hjorolf Half-Handed, and I wear three rings given to me by my jarl. All that any vikingr owns, was either made by his hands or paid for with iron - taken as a prize in raid or battle. We need no taxes, no coins with king's faces on them. Is your life so honest? Someday, if it is so written for me, I shall take wealth enough to build a Hall, and have karls of my own to serve me, and I shall be a river of gold to my people. Or perhaps I shall end up poor and unmarried, with no songs to remember me. The tale of my life and yours was written before the first dawning, and it will not change. You Southlanders with your Kings and Churches have forgotten this wisdom, but our bards remember it. I long for the day when this upside-down world fades, when the sun flares bright again and men may truly die, so that they can join the Alf÷­r 's chosen in himinn and fight the Midgar­sormr at the Gotterdammerung. That time may come soon, but such things are not for me to see. For now, I'll hone my strength and temper my bravery for a dozen lives if need be.

    Ah, here is my brother Egil Flat-Nosed. I thank you for your generous gifts of food and drink, they will sustain us long in our raiding. And now, little man, so you may not warn our prey, it is time for you to die. What's that? I am no oathbreaker, you pasty-faced sow's whelp! I gave my oath I would not kill you, but Egil never did. Take heart! Egil is a strong one - you'll be done quick, and without much pain.


    Image by ~slaine69
    Sean "Ashen Temper" Dahlberg
    http://www.seandahlberg.com/

  2. #2
    Something quick that popped into mind after reading yours, Sorry if it's a little rough, I couldn't find anyone to proofread it for me.

    DISCLAIMER: the following story is NOT an official story from The Banner Saga and is most likely totally inaccurate to the game cannon (but it sounded cool in my head).
    -----------------------------------------


    You look half frozen to death already. Come, sit at my hearth and listen. The winds are rising and my sons will be home soon.
    Sit closer, my eyes are not as good as they were when I was a maiden. I have seen many winters and they have all left threads of snow in my hair, but do not be fooled! I was once as hardened as any warrior you could name. I slew Haruk Yvinir himself and captured nearly two dozen beasts from his prize herd. I have pillaged my weight in gold and iron. I have sailed to lands where the earth is yellow dust and the men are burnt brown by the sun. But now, I am content to let the fire ease my bones and sing the glories of others.
    I am Inle Majiksdottir, skald of the Black Wolf Clan. I sing tales of the past and portends of the future.
    The spear over the fire? A gift from King Sigvatr, handed down through the generations and the weapon that saw my father through many battles. The souls it cut free from their bodies still linger near the blade.
    Do not scoff so; it makes your pleasant face wrinkle in all the wrong places. I could tell you the tale of a boy whose face was cursed to be forever puckered up because he dared insult the wrong Ĺwandering sageĺů
    Truly, the wind is screaming up a gale now; another blizzard that will rage through the night and into tomorrow. It seems that you are stuck here listening to me ramble until my sons arrive.
    Now, should I tell you the tale of Ottarr and the Silver Bear? Or Eyvindrĺs Seven Swords? No?
    Ah, itĺs my cloak that has caught your attention now. I wore it in battle when I was young, and with each victory, I took a prize to sew into its folds. These are the bones of my fallen enemies and their kin. Each bit of ivory has its own story to tell and their spirits whisper in my ear.
    The dead are honest in ways the living are not. This finger bone here, Stolfson, had four wives that never knew of each other. The tooth belonged to Jarvik, who was a king's bastard in hiding. This bit of rib was from Finnur, who murdered his brother to gain the family farmů
    You look pale, perhaps you should move closer to the fire. Even a strapping lad like yourself can take ill in weather like this.
    No? What? It is me, that has you nervous?
    I suppose that it is natural, not many outside our Clan have seen a Deathspeaker before.
    The spirit world is but an eyeblink away, boy. Not all of our dead go to the Great Halls; some stay behind to watch what we do with great interest. I serve my Clan by listening to the ancestors speak. Through their experiences we gain the wisdom to repeat ancient glories, and not their mistakes.
    However, you are deaf to the warnings your ancestors have been screaming since you arrived here. But now it makes no difference. My sons are scratching at the door and their howls tell me that they are hungry.
    I cannot wait to hear what secrets your bones will tell meů


    Asatru woman at a Viking festival in Hafnarfj÷r­ur, Iceland, June 2002. (GÝsli Gu­jˇnsson, www.gudjonssonphotos.com)
    Last edited by blackwolfmajik; 05-04-2012 at 07:26 PM.
    Valar Morghulis, Valar Dohaeris...

  3. #3
    Haha! I enjoyed reading your histories very much. Perchance I will be able to translate some tales from my Clan's Banner for you.

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