No one ever wonders when the age of the Vikings began, they all wager that the answer is simple...
A Dreamer's Saga (CK2)
- Thread starter Dragonbomm
- Start date
- Fantasy
- Created
- Status
- Ongoing
- Watchers
- 10
- Recent readers
- 0
- Threadmarks
- 1
-
Statistics (1 threadmarks, 330 words)
User Total Dragonbomm 1 Threadmarks Reader mode
Preface
- Location
- England Kent
You are ignoring content by this member.
Show ignored content
No one ever wonders when the age of the Vikings began, they all wager that the answer is simple.
But like all things in life, the answer is never obvious. You see, it was before any Christian Priest dubbed you the spawn of satan. Before anyone outside the frozen farmers knew your name, or recalled your face. It began, like all dreams in childhood. Where the only temporary limit is at the vastness of your dreams.
You could have quenched the dream, with little feats of note. Continuing the age old of trade, of farming and herding goats.
However, you dictated not to quench the flame. Instead you consumed, singing through every point of your soul was ebbing for the age-old need to become a part of something richer, grander, bigger.
That was when the age truly began.
Who does Odin open his eye for?
[X] The suns of winter:
You are the seed of heroes. Namesake of your ancestor that slew the formidable Flame-wrought Winged-Serpant Eldr. Great songs are sung for Sigurd-Snake-In-The-Eye, the one that made fiends wet their breeches. But you are only a boy, a boy who happened to share the name and blood with an exalted one. A poor boy, in poorer lands. Cavernous with the clammy touch of winter. Can you light the horizon?
[X] The rains of summer:
You are a farmer, like your father, and his father and his other father. You come from nothing, hailing from the humble land of Kattegat nothing of song is expected of you. Like so many, you dream of not just becoming a dwindling flame. Instead you look to the horizon, attempting to alter the weather of change. But the question is can you?
[X] Write In (Feel free to get creative, to a point.)
OOC: I'm bored, so let's see how long until I abandon this. Vote away. Also if the formatting looks bad blame it on my tablet.
But like all things in life, the answer is never obvious. You see, it was before any Christian Priest dubbed you the spawn of satan. Before anyone outside the frozen farmers knew your name, or recalled your face. It began, like all dreams in childhood. Where the only temporary limit is at the vastness of your dreams.
You could have quenched the dream, with little feats of note. Continuing the age old of trade, of farming and herding goats.
However, you dictated not to quench the flame. Instead you consumed, singing through every point of your soul was ebbing for the age-old need to become a part of something richer, grander, bigger.
That was when the age truly began.
Who does Odin open his eye for?
[X] The suns of winter:
You are the seed of heroes. Namesake of your ancestor that slew the formidable Flame-wrought Winged-Serpant Eldr. Great songs are sung for Sigurd-Snake-In-The-Eye, the one that made fiends wet their breeches. But you are only a boy, a boy who happened to share the name and blood with an exalted one. A poor boy, in poorer lands. Cavernous with the clammy touch of winter. Can you light the horizon?
[X] The rains of summer:
You are a farmer, like your father, and his father and his other father. You come from nothing, hailing from the humble land of Kattegat nothing of song is expected of you. Like so many, you dream of not just becoming a dwindling flame. Instead you look to the horizon, attempting to alter the weather of change. But the question is can you?
[X] Write In (Feel free to get creative, to a point.)
OOC: I'm bored, so let's see how long until I abandon this. Vote away. Also if the formatting looks bad blame it on my tablet.
Last edited:
- Location
- nz
[X] The suns of winter:
Last edited:
[X] The winds of autumn:
You are a priest, like your father and the fathers before him. Your ancestors have laid down the great runestones, blessed the lands in Thor's name and presided over sacrifices in Odin's name. You know the tales and sagas of your ancestors, you know that the farmers and warriors yet cling to their little rituals, in secret lest the Christians denounce them.
You will make the songs of the Aesir rise again!
You are a priest, like your father and the fathers before him. Your ancestors have laid down the great runestones, blessed the lands in Thor's name and presided over sacrifices in Odin's name. You know the tales and sagas of your ancestors, you know that the farmers and warriors yet cling to their little rituals, in secret lest the Christians denounce them.
You will make the songs of the Aesir rise again!
- Location
- England Kent
You are ignoring content by this member.
Show ignored content
Yep, but extremely ahistorical dye to the straight up fantasy elements.
- Location
- Nargothrond
[X] The suns of winter:
You are the seed of heroes. Namesake of your ancestor that slew the formidable Flame-wrought Winged-Serpant Eldr. Great songs are sung for Sigurd-Snake-In-The-Eye, the one that made fiends wet their breeches. But you are only a boy, a boy who happened to share the name and blood with an exalted one. A poor boy, in poorer lands. Cavernous with the clammy touch of winter. Can you light the horizon?
You are the seed of heroes. Namesake of your ancestor that slew the formidable Flame-wrought Winged-Serpant Eldr. Great songs are sung for Sigurd-Snake-In-The-Eye, the one that made fiends wet their breeches. But you are only a boy, a boy who happened to share the name and blood with an exalted one. A poor boy, in poorer lands. Cavernous with the clammy touch of winter. Can you light the horizon?
[X] The winds of autumn:
- Location
- England Kent
You are ignoring content by this member.
Show ignored content
Vote closed, Sun of Winter is happening.