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[NUKE9.13]

For his part, Osvik requests that Constantine accompany him to this meeting.

((I'm going to assume that DH is cool with that, and carry on. If not, replace Constantine with a random (loyal) knight.))

Sitting at the far end of the room, flanked by his companion, Osvik regards the prisoner.

"Ertu sannur nordman, tha?", he asks in the old tongue. _{((Mouseover for translation))}

"Either way, I am told you have some grievance with me. Please, speak, and hopefully we will be able to resolve the matter peacefully."

[Ghazkull]

Domnall eyes the man before him with a cold gaze. Finally he could finish this business.

He looked at the two men before him and immediately recognized Falsknafn as he spoke to him. When he spoke, it was with a completely different accent and dialect. To the bystander it was just another language, to those who spoke the northern tongue it was clear that he was using the more lilting, sing-song of the younger instead of the older tongue Falsknafn had used.

Ja jeg er nordmann. Men jeg har ingen feid med deg.

he looked at the man before him earnestly, sizing him up before finally changing into the tongue spoken in the south.

But you should know there is no peaceful resolving of the matter, Falsename. Or have you yet claimed a name now that you claimed a crown Sword Thief? I have been hired and sent south by the runesmiths to challenge you and satisfy the blood feud you began.

he looks apologetically at the other man in the room, Constantine as he continues.

I am afraid Tradition has to be satisified in such matters, master knight. Such challenges can only be made in the old tongue.

he then changed into the tongue Osvik has spoken before.

Ek er Domnall mac Ghabhain, ok ek kalla ţik ţjófr ok morđvargr. Ek kalla ţik ut til holmgangr. Megi aesir ákveđa hvem hefur sannara.[/s]

Since i am accused by the laws of your lands i forfeit the right to set the rules for this trial by ordeal or whatever the southerners call it. The only thing i put forward is that if you lose the duel you forfeit the sword to me. They paid me to get the sword and kill a thief, i wasn't paid to kill a king.
[/i]

((OOC-Notes: A bit difficult putting the above into old norse. Thats the language used here by the way. It also has some interesting idiosyncraties which do not translate into modern english.

*mordvargr or murderer is not just simply a murderer. It is the killing of someone in cold blood with no justification in the middle of the night by someone who is argr, or someone who is outlaw. In the old robin hood, outlaw sense of the word where anybody can strike you down without further repercussions. Argr is also one of the worse insults you can deliver in old norse incidentally...that alone was enough fro calling someone out to a duel.

**Holmgang is the practice of duels, with the gods as witnesses. They are not necessarily to the death and more often than not weren't. Interestingly if you won them you were right no matter how wrong your standpoint was most of the time. Thats why many employed hired professional duelists (like domnall) to stand in for them.

***i used aesir here, because the old norse tongue has only aesir as in the gods, or gud for the christian god. I have no idea what they used for other gods, so i went with aesir since that would be more right than the pluralform of gud.

****A Very interesting idiosyncratic thing in old norse. There is right and wrong but in the terms of law there is only who has MORE right than the other. A subtle distinction that sadly translates horribyl into english

okay sorry for all those annotations...))

[NUKE9.13]

"There Shall Be A Challenger"

Osvik appears confused, but after zoning out for a moment seems to come to an understanding. He nods along as Domnall recites his challenge.

"Well, Domnall. As it happens, I was just reading up on the laws regarding a trial by combat in Harmondale. Which states that permission to resolve one's dispute thus must be granted by a court. And recommends that it only be allowed if other means of investigating the issue have been exhausted. So before I accepted your challenge, we would have to have the matter investigated, to see if we cannot prove the truth or falsity of your accusation."

Osvik shakes his head.

"But I would rather avoid doing even that, for I am absolutely certain your claims are false. Perhaps you have me mistaken for someone else; perhaps you are lying. Either way, I am neither a murderer or a thief, and my only interactions with the runesmiths of the north has been to have some investigate my sword for me. I realise that a challenge of Holmgang is no small thing, but can I not convince you to retract your accusations?"

"If not, then I will have a messenger sent north, to contact the runesmiths. They should be able to tell you that the missing sword- if there is a missing sword- is not the one on my hip, for I have had this sword since seven years ago, when it was granted to me by god."

"But first, let us see if the Truth can change your mind."

He stands, and with an apologetic glance at the others in the room, draws his sword. Blue light suffuses the chamber.

"This sword is rightfully mine."

I Am Rightfully His, is the thought that arises unstoppably in one's mind, "I" clearly referring to the sword.

"I have not slain anyone in the acquisition of my sword."

My Handover Was Bloodless, the sword states, and for a brief moment the idea that it could be otherwise seems as preposterous as one plus one being three.

Osvik sheathes the sword again.

"You may retract your challenge, or you may be released into the custody of this unique lady"- he indicates Helga-"Whilst we send a messenger north to contact the runesmiths."

[Ghazkull]

Domnall seems utterly unimpressed by the show.

Yes, yes seen it all before. I will not retract my challenge nor do i care for the truth or veracity of my claims, i was paid and sent here by a number of runesmiths to kill a man perfectly fitting your description with exactly that sword.

He points at the blade.

Honor demands i duel you. I was paid to kill a thief though and not a king. Perhaps you did steal the sword, perhaps you did not, perhaps you killed for it perhaps not. I was sent south with these charges. The Holmgang will provide the truth. If you want to postpone it until the matter has been investigated i will wait. But i want my blade back. I might not have acted according to Southern Law but this is a Northern matter and i acted according to Northern Law.

[NUKE9.13]

Osvik sighs.

"Very well. I return you to Gertasdottir's capable hands, and shall send a messenger before the day is out. Farewell, for now."

As promised, Osvik looks for a messenger to travel north, to contact the runesmiths and ask for a representative to come to Harmondale to assist with an investigation into the potential theft of a runeblade.

((I believe Ghaz said that the runesmiths in question have all had unfortunate accidents, where they walked repeatedly into a sword. Check with him. Regardless, Osvik doesn't know that.))

[Ardas]

Take care of it.

While you stall Baemund, your people do as you ordered.

"Get out of my way, you fool!" The lord screams and pushes you aside. Your people are quicker enough however and Baemund drives off none the wiser. This was the last time you saw him, before the coronation happened.

As promised, Osvik looks for a messenger to travel north, to contact the runesmiths and ask for a representative to come to Harmondale to assist with an investigation into the potential theft of a runeblade.

A messenger is sent. He is unlikely to get back to you before spring however, as winter season in Nordran is harsher and longer than in Harmondale, slowing travel and indeed, all civilized life, to a standstill.


It was just before the first snow fell and shrouded the land in it's white embrace that the procession of clerics arrived in the capital, bearing the sacred oils from the Abbey of Saint Harmonius. The crown jewels of the kingdom belonged to Nordric, and no lord ever dared to claim them while the land was not united. No less for the fact that ever since the death of the last true king, Marivus, the crown and other jewels have been spirited away by the clerics and under the protection of the Cult since the turmoil of the Succession Wars. No one knew where they were hidden, less so the clerics themselves, with only the Grandmaster alone knowing the location of the Crown of the North.

It would be the castle chapel that would hold the anointing - not big enough to hold all of the interested parties, but tradition demanded it. It was there, in sight of Ilos and men that Osvik knelt before the Grandmaster Pyoraxis, and that the ampoule containing the blessed oils was poured upon his head.

"Rise, Osvik. Be you a mere man no more, but lord and liege of the people of this land. Rise and lead them, in light of our Lord and in greatness that is Nordric to be."

As the new king leaves the chapel and presents himself to his people, a great cheer rises and everyone has his name on their lips.

Osvik, the kingdom and its lands are under your nominal control, you may begin ruling now, for You are King!

End of Prologue...

[NUKE9.13]

As a loyal servant of the crown, your presence is requested at the inaugural gathering of the ruling council of Osvik I af Harmondale.

[Osvik's bumerke has been scribbled on the bottom of the note]

In recognition of the wisdom the years have granted you, you are hereby invited to attend the inaugural gathering of the ruling council of Osvik I af Harmondale.

[Osvik's bumerke has been scribbled on the bottom of the note]

In recognition of your skills, you are hereby invited to attend the inaugural gathering of the ruling council of Osvik I af Harmondale.

[Osvik's bumerke has been scribbled on the bottom of the note]

As a representative of the spiritual leadership of the country, you are hereby invited to attend the inaugural gathering of the ruling council of Osvik I af Harmondale.

[Osvik's bumerke has been scribbled on the bottom of the note]

As a notable nobleman of the realm, you are hereby invited to attend the inaugural gathering of the ruling council of Osvik I af Harmondale.

[Osvik's bumerke has been scribbled on the bottom of the note]

As a notable nobleman of the realm, you are hereby invited to attend the inaugural gathering of the ruling council of Osvik I af Harmondale.

[Osvik's bumerke has been scribbled on the bottom of the note]

Let it be known that the King is searching for a man of high station with a grasp of numbers and administrative affairs, to serve on his ruling council as Treasurer.
Furthermore, a man of high station with a grasp of tactics and military affairs is wanted to serve as Marshal.
May the candidates present themselves at court post haste.

[Iituem]

When the nobles gather together at the first council meeting under King Osvik, Baroness Gertasdottir has already taken advantage of her position to arrange table placements, as well as have light pastries, cold cuts and watered wine brought in.  She gives barely respectful nods and crude leers to the various nobility as they come in, plopping herself down in a seat three seats away from the King's rather fancier chair (notably, between the places marked for Falbrand and Hardwick and opposite Baemund's chair) while the rest of them await the King's arrival.

"I hope you don't mind, lords, but I've got Diventrade serving up today," she said, gesturing to Mavi's position of honour as head servant.  "Only the best for our new king.  Try the goose liver with the Silvferstolpe red cheese, it's divine.  Although I'm afraid we only have the Westbrook wine in today for drinking."

[Tack]

Mavi, back to his old self, gives a mocking bow
"A particularly vain servant could almost assume she just missed the striking figure I cut whilst holding a tray.”
“Nevertheless, I remain eager to serve as always."

[micelus]

The Fool's Pipe had been a most amazing home for the last few weeks, complete with a cast of miscreants, lowlifes and general failures. There was One-Eyed Pete , Mad Tim (who violently thinks Ilos is spelt with two Ys), Hansson the Orc*, Kerv the Quick-But-Lamentably-Lacking-In-Arms, Leia the Purveyor of Jellied Pigeons, and a whole host of other curiosities. Of the food Altandai could simply not stop recommending, with the mystery bits that turned up in most of the porridge, the sock-flavored beer, and the roast pig, that usually turned out to be a bunch of potatoes stitched together. Honestly, Altandai had almost considered just opening a circus, but that thought quickly disappeared. The disapproval of the ancestors would be most excessive once his time came, and he simply could not imagine a near-infinite lineage of ancestors scolding him all eternity. Grandad Emjin was more than enough. Honestly, Altandai was glad she had run out of herbs to commune with her ancestral bow. 'Kill this', 'don't eat that'. It was quite simply, much easier to get on with this settled life without one's ancestor in your head.

Of course, Altandai didn't intend to make the Fool's Pipe his home for life. No, there were much, much greater places to reside in, and as he lacked an army, he would have to attain one the far less entertaining way.

Getting a job.

With a smile and a sigh, he headed off in the general direction of the castle, knowing that today was the coronation of that king the locals had been yammering about, and that he required officials. Hopefully, he wouldn't have to come back too many times to the Pipe, as enjoyable as the atmosphere was.

...

A troubadour dressed in her finery and bearing a loot (courtesy of One-Eyed Pete), turned up to the castle, along with the rest of servants and entertainers. It wasn't too hard proving his skill, dancing and singing the usual cultural songs. While the tunes and styles of the Nordrans were different to his own, Altandai learnt them quickly enough and entered the castle grounds with nary an issue. The banquet hall would be another matter.

After a moment of thought, Altandai shrugged and simply looked the part and entered. He gave out the expected responses about plying his trade, honouring the king and all the other pleasantries, and then simply walked through the door. What could an unarmed musician do, in any case?

That little hurdle dealt with, Altandai set himself up in a corner and began going through his repertoire of 'Civil Songs', those considered amenable to the ears of commoners and nobility alike. He would continue with the charade for a little while, until the king entered and ate, for a man fed and drunk is a man most open to suggestion, or at least thats what Grandad Emjin keeps saying.

*Who turned out to be just a particularly large man, much to Altandai's regret.

[Tack]

A handsome woman soon appears from a nearby doorway and moves over to stand over next to the bard. She had to raise her voice in order to be heard over the sound of the lute, but made the effort regardless.
”Please, keep playing, but next you break to wet your throat, come see me for a drink.”

So saying, she disappears off to a section of the crowd, sending off a guard with a pat on the shoulder and a smile, and turns to the stage, vainly attempting to appear as just another enjoying observer before being buried by a constant array of servants and pageboys.

[Shootandrun]

"Took the seat next to mine, eh, Baroness?" Alric sat down next to Helga smoothly, arriving among the first of the gathered nobles. "Well, I can't blame you for picking the nicest view, I suppose."

He was dressed rather humbly for his usual style, having chosen dark red clothes with little jewelry, and a careful observer might have noted that he looked unusually tired. All pretensions of being in a usual mood soon faded, however, as he cast a glance towards the head servant: "Water for me, please, Diventrade."

Kingmaking did not make one immune to headaches, particularly when half the court was celebrating the nights away.

[micelus]

Altandai finished her performance of the Red Raddled Ladies, and took a break for a small drink. While the king had not turned up yet, Altandai was certainly pleased with the smattering of coins that turned up in his hat!

Of course, there had been that that admirer, perhaps offering a night's friendship? Or a job. Both were good options at this point. With a bow, Altandai leaped off the stage with hat and lute.

 Now, where was that woman?

Scanning the crowd, and spending quite a bit of time admiring the oddities of Nordran elites (he would have to open up conversation with a few of them today, he thought), he eventually discovered the woman and did make a bow.

"You said something about a drink, my lady? My name is...Eshi by the way, I do hope you enjoyed the performance."

[Tack]

The lady motions to a mug which has been happily resting on the counter... possibly since she first sat down. The head is almost gone and it appears to have simply been forgotten.
She turns to attend to yet another servant bustling up with a broken section of what appears to formerly have been a bannister rail, and then returns her attention to ‘Eshi’.
”Yes, you have some real talent. she notes, attempting to put a welcoming smile on a stern face
”We do, however, have a fuming minstrel currently cooling his heels in the annex.”
She waits, gauging his reaction.

[micelus]

Altandai's smil disappeared for a moment, before quickly returning.

"In the performing arts, its said that performing is only half the job, the other half involves looking the part. Tell me, my lady, if that ministrel hadn't turned up at all, would you have found anything amiss with my presence? A bard is a bard, after all, and my hands and tongue are as good as any."