Chapter 2

Frigga

At a point in time the sun was not alone. It had a brother. That brother became jealous of the sun because the sun got to spend time with the earth. So the brother of the sun came to burn the earth out of jealousy. For years there was no night and the earth grew hot. Lakes dried to deserts, fires roared across the forests and fields, and the ocean boiled until it grew to have the taste of salt.

Eventually even the gods where not able to stand to the heat. It was then that Rödsmed the god smith and daughter of Gorronage forged a spear. It was not a spear of metal, metal would melt under the heat before it could injure the second sun. Rather it was carved of blackened stone.

This spear was given to Frigga, the only god with an arm that could reach passed the sky. She hurled the spear into the heart of the brother sun and slayed it. The body of the brother sun can still be seen floating passed the sky, now dark and with it comes the cold of night.

~Nord Myth~

In the southern shadows of the Rün mountains. A sizable but simple homestead held a reputation that far exceeded its simple demeanor. It was the house of Frigga Stormmother. A woman of mixed heritage, her father a fearsome and imposing warrior of the Rünmen, her mother a Nord shield maiden and fantastic beauty. The couple only sired one child, and a daughter at that.

Her father's worry of his lineage led him away from the family, yet her mother stubbornly raised her daughter in the arts of war, holding close the Nord gods of battle to the point of naming her only daughter Frigga, after the goddess of battle.

As the years passed Frigga grew into the likeness of the goddess herself. At the age of sixteen she had grown to her full height, half way passed six foot while retaining her mothers infamous figure.

Outwardly she looked as a Nord woman should. Pale of skin with full blonde hair that cascaded down her back and bright blue eyes. Inwardly she concealed a strength and a fury only known by the Rünmen. Years of training toned her physic, her muscles strong and tight. Her strength grew to parallel that of the most fearsome Nords, and her skill in combat proved to be without equal.

The lone daughter took the sir name of Stormmother, without question of anyone whom witnessed her in battle, and her mother passed away knowing that she had birthed a warrior that would someday be immortalized in song and story.

In her late teenage years, the Stormmother inexplicably married a simple man without laurels or reputation in war. Many criticized her, asking why she would not wed a great warrior and sire large fearsome children. Her husband joked that Frigga would provide all of the size and fury any warrior would need. Together the couple adopted a homestead and produced four daughters in as many years.

Much to Frigga's grief her betrothed passed to fever. Typically Frigga would have been lost, attempting to feed a family without the support or protection of a husband. But all knew that this particular woman was in no way typical...

Frigga entered her home scrubbing the sweat from her brow. The heat of the summer day was passing into a cool and peaceful afternoon. The shadow of the Rün mountains was inching its way towards her home in the waning hours.

Her eldest daughter, Valk, followed her inside sweating from the day's training, both dressed in simple cloth undergarments and open sandals. Valk was fifteen years of age and, while not yet at her mothers towering height, was the spitting image of her, strong and fierce. Her second daughter of fourteen, Luna, sat in front of the ceder wood table sharpening Frigga's great claymore with practiced grace.

Of her four children Luna was the only one that did not carry the blonde blood of Nord in her veins. Her hair was dark and her eyes a deep brown like that of the Rünmen. She was tall for her age but it was readily apparent that she would not obtain the same physic of her mother. This did not dissuade Frigga, deep behind Luna's eyes she could see a cunning and keen mind. Luna often spoke in a manner far beyond her age and there was not a skill that she did not take to in a madder that made her sisters jealous. Deatry and Karra, twelve and eleven respectively, raced around the house with the trackerhounds lost in a child's game. They had not yet entered the start of woman hood, as such they still behaved in the untroubled manner of children.

“You can only hone a blade to a certain edge.” Frigga jested at Luna as she entered the house.

“I know, but this sword is beautiful, and beautiful things require attention, or they may lose their appeal.” Luna replied lost in concentration.

“You should spend more time swinging a weapon than you do polishing them.” Valk scolded.

“You should stop taking your weight of your back foot when you thrust.” Luna shot back.

“You where watching us train then?” Frigga asked warmly, accustomed to this recurrent squabble.

“No, but I could hear Valk grunting a lot. She always grunts when she thrusts.” Luna answered.

“Grunt or not you will never exceed my reach.” Valk growled.

“I could with a spear, or better yet a bow.” Luna replied.

“That's enough. I will let the two of you work this out tomorrow with the practice swords.” Frigga ended the little squabble. She never had to wonder what raising sons would be like. Her daughters never argued about boys or cloth, only combat.

“Deatry, Karra, stop chasing the dogs and set for supper, we have an important things to do tomorrow.” Frigga instructed. The daughters pouted and went to the kitchen to fetch the meal.

Luna perked up. “Is our new lord coming tomorrow?” she asked.

“Most likely his vassal and sometime in the next few days.” Frigga answered.

The Stormothers held a rare position in that they did not farm or produce a craft. Certain families in the Rün are supported entirely by their lords with the understanding that they would produce warriors for the lord's warhost. Being a widowed mother with only daughters Frigga met much scrutiny in this arrangement. Every time that the ever shifting politics of the Rün left her with a new lord her house would soon be under inspection, weighing the value of the lord's support.

Her two youngest set the table with dishes of smoked venison and potatoes in soured creams accompanied by pickled cabbages. The food held a pungent odor of salt and vinegar.

“Who will your prayers be to tonight?” Frigga asked her daughters.

“I'm gonna pray to Frigga.” Karra piped up.

“Ya, me to.” Deatry immediately replied.

“Gorronage, lord of storms and tides.” Valk answered.

“Still hellbent on a life at sea, and a seat in the hall of Vanfri.” Frigga observed.

“Fitting of a shield maiden.” Valk replied.

“And, you Luna?” Frigga asked her quite daughter.

“Meetry.” She answered.

Valk scoffed. “You pray to a liar and a cheat.”

“He tied a bell to the lightning so the gods could always hear it coming. I want to know how he did it.” Luna replied quietly.

“Be sure to tell me when you find an answer.” Frigga instructed.

As the head of the house Frigga took the largest piece of meet from the table. Her daughters took the que and dove into the food hungrily.

After eating Frigga sent her children to their lessons. She insisted that all of her children be literate and able to speak in the manner of nobles. The lessons only lasted an hour, any longer and there was no hope of holding their attention. Like most Nords, their minds quickly shifted back to boats and horsemanship and steal.

The next morning she woke the children at dawn. Several hours of chores later and they where happily engrossed in personal combat. Frigga watched intently as Valk repeatedly bested Luna. Valk had the unbreakable advantage of age, as well as height and strength. Yet every time Luna was disarmed or knocked down she sprang to her feet and attacked with controlled aggression. She never began an attack in the same manner twice. Always devising a new angle or different feint. Valk would never admit it, but her younger sister kept her on her toes, always guessing as to what she would do next.

Karra ran up to her mother and tugged at her.

“There are people coming.” Karra squeaked.

Frigga looked into the distance down the road and could barely make out the cloud of dust thrown up by horses. Karra had truly fantastic eyes.

“Thank you Karra, I want you and Deatry to return to you archery and stay focused.” Frigga said patting her daughter on her head.

“And Valk start chopping some firewood.” Frigga instructed.

“We have plenty of wood.” Valk argued.

“It is not about wood, but making an impression. Now do as you are told.” Frigga ordered.

Valk scowled and crossed the yard.

“What about me?” Luna asked.

“You always badger me about my conversations. It is about time you observe them for yourself.” Frigga answered.

The trio of horsemen closed in quickly, the lead most a middle aged Nord man with a long forked beard and the demeanor of a warrior. It was notable that he was donned in ring mail with a sword at his waist and an unpainted round shield bouncing on his saddle. His cloak was of simple green and did not bear any crest. The pair of riders behind him bothered Frigga. They where not typical Nords. Rather they w***e coal black plate with stark white surcoats embossed with the Red star of the Knight Templar. They where unmistakably crusaders, holy warriors of the Lonely god. Their capes billowed in dramatic fashion, added to by the white and red streamers on the tips of their lances. Both had helms fashioned with horns in the manner of an ox. Frigga thought that they looked all to much like the daemons that they claimed to eradicate so fervently.

The Nord man trotted up and swung off his horse with practiced ease.

“My god, after the stories I had expected a monster of a woman, but not one that was so stunning to the eyes.” The man joked.

Frigga was accustomed to dressing in the typical manner of a man in training. Her clothing consisted of nothing more than a piece of cloth bound between her legs and around her waist. And a second band around her chest tightly holding her breasts which, while appropriate for her stature, boarded on the obscene. Standing, near naked, in the early day sun with a light sheen of sweat and her hair wild, she was something of a sight.

“And who is this silver tongued man before me?” Frigga asked with a grin.

“I am Pinesheild, warmaster of the newest lord to this land.” The man introduced himself.

It was difficult to travel the Run without running into one or more Pineshield, a Nord family with dozens of hold fasts and halls across the Runland. The family, and it's assets, grew rapidly as droves of Nord banner houses flocked to the Pinesheilds, due to their skill as rulers, and their emphasis on maintaining traditional Nord culture.

“A pleasure Pineshield welcome to my homestead.” Frigga replied.

Pineshield eyed his surroundings, stopping for a time on Valk, who was casually placing logs on the chopping block and splitting them with one arm.

“The pleasure is mine Stormmother. I'm sure you think that I am here to judge my lords investment but my brother has fought with you and I have already assured my lord of your house's value.” Pineshield said.

“My thanks, I can promise that he will not be disappointed.” Frigga laughed.

“I am here on important business though. These men with me are of the Knight Templar.” Pineshield gestured to the pair of crusaders. One bore a shoulder plate painted with a silver dire eel, backed by setting sun of black and orange. He was a vessel of the house of Abyssal, known for its crusaders. The other came as a suprise, sporting a black giant, with a skull for a head and lifting a stone tower, on a field of white.

“I see that the house of Bane has converted to the teaching of the Lonely God.” Frigga nodded at the second crusader.

“Indeed.” Pinshield respond. “They split a portion of their lands, that would not convert, with my uncle. Though he is not keen on the temperatures of the far north.” He joked.

“If you are not intent on valuing our holdings, that what brings you?” Frigga asked.

“It would seam that a long stream of churches running up from the south have bean sacked by something most fearsome. The cathedral at Kingsport is next in line. They have come to personally ask you for assistance.” Pineshield informed.

“You are aware that these churches are not of my god.” Frigga replied.

“Is the great Stormmother backing from a fight?” Pineshield joked.

“Besides the war saint sent instructions to ask for you personally.” He continued.

Frigga smiled. “Then to battle I go.” She turned and shouted to her daughters.

“Valk ready my plate and have Deatry and Karra fetch my packs.” She turned to Luna.

“Luna ready a horse and bring me the sword, make sure it is sharp and lustrous.” Frigga smiled. Luna smiled back and jogged into the house.

A short while later Frigga was in full regalia. She left the men to wait in the yard as her daughters dressed her. Custom would dictate that she offer them a meal, yet she liked to remind that this was her home and her whim was as good as law. Instead she had Deatry bring them horns of cool meed to quench their thirst.

Frigga stood as tall as the black shaunty Valk had saddled for her. Her plate was of fantastic workmanship, flexible yet without weakness or flaw. The plate was fired to a coal black, similar to that of the Knights Templar. Arcs of lightning crisscrossed down the armor embossed in gold, the roundlets engraved with Frigga's self claimed crest of a fist holding a bolt of lightning. She wore no surcoat and donned no shield, her helm open faced, allowing her hair to fall down her shoulders. Only the colossal claymore across her back.

Despite the weight she made a point of pulling herself into her saddle. Pineshield took note of the armor as it was odd for a Nord. Being seafaring warriors, Nords only wore shirts of mail that could be removed quickly if thrown into the waves or endless rivers of their home land. During her travels she had adopted the heavy armor of southern knights, as well as being knighted herself on one occasion. She was an undeclared champion of the race of man, fighting its enemies under any flag or banner so long as she found the cause fitting.

As her and her compatriots trotted away, Pinshield brought his horse up close.

“I am surprised that you leave them alone absent anyone to watch or protect them.” Pinshield noted.

“They are Stormmothers. Their name alone will keep them from harm.” Frigga jested, though she did turn in her saddle to look back at her homestead. A pang of longing already heavy in her gut.

“As it should no man within shadow of the Rün would dare come here looking for trouble.” Pineshield replied.

“I have spent my lifetime making it so.” Frigga responded.