Legacy of Mundilfari
Posted: Mon Apr 01, 2019 10:46 pm
In its endurance of spoken word to written passage, stories of old often become mere fable or myth. Another addendum to the tediously long list of evolving culture within a people. Whether they be based on actual events in history, perhaps fanciful lies to either deceive or teach. To warn or entertain. Such tales possess some granular salt of truth, as their birth must germinate from somewhere... Someone... At sometime...
Solveig Mundil, one of the youngest generation of her family lineage. Ancestral blood ties to 'Southernly' elves with 'Northernmost' jotuns dashed into an egg of a time-wise clan, who arched their necks back to gaze upon the stars. A twin, sibling to a seldom heard Mana Mundil, her fiery hair of the sheep slayer radiated a warmth compared to the brother's cooler tones of the eclipsed moon. Not that said huldu kept himself cold to his own womb-kin. They in fact shared much with one another; turning another's weak luck to wax in glorious strength.
Yet, this child of Whim felt the burning coals of Wham in her solitude. Well, apart from the echoes of one's own voice vibrating along hugin. They were just reflections, rays of her sunlight which their desires seek to turn misfortune of those of 'Campment and 'coon-kin into firmer good luck.
Whereas the huldra laid amongst her own munin said sounds stood no better than shrieks of a feathered Unkindness. She could feel Mana still alive out somewhere... Both far and near... Pain of once believing him to be lost, then silenced under rubble... Only to then to consider that her kin must be under some sort of delusion to not finally reveal himself on one of these fortnights-
"Solveig?"
"... Uh huh?"
A gentle, mannered tone, stirred the eerie slumber. She could never forget the voice of Doggerland's High Priestess... Well, former. Many a huldre still refuse to step upon the large island's shore, nor even a vessel tred near its tainted waters.
Whatever nightmare that tried to manifest in Solveig's near doze couldn't compare to the utter carnage which the county's capital suffered; essentially left to ruin as survivors fled to safety. None of it all even made sense in hindsight. Apart from herself and Maria (Skathi and Mana were together elsewhere at the time), only some of the basic staff of the Doggerland Council were present the day of the Ala attack... She still yearned to return some 'favor' back to the Second-in-Command of a different Council altogether...
"Well, in both messages and brief visits. A few of the Heralds sought for my assistance in a project" Maria weakly replied, rubbing the back of her neck. "Mainly Lady Askafroa and Lord Ascelin. They requested me to write down whatever folktales and Doggerland records I could recall."
"... Oddly specific? Wouldn't the Heralds... Just know the myths already?"
"Not exactly, Solveig. Their influence, as explained by Ingrid, is unevenly spread across the remaining Sub-Worlds; much of it slumbering still. So far I told them several of the common myths and some variants, but the Hearlds were quite interested in the obscure ones."
The Knight could rationalize easily why all three of these particular Heralds would desire such information. Whimwham, naturally closely attuned with culture and passion, is a rather obvious clue in their ties and titles. Wander, known to travel both on the physical and otherworldly planes, would be keen on knowing the lay of the lands and their inhabitants. Wattle... Even if just a simple preservation of current customs, maintaining a stabilizing force for huldre to put trust into to endure further suffering.
But why Doggerland's Council?
"... Maybe the next piece I'll write be titled 'The Tale of Tails?" the priestess lightly giggled to ease the tension. "Still... If you know anything I might have... Forgot, then please remind me."
The huldra's face displayed a faint cringe. Solveig couldn't quite tell what was with that nervous tick at first, apart from traumatic flashbacks of that... massacre. Seemed to pop up when chatting about said Council-actually, even Skathi did that on occasion-
"Don't worry, Maria. I'll make sure of that."
"Thanks Solveig... Say, could you tell me those stories about your ancestors' famous mill? Just like when I was a young girl?"
Solveig Mundil, one of the youngest generation of her family lineage. Ancestral blood ties to 'Southernly' elves with 'Northernmost' jotuns dashed into an egg of a time-wise clan, who arched their necks back to gaze upon the stars. A twin, sibling to a seldom heard Mana Mundil, her fiery hair of the sheep slayer radiated a warmth compared to the brother's cooler tones of the eclipsed moon. Not that said huldu kept himself cold to his own womb-kin. They in fact shared much with one another; turning another's weak luck to wax in glorious strength.
Yet, this child of Whim felt the burning coals of Wham in her solitude. Well, apart from the echoes of one's own voice vibrating along hugin. They were just reflections, rays of her sunlight which their desires seek to turn misfortune of those of 'Campment and 'coon-kin into firmer good luck.
Whereas the huldra laid amongst her own munin said sounds stood no better than shrieks of a feathered Unkindness. She could feel Mana still alive out somewhere... Both far and near... Pain of once believing him to be lost, then silenced under rubble... Only to then to consider that her kin must be under some sort of delusion to not finally reveal himself on one of these fortnights-
"Solveig?"
"... Uh huh?"
A gentle, mannered tone, stirred the eerie slumber. She could never forget the voice of Doggerland's High Priestess... Well, former. Many a huldre still refuse to step upon the large island's shore, nor even a vessel tred near its tainted waters.
Whatever nightmare that tried to manifest in Solveig's near doze couldn't compare to the utter carnage which the county's capital suffered; essentially left to ruin as survivors fled to safety. None of it all even made sense in hindsight. Apart from herself and Maria (Skathi and Mana were together elsewhere at the time), only some of the basic staff of the Doggerland Council were present the day of the Ala attack... She still yearned to return some 'favor' back to the Second-in-Command of a different Council altogether...
"Well, in both messages and brief visits. A few of the Heralds sought for my assistance in a project" Maria weakly replied, rubbing the back of her neck. "Mainly Lady Askafroa and Lord Ascelin. They requested me to write down whatever folktales and Doggerland records I could recall."
"... Oddly specific? Wouldn't the Heralds... Just know the myths already?"
"Not exactly, Solveig. Their influence, as explained by Ingrid, is unevenly spread across the remaining Sub-Worlds; much of it slumbering still. So far I told them several of the common myths and some variants, but the Hearlds were quite interested in the obscure ones."
The Knight could rationalize easily why all three of these particular Heralds would desire such information. Whimwham, naturally closely attuned with culture and passion, is a rather obvious clue in their ties and titles. Wander, known to travel both on the physical and otherworldly planes, would be keen on knowing the lay of the lands and their inhabitants. Wattle... Even if just a simple preservation of current customs, maintaining a stabilizing force for huldre to put trust into to endure further suffering.
But why Doggerland's Council?
"... Maybe the next piece I'll write be titled 'The Tale of Tails?" the priestess lightly giggled to ease the tension. "Still... If you know anything I might have... Forgot, then please remind me."
The huldra's face displayed a faint cringe. Solveig couldn't quite tell what was with that nervous tick at first, apart from traumatic flashbacks of that... massacre. Seemed to pop up when chatting about said Council-actually, even Skathi did that on occasion-
"Don't worry, Maria. I'll make sure of that."
"Thanks Solveig... Say, could you tell me those stories about your ancestors' famous mill? Just like when I was a young girl?"