Previously, Tamarig the shepherd boy having located his lost sheep, had to contend with two Argiopes – the fierce predators of the Mjolnir range, in a secluded lair. Just when he was about to be overwhelmed, the sudden appearance of his father saved the boy’s life along with the revelation that his father was actually a skilled swordsman with a secret. A secret that will change the life of Tamarig forever.
…Unfortunately it was too late as the barbed tail of the assailant struck the older man’s arm, no doubt injecting its deadly poison into his body. But the Tamarig’s father was not to be defeated, he swung the broken sword backwards with such finesse that no shepherd could muster and lob the head of the Argiope cleanly from the rest of the body. The wound was so clean that no ichor spilled. Spent, the older man collapsed as Tamarig rushed towards his father…
The Bloodline of Ulric
As Tamarig rushed to the crumpled heap that is his father’s body, a thousand thoughts raced through the boy’s mind. How is it that he did not know that his father was such a skilled swordsman? Why did his father hide such a fact from him, his only son? And why, in all these years, his father refused to help defend the village which was constantly being threatened by the presence of mountain bandits? Was it because he was worried of letting his anomaly of a weapon show? Was this why there was always a locked chest in the room of his father that he can never be allowed near to?
“Father, please don’t die on me,” whimpered Tamarig as he cradled his father’s head in his hands. The relationship between father and son was never close but it was not so distant that Tamarig does not feel a tinge of impending loss now that his father’s life was on the line, for the inevitability of it all was clear. Death would come. There was no cure for the venom of the Argiope, at least not when the nearest clerical outpost was miles away.
“Listen son, my end is nigh, and it’s time that you have to take up the mantle of our clan. You are the elder son of the firstborn of the House of Ulric. I am a rune knight and you will be one as well, you must know the truth of our lineage now,” spoke his father through gritted teeth.
“R..rune Knight?”
“Yes, we were the keepers of Mysteltain, the sword of Baldur, the first Rune Knight of our clan. During the Age of Chaos, it was said that Baldur was given the sword by Freyja, the Goddess of the Valkyries herself as a gift for beating back the ever-encroaching darkness wrought by the host of giants and demons from the depths of Niflheim. And along with the sword, Freyja bestowed upon Baldur longevity beyond the span of mortals as well as the most precious boon of all, the gift of the Valhallan technique, a sword skill that allowed you to kill and yet draw no blood, using a small part of our immortality as a price to kill and defend the peace.
Thus, the gift of long life to us is a double-edged sword, and the Valhallan is not to be foolishly displayed for personal glory. For only when you need to defend something that is close to your heart, should you use it, and when you do, a part of you dies with it.
Since then, our clan has safeguarded the peace of the borders of Rune-Midgard for thousands of years, often in the guise of rangers, shepherds and hunters. That was long before the time when the shade of evil arose over the ruins of Glast Heim, one of the chief cities that stood during the wars of the Age of Chaos and it still stands today, haunted by a nameless evil. The host of Glast Heim worked in unseen ways and poisoned the hearts of Men, sowing discord and distrust towards our clan of Valhallan swordsmen, the ones who have defended them for eons. The conflict grew and we were unwelcome in the world of mortal men. Being shunned, our clan was driven underground.
And so, two centuries were to pass before the might of Glast Heim mustered enough and poured forth from their foul gates under the leadership of the Necromancer and Men were sorely overwhelmed. Brajan the Bear-Shouldered, holder of Mysteltain then, rode out with his army and confronted the dark lord but alas, he was slain and Baldur’s sword was sundered into four pieces. But the Necromancer was broken as well in body and spirit and he fled back into his city. The shards were taken up since by the four sons of Brajan and the House was further fragmented into four tribes as each of the sons claimed his birthright over the House although the eldest son should have been given the sole inheritance of the House.
Thus, Baldur’s legacy is no more as we faded into the obscurity of time, broken by our own internal feuds. Men still distrust us, they still fear the Valhallan and its powers and fear multiplies, egged on by suspicion that we will take the place of them. That is why I chose to live as a simple shepherd all these years, choosing to try and forget our responsibilities of our clan and our hopes of reunification.
For it is said amongst us, the day that the Mysteltain is rejoined shall be the day that Baldur’s light be revealed. The legacy must not die in my hands. Take up the sword shard I have and seek out the three others; for you are the direct descendent of the eldest son of Brajan and that is why we hold the hilt. Go and seek out the tribes of Sessrummir, Bengulf and Rawndor and get them to hand over their shards and swear fealty to you, for upon you should the rule of the House of Ulric lie upon. Leave the village, speak no further of details of my demise. Your life is not to be like mine,” whispered Tamarig’s father in his ear.
“Father, I…”
“Go…there is no…time, the shadow draws on once more while I seek rest in Baldur’s halls,” spluttered the old man as the venom worked its course, throwing Tamarig into the depths of loneliness. Suddenly, the cave seemed more cavernous than it was.
Standing up over the body of his father, Tamarig gripped the hilt of Mysteltain and dashed down the mountain in tears. He needed to know how to use the Valhallan and the secrets must surely lie within the locked chest in his father’s room. But first he needed to rest, he needed to cry; to cry for a boy whose life has been overturned in a single night.
A female Crusader
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