Forest of Hypnos - Wounds of a war dog:
"During war, we often forget part of our own humanity, lost in a conflict we didn't incite. Fighting endlessly against waves of enemies who in another life could have been our allies. In the end, with each death and each drop spilled on the fields, we lose more of ourselves." -Anonymous
Walking through the mist is a robust man, his curly hair marching with the wind while his tired steps make the metal pieces of his boots resonate.
"Thud, thud, thud"
The man's boots echoed as they struck the earth of the improvised stairs which due to their age were deteriorated and invaded by moss.
An ancient legend told by pilgrims seeking enlightenment, one of many he heard with his companions in camps. It is said there exists a garden where flowers do not bloom but are replaced by mirrors.
While avoiding slipping on moss his mind wandered. Although it wasn't first legend, he pursued he couldn't help but wonder: "What do I hope to find…".
According to legend in this place mortals gather to find themselves in images of garden - their deepest desires, greatest resentments and finally memories that lie within their souls.
—Welcome, Son — Interrupting man's thoughts came voice an old woman approaching remains main entrance.
— Forgive me for receiving you under these conditions; it's been many moons since we've had new travelers — The old woman's voice was soft and warm contrasting with desolate atmosphere place. Her tired eyes and slow gait seemed denote fragility yet as she drew closer man noticed this wasn't what permeated her presence.
Once she stood before him, he loosened scarf covering him revealing face more reminiscent barbarian than pilgrim.
He had left eye bandaged; black beard formed goatee long mustache; red scarf with black embroidery adorned neck.
— I apologize if my arrival interrupts; is this perhaps garden mirrors? —He asked while giving smile which due lack some teeth usually made people uncomfortable rather than providing reassurance.
The old woman nodded slowly returning smile which due her age also lacked teeth.
The man let out slight stifled laugh at situation as she turned inviting him inside.
Passing through remains what once decorated entrance he instantly felt temperature drop.
As he followed her along narrow path surrounded by dead trees felt wind hit bare chest.
"Thud thud thud"
Each step continued sounding out.
On other hand she seemed make no sound at all - her slow walk was empty like specter anchored this place. As these thoughts circled mind she finally stopped.
—Ah memories… Welcome young one— She expressed moving aside revealing entrance formed by vines behind which thousands small glimmers could be seen.
—So here it is…— He said looking at glimmers caused by many mirrors within garden. Even fog couldn't hide their radiance; around them small lights resembling fairies flitted about momentarily.
—I hope you can find yourself—
He looked towards her voice but like those flickering glimmers she'd vanished. Sighing he decided to enter.
Why was someone like him here? As walked questions kept arising: Who was he? His name…In absence one he'd chosen to call himself Franz Halvorsen after hearing tale told bard years ago.
At times shards glass among trees seemed call out him - heard laughter, fights, laments… as if walking through crowd unable understand words bombarding ears until silence returned once more…
Walking among broken reflections still unsure what should do until finally found one stood out from rest hidden among undergrowth its frame appeared worn its reflection blurred beneath mirror lay rusted candelabra four candles: white followed black then purple lastly red beneath them inscription read "טָהֳרָה בְּהִירוּת מֶדִיטָצִיָה תשוקה".
Franz approached candles knowing meaning engraved words from previous travels:
—Purity, protection, clarity, passion…—
After repeating these words searched through leather pouches tied belt eventually pulling three items: flint steel tinder once used make fire. If only Franz was a magic user making lighting candles will be an easier task but sadly it was not case…
With tools hand began striking stone against the iron fire striker until finally it was able to ignite the bundle fibers forming tinder watching the intense color flame and how it slowly consumed indomitable heat lit first candle.
Purity.
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The baptism, it was said that the very act purified newborns, cleansing them of original sin. Thus, receiving the blessing of a now nameless god. Despite this, that newborn lay in his mantle, not baptized by water but by blood and ash. And that chapel that sought to draw closer to its god was nothing more than a nest of corpses and plagues.
Perhaps it was divine intervention from this nameless god or perhaps it was a trick of the adversary himself. But as the sound of flames filled the place, a barbarian could hear the child's cry. Mercy? The human act of feeling empathy for the purity of that defenseless child is what stopped that man's knife from finishing what flames couldn't. And so, he took in the newborn.
Soon that vulnerable being would grow up. Spending his early years playing with children of the companions from who became his father by saving him. Standing out for his strength they never doubted his origin wasn't within their own band.
And so at age 12 he began assisting his father on raids - carrying weapons bringing water or other loads.
By age 16 he tasted firsthand ecstasy participating in battle; just as once baptized by blood now he baptized himself with the same red liquid.
With each fight his white clothes were stained; with each slash of his weapon tore flesh both his own enemies and he'. Until finally nothing remained white and there was nothing left to tear apart.
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Franz stared bewildered into void when came out trance. Night had almost completely consumed him, and the only reason hadn't been fully absorbed darkness flickering light of the first candle.
At this moment Franz hesitated despite being sure what he saw, couldn't believe in the clarity of those images. It was this same clarity that scared him, many years since felt fear even more since "dreamed".
Looking at the extinguished tinder. Despite doubts decided relight flame and closing the eyes lit the second candle:
Protection.
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The forest was overflowing with ritual chants and its darkness was illuminated by a large bonfire. Today several of its members were reaching the age of 21 and with this they were finally considered adults to the rest of the group.
Among them was that boy, drinking mead from a horn and shouting along with those who had accompanied him in the war fields.
When they came of age, they were not only taken into account when making decisions for the welfare of the group, but they were allowed to specialize in one of the many subgroups that the army had.
As the night progressed, the sparks from the bonfire danced towards the starry sky. The voices of the elders were coupled with the night sounds and the alcohol from the drinks was impregnated in the blood of each of the young people who were called. Until finally it was the turn of the one baptized by blood.
Entering the largest of the fur huts that had been improvised the young man stood chest high in front of a large table.
Behind this table stood two figures. One being the leader of the group. A burly man with a long golden beard. His face bore scars, and his broadened body was held back with effort by the chain mail that covered him. Next to him was his father, who looked proudly at the result of having saved the newborn.
— As tradition dictates, on the twenty-first birth you are not only given the right to be considered, but you are also expected to choose which path you will follow among our family. — Said the stout man as he stared at the young man.
- Being already blessed by the drink that the gods gave us. Now I ask, what do you choose? - After saying these words, the leader stood firm in expectation of the answer.
Looking into the eyes of the one he called father; he could sense tranquility. He knew that he did not doubt his capacity, so he looked directly at the leader.
He knew that there were few who gave up a part of their humanity for the ecstasy of endless combat and that there were even fewer who managed to remain part of the group after spending a few years imbued in it.
However, he wanted to protect those who taught him, those for whom he has shed his blood over the years. It would be his shield and his weapon in battle and that is why he does not hesitate.
— I will join the Úlfheðnar—
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Once again Franz stood before the tinkling fire, in his eyes now reflected the dance of two flames and in his heart the memories of two memories. The search for truth? Of our own past? Were these visions his past? Her heart was confused by joy and fear. However, the reflection in the mirror returned her sad smile.
Love, war, family. He felt disillusioned. This magical place had shown him nothing but its reproaches of his now lonely existence.
For many years she had decided to ignore the search for her memories in order to spare herself the sadness and now, in front of the blurred reflection of her body, she saw them. Happiness, affection, pride.
He wondered if the one who had raised him as his father had not really made a mistake in taking him in his arms and if those, he considered brothers would forgive him.
And now faced with another decision his fragile smile was shrouded in doubt. But admitting his weakness he lit the tinder again and thus the third candle.
Clarity.
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"During war we tend to forget part of our own humanity."
A man was searching through the woods, totally naked except for a large gray wolf pelt that hung on his back. His unnatural movements were light and were disturbed by birdsong.
In his left hand he carried a leather pouch while with his right hand he rummaged through the plants with a small knife.
Finally, the man stopped.
At the foot of a tree, he found a red mushroom adorned with white sparkles. He cut the mushroom with his knife, avoiding touching the slimy hat with his hands. Once separated from the ground he placed his forehead against the earth and opened the leather pouch revealing a large quantity of these mushrooms. And so, he whispered in a now forgotten tongue and continued searching.
After repeating this several times, the bag had grown considerably, looking at it satisfied he decided to place the bag over his shoulder and retrace his steps ignoring the whispers of the forest until he reached the group's settlement.
I walked to a small hut, it was distinguished from the rest as its entrance was decorated by hanging skins and fragments of wood with carved runes, as well as the two human skulls whose eyes seemed to see beyond your soul welcomed you once you entered in it.
Inside a large wooden cabinet was covered by various skins and animal parts, as well as wooden bowls with embroidered runes inside which lay strange looking substances. Behind this piece of furniture, a woman covered with blonde hair which intermingled with the feathers of her clothes had her back to him.
— Shaman we will occupy this; we leave at night. — Said the man in a serious tone as he placed the bag on the wooden pike.
The woman turned her body around. Her face was painted completely white covered by dense black marks that easily brought out her blue eyes. Her forehead was ornamented by several black threads with small pieces of bone.
— You don't have to be naked to pick mushrooms, ugh, they'll be there for the night. — He said with distaste at the sight of the naked body in the middle of his shack.
— The gods gave us this body; don't you think we should show it off? —
Seeing how the man tensed his muscles to show her his body the shaman chose to ignore him and digging behind the furniture she found a small horn sealed by skins.
— We were also given furs *****— Said the shaman as she handed him a horn.
— ¿Hm? —
— It's for the Hauldr, you should take the night more seriously even he is worried. — She said looking at the man's face with a serious look.
After hearing this the man left the shack. Walking home with confidence he felt a slight discomfort. He had known Eira long before she was a shaman by this point, he could tell when her words showed insecurity. But why? As far as she knew it would be a raid like any other.
Once they arrived at their home, which looked more like an armory than a resting place because of the immense collection of weapons hanging on the walls and on the floor.
After admiring his loot for a moment, he decided to look for something to wear which consisted of several layers made with leather for the outside and linen for the inside. Also because of having stripped them of the corpses he had managed to add metal pieces on their clothes, something that, although not everyone in the group saw in a good way, they did not deny its effectiveness in protecting the body.
By the time he finished dressing, the sky was beginning to darken, tonight they were to leave for the kingdom of Thorns. He still did not have many details; he only knew that they had been hired by the kings as support forces.
— I guess if they pay, we will be pawns of the rich. — He said to himself as he walked out the door.
Even if he dislikes the idea that they have to do it. As his "father" told him, most of them were banished from their native country. After this they worked for a while as bandits until the leader managed to start selling the services of the band as war mercenaries.
The birds were restless that afternoon, and the cold air was beating against his chest. As he walked to the main house to give the Hauldr the horn Eira had given him he felt a certain desolation.
Although a few minutes ago he had walked and entered the village with joy, the walk back was distant from reality. This is a feeling that had become more frequent since he entered the Úlfheðnar and began to practice his rituals and he often felt he was losing control of his own mind.
Despite this, he tried to concentrate on small goals during the day to alleviate the situation. However, the lack of human sound along the way did not help him and often intensified the feeling of being constantly chased by invisible beings.
Getting lost in these thoughts made no sense to someone like him. By the time he noticed it, he was already in front of the doors of the main house. He closed his eyes for a moment and entered.
— Hello! — He shouted with a big smile on my face.
In front of the large table that had sealed their fate a few years ago, there was a considerable group of people. Mainly those in charge of the various subgroups into which they were divided.
As he was part of the Úlfheðnar many of his companions belonged to specializations in Archery, Hunting, Firewood, Machinery, Navigators and among more divisions.
The Úlfheðnar were really a sub-branch of the front-line warriors who used to dress in furs and fight bare-chested or naked against their enemies. Their function was simple, they served as the first line of attack and defense so they were to take down as many enemies as they could while staying far enough away from their comrades to protect them from their enemies and often from themselves.
— Hm, I guess you're here because of the request I made to Eira. — The golden-bearded man behind the table commented in a gruff voice.
Despite his age the leader did not seem to have aged, his body remained large enough to be compared to an ox and his dexterity did not seem to have emancipated with age.
Franz thus threw the horn so that the Hauldr caught it in mid-flight.
— As my father used to say, it seems that your reflexes have not deteriorated, right? —
— HA! Your father? ...He would have been better preserved if he had still been with us. —
Unfortunately, this was true, 3 years ago his father was infected by a rare disease after a battle in the lands of an emperor. Although they tried everything possible, they simply did not have the knowledge to save him so after 5 months of constant suffering he passed away.
It was before his death that he himself learned about his origin. This was something he had never revealed to anyone, respecting his father's request.
— Anyway, I guess the best thing to do is to approach Franz. — He said in a serious tone as he looked at the horn.
— It's odd to see you acting so cautious, we've had a good run and on behalf of the Úlfheðnar we're just waiting for the shaman to finish diluting the mushroom. —
While the other groups shared their status, everything seemed to be under control. Whether it was weapons, food or any other normal preparations prior to a siege had been successfully accomplished. However, as the members of the group spoke the Hauldr remained silent.
He watched the horn thoughtfully as he traced the edge with his fingers and the words didn't seem to be coming to him, he seemed to be searching for something invisible to others.
Silence.
After a few minutes only Franz was in the room with him.
— I can't, feel the gaze of the gods on our shoulders. —
Franz was somewhat disconcerted by this simple phrase. Staring for the first time, he did not feel he was standing before the imposing mountain that had so often praised him.
That man for the first time seemed to be announcing defeat without having started the war.
— It would be better if we did not go — He said in a quiet voice.
A loud thump sounded as Franz's hand hit the table.
— That we should leave? That's just another way of saying run away, Did the gods ever run away from their battles? They never ran away from battle, whether it was against giants, demons or beasts. How could we? HOW CAN YOU EVEN CONSIDER IT! —
— YOU'RE QUESTIONING ME! Damn you *****, you haven't even seen half as much as I. There are things we can't beat! —
— And YOU SAY SO! Are you questioning the power that the gods have given us? The strength of the men who have made this community flourish? — He stared into the Hauldr's eyes as he increased the pressure of his fingers on the table.
— My duty is to protect them, you, Eira and each one of those who are still alive at the expense of the corpses of our brothers and sisters.... —
— So, let me go fight and with the money from that nasty kingdom we'll have a feast. You know better than anyone how much I hate monarchs, but winter is coming, we need the money without having to plunder the poor again...You know how my father used to feel about that.... —
The leader's gaze still showed fury at the irreverence, yet he knew he was right. In a short time, winter was approaching and they needed to obtain enough reserves for each member to withstand its cold. Even though stealing was an option he knew that the general opinion of his group was divided when this subject was broached which previously would have turned into an inner war if "Franz's" father had not been there to bring calm to the group.
— I can't let you take them all...Not before them. You can only take half the men in each group. .... That's the most I can allow you —
— It's all I need —
— I hope so...I hope so…— Said the Hauldr as he handed the horn to Franz.
After these words the warrior left the main house. He was determined, angry, nervous. An anger consumed his body, but it was stopped by the new weight that had fallen on his back. His ideas kept colliding with each other, and he felt his own head filling with murmurs. However, she did her best to appease them.
As he selected the men who would accompany him, he could feel the burden of their families on their shoulders, although he was confident in their abilities to carry only half of the planned forces left them at a distinct disadvantage. Once again, the questions hovered with each choice, why, what should he fear?
He tried to remain confident so as not to lower the morale of his men, yet the idea that he was leading them to their deaths worried him.
— We must finish quickly — He mumbles to himself.
"Franz" passed through each of the houses, regardless of whether his family had once been slaves or Jarls' men were separated. Thus being thus constituted the reduced army that he would lead.
While the preparation of the only boat to leave was being completed, Franz watched the fireflies glowing on the water. His war attire was bare-chested. His arms were protected by skins and some metal plates, as were his legs. His feet on the other hand were encased in boots covered in wolf pelts.
However, none of it was as impressive as his head covered by the skin of a large bear. The claws that he still had fell on his bare chest were the size of a knife and the bear's upper jaw was resting near his forehead, the beast's front fangs reaching up to his cheekbones.
—Victory like any other— A woman's voice said.
— Like any other Eira —
— And if so, tell me, why do I see you worried *****? — He indicated in a soft tone while massaging "Franz's" shoulders with his hands.
—Did you dissolve the mushrooms? —
— Ugh, the usual you are lost before battles. — After saying this, the woman placed a bag at Franz's side.
"Franz" took the bag and upon opening it revealed a cluster of small horns, inside each was the diluted mushroom liquid.
— If you die, the boss won't forgive you. And... neither will I. Just come back. Without being naked if it's not too much to ask. — Said the Shaman as she vanished into the darkness of the night.
"They worry too much" Thought the man as he took one last look at the reflections of the lights before boarding the ship.
The wood was creaking as the large sail was violently pushed by the wind. That Shekkar housed 90 warriors under the darkness. Following the stars, the boat measures about 30 meters. While about 40 were rowing, the rest of the crew finished preparing the weapons.
Franz stood with the group of Úlfheðnar he had chosen for the raid. Raising one of his horns towards the moon he shouted.
— The gods blessed us and so it was possible to have each of these horns again. The beasts reside within us and the gods protect our path. Whether we overcome as the bear overcomes the winter or die, we will be blessed with the grace of eternity. —
Handing out each of the horns delivered by the shaman to her brothers.
Although they were not particularly nervous, he could sense some uncertainty, especially from the navigators' house who did not seem to be rowing as hard as usual.
Being alone at sea could have affected the men's morale.
Franz was aware of this, normally such a raid would be carried out with at least 3 boats so you could see the lanterns of your brothers in the darkness. However, at this moment every time you looked at the emptiness of the ocean it only gave you back its immensity.
Knowing this he decided to go to the central area of the ship.
— I know it is hard, seeing into the darkness and not receiving the warmth of the light back. I know it's hard every time we cross into the darkness leaving our brothers and sisters in doubt, Will we ever come back, Will we ever see his face again? — Each man looked at Franz while he spoke.
— Our parents also asked, they also doubted. This wood with which we sail the stormy ocean was molded with their hands and now it is we who with ours will build a better future for our children. The gods have blessed our people, they have protected them from the storms of ice and fire. They have protected us countless times from the enemy's steel. So do we doubt? NO. —
"Tud, tud, tud" sounded faintly each time the men clashed weapons against their shields in approval.
— I cannot promise you an easy fight, I cannot promise you that there will be no pain. I can promise you that each and every one of you has already secured your place in Valhalla. Whether it is today or in 100 years we will all be gathered in the great hall with every warrior who has protected our people and with our father ODIN. —
Raising his two battle axes to the sky while his face was obscured under the bear skins gave the impression of seeing the animal itself come back to life personified in the body of man.
The mist of the ocean was mingled with the stench of blood. The waves were dyed red, and the scream of men was stifled by the unnatural cry of those lost to greed.
War.
Franz had already experienced it so many times. His own birth was but the unholy product of the self-destruction of his race, and yet he struggled once more.
Flesh.
It was torn and corrupted during a single battle. One that those icemen should not have fought.
Dead.
It was a gift from the kings of Thorns.
"Kingdom cursed in its ostentation. Seal broken, family broken, soul fragmented." This was the chant that those 90 heard on his deathbed.
And before that cursed song.
Franz kept fighting, his axes hacking away at flesh that was no longer flesh and snatching away life that was no longer life. He could not explain it, much less save them.
He watched as each of his men was overpowered by these wraiths. Their skins were shredded, their weapons broken.
His Úlfheðnar for the first time succumbed to pain. And the blessings of the gods were overshadowed.
"Kill. Kill. Kill." He tried to keep himself in the violent trance by repeating these words to himself. Repeat, repeat, repeat, over and over.
How much longer would he have to do it? How could a man murder something that was never meant to be alive? Why did the gods turn their backs on him? Were they really with him?
He fought until he forgot time, he fought until his eyes stopped seeing, he fought until his own name faded away.
In a moment, however, the voices fell silent and his body gave way.
In the twilight of his torment, his skin dyed by his own blood, his hands trembling and his body shrinking, he lifted the small horn and drank, searching in the emptiness of its liquid for a last comfort.
They say that when the god of death comes for your soul, he embraces you with memories of a longed-for past and wishes for a perfect future.
So why did he float in the infinity, his body was slowly consumed by death and reconstructed by life. His skin was torn and healed at the same time. Life and death were overlapping in the thread of his own existence.
And so present before the eyes of death he could only delight in the amber of her eyes.
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His body was dragged from infinity, just as his memories had been retrieved from the void. He awoke. Stunned at the wounds in his soul. Lost in his own present.
Every beat of her heart was a reminder of an impossible memory, and her gasping breath reminded her of a life that was not hers.
Franz looked at the dance of 3 flames. And so, he despaired. What was a life like his worth? The reflections of his face were distorted by the toothless smiles of the specters and so he tried to light the fourth candle.
He tried again and again. Until the Tinder stopped turning on.
Until the flint was smashed.
Until there was no more of the fire striker left.
But the wavering fire of the last candle did not welcome him.
And as the orange dawn replaced the darkness her tears only reflected three fires.