Lurking Krog — Roleplayer Guild

Bóthilda

    Dawn was breaking over the camp. Bóthilda turned in her sleeping skin as the first light of dawn broke through the trees only to get a sharp kick in the side from her uncle Tørmun. 

   "Time to get up niece. We have a long days travel if we are to reach Serpentstone before night fall." He walks over to the remains of the fire to warm his hands real quick before grabbing some hard sausage for them to eat for breakfast.

    Bóthilda grumbles and climbs out of her sleeping skin and rolls it up before securing it to her pack.

   "You know uncle you didn't have to kick me." She says as she joins him beside the nearly burned out fire 

   "Aye, though if you are to be trained as a thane you will be kicked awake almost every day and much harder than what I did." He hands her a sausage and takes a bite from his own.  "Come now the others will be moving out soon." He grabs his pack and goes to the ox drawn cart full of goods her father, his brother, had sent to have sold at the markets of Serpentstone.

   Bóthilda grabs her pack and slings her shield over her right arm and slides her axe into it's place on her left hip. She climbs onto the cart sitting next to her uncle taking a bite of the hard sausage.

   "So uncle you say we will be there by dark?" He nods. "Good I've been ready toy see Serpentstone since we left near a fortnite ago."

   Tørmun laughs shaking his head. "You will see it soon enough. You are as restless as your grandfather was before you father and I were born. Some say it came from his grandfather's grandfather's grandfather's father, whom I am named after, Tørmun Trolls bane."

   Bóthilda laughs. "Trolls bane was a myth. A hero's legend of our village."

   Tørmun shakes his head. "He is not that axe you have was his once. He gave it to his oldest son than he to his and so on till it ended with your father. Now you carry it as you are his only child. By the gods why do you think we are even related to the Earl of our village?"

   Bóthilda laughs again. "Right uncle, it is because of Trolls bane not because our family is wealthy from trade. Wealthy for our village anyway."

  "It isn't proper to mock your elders." He states sharply knocking her in the back of the head. "Doubt if you will but it is true."

  Bóthilda rubs the back of her head for a second before staring off into the woods dreaming of the glory she might win for her family and herself. Not to mention the wealth.

    As the hours pass she takes to sharpening her axe to a fine edge and oiling it to keep it from rusting. When the caravan stops for midday meal she practices with a few of the guards with blunted axes and old shields. She practices till her whole body it sore and aches from the exertion. She also earned new bruises from a reckless charges. If they had been real axes she would be missing a leg, and her shield arm as well. However four of the six guards would have been wounded or dead as well. When the caraven set off again she lays in the back of the cart on her sleeping skin resting till they arrive in Serpentstone. 

   The sun was starting to wane as the caravan reached the Weavers' Gate and Tørmun speaks with the gate guards explaining that he had wares to sell. Once they pass he takes the cart to the market place and ties the ox to a post. 

   "Come niece, there is a tavern near by with good food for a fair price. The Howling Wolf is it's name." He waves for his niece to follow him and head to the tavern. It was getting crowded but the managed to get two seats at one of the benches, though they were closer to the door rather than the hearth. Tørmun grabs a passing serving boy by the arm and orders a cup of beer for himself, a cup of mead for his niece, and two bowels of the stew that was sitting over the fire. Bóthilda quietly sips at her mead listen to the conversations around her while Tørmun talks with others exchanging news from their village for local news as well.
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