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None; formerly the Æthelwigend of his own band of men sworn to Harding of Wold, dryhten of Eorlsmead.

ResidenceEastémearc; oft he is found either in the saddle with sword in hand, or in a tavern drinking mead and smoking.

The Eorlingas

Outward Appearance

Régnwald does not walk, he strides and that's the first thing one will notice about the young Eorling of Folde. He has inherited the more rugged look from his father. He the tall built typical for his kin, with plenty of muscle. Broad shoulders and heavy arms witness of time spent in training and hard labour. His green eyes set in a squarish face, keen and good. His hair is the same wavy, dirty blonde as his mother's.


The sturdy-in-war, steadfast earl sports a fine-webbed mail woven by the wit of the smith. It knows how to cover his body-cave so that foe's grip might not harm his heart, or grasp of angry enemy his life. But the bright helmet guards his head, one surrounded with splendid bands, patterns of gold as the weapon-smith made it in far-off days, fashioned it, set it about with boar-images so that thereafter no sword or war-blade might bite into it. Næġling is oft held by his firm grip, a rare and ancient sword with ill-boding patterns, old heirloom, grey but gleaming.


As content to follow as he might be, the warrior has no issue stepping forward and taking charge, for selflessness is the air about him. He perfectly embodies the manners and values dictated by the Eorling code, including loyalty, courtesy, and pride. His defeat of the Wildmen validates his reputation for bravery and establishes him as a true follower of his chief and lord. But he is shamefast. He moves through life with certainty and decisive action, head held high and shoulders unbowed.


Working with weapons and horses all his life, there was never much chance of there being anything soft about him. As he would like to say, when you walk around in byrnie, your war-gear and then proceed to whack things with sword or spear, a certain level of fitness is not only expected, but required for a long life. Life hasn't always been easy, and the strain of it has led to lines on his features. He's always been quite stern in character, quick to laugh and smile only with those of his inner circle, and lately even that seems rare. He oft keeps his word-hoard locked. There's a tiredness to his green eyes now that softens only when in the presence of a select few.



The sturdy-in-war bespake with words, proud earl of the Mark, hardy ‘neath helmet, his breastplate gleamed, war-net woven by wit of the smith, the warriors’ leader his word-hoard unlocked:

Régnwald I am, by kin of the Eorlings,
I am Harding's friend and kinsman,
Earl of my band of men.

To folk afar was my father known,
noble atheling, Régn named.
Full of winters, he fared away
aged from earth; he is honored still
through width of the world
by wise men all.

Many fair deeds have I done
though yet I be young.
Five wargs I bound,
thus humbling a giant brood.
Wild Men I slew in the Battle of Entwash.
Many a wrong have I avenged,
fiercely grinding the oppressors.


— gnwald(Pronounced: Rén + waold) means "power in rain" (Old English). His name was derived from the Anglo-Saxon words "régn" (rain), "wald" (power).



Brothers from his war-band: Ciardric, Hondscioh, Ethelad, Aodhred, Ysmired, Aylric; friends, sisters of old days: Cynebur , Eohilda, Ceolswith, Niehstu; of elders: Ceorlbrand, Tidhelm, Wyrdsig; followers of Théoden King and many more of his kin.


His half-sibling, Sæwaru; Uncle Gúthfinn and his three sons: Yrmenlaf, Hæthcyn, Hnæf whose whereabouts aren't known at present.


The oppressors: Orc-kind; the Wildmen—Pren Berahéafod who fled after his defeat in Entwash and whom he won in single combat in war-field as scops sing; raiders from the east and any who would threaten his kin and lord.


His kin; truth, loyalty and reward; strong east wind; music—sound of lyre, evenings filled with high spirits and mead of course.


Arrogance, cowardice, disloyalty, lies, cruelty, witchcraft, sword-hate between brothers—an enormous violation of the ways of kin.


To avenge dear ones than to indulge in mourning, to serve his chief and lord until death takes him.


''Eorlings don't wield words where swords speak truer.'' ''Wyrd oft saves an undoomed man when his courage is good.'' ''I'm thinking I'll likely go where I'm sent.'' ''Madness has its wonders.'' ''Éoreds themselves do not suffice in these days. More is required of the Eorlings to whack the terror in the fields.''

Regnwald's Adventures

What gnaws on the Eorlings' thoughts 1 day 7 hours ago
To Home-comings 2 days 6 hours ago
New shoes for the horse 4 weeks 4 days ago
Queer folk 4 weeks 6 days ago
Streams in the Spring 12 weeks 2 days ago
Regnwald's Adventures

Regnwald's Gallery

Regnwald's Gallery