Styrk

It was a chance meeting, started with lots of booze, jolly good fight with my pall Styrk (he reshaped my family jewels for good), great companion Folke that i cant match in drinking or nose longitude.

Well there was a lass, too young to wander around Inn with so many men that had no scruples in using such innocent creature. I would lie if say I am not that kind, I am, did very bad things in my life, very bad things. 

A pie sits burnt in the oven. My mind a blank. It is difficult to think around my flower. Could she be listening to every single word in my head? I contemplate this absurdity for a moment.

Summer. Back home we would be breaking sweat by pulling the oars; our galleys scudding through the shallow waters, as we’d reach the shores of Rhûn. Those were the times, glorious plunder and the thrill of a good skirmish. Gods know I miss that. But I am stuck here, in this tedious town, where you won’t even taste the difference between a horse’s waste and a gulp of mead.

“My head looks like a garden!” she wailed at her reflection in the mirror.  She spun the circlet this way and that until there were so many petals on the floor it looked as if she had hosted the wedding in her home.  Then the damned thing snapped and fell to the floor, where it was promptly kicked away in frustration.  Soon enough, she stole more flowers from a neighbours garden and remade the circlet again.  Finally she lifted the hem of her dress and strapped a dagger to her thigh just as

Priya and Seia stood on a small rocky strand, surrounded by a vast river and steep cliffs. All the others that had lingered there, were long gone, as the darkness had started to fall. Just as they were about to take their leave as well, the single narrow path out was blocked by two wide glooming shadows, who spoke strange language.

Hardoleth...

“The tears I feel today
I'll wait to shed tomorrow.
Though I'll not sleep this night
Nor find surcease from sorrow.