A blizzard thrust snow through the air upon the Misty Mountains, the whistling was harsh and the gust of the wind was like a blast upon any who sought to oppose it’s natural power. “Therwen! Where are you? Therwen!” Redwick called in hope, his face was cold and the wind tugged at the threads of his flaxen hair. He shielded his eyes with a hand so that the wind would no further bother his view as he looked around desperately.
At once the wind about him ceased to beat upon him and he found himself in an ice cold cave. Long into the darkness within its depths he called out, “Therwen!” And his voice echoed through the cave, but there was no answer. Warily, he drew out his sword and kept his trusty blade at his side as he proceeded, his arrows rattled in his quiver with each weary step as he ventured into the blackness before him until he could see nothing. The light at the entrance of the tunnel from whence he came was no more and all that he heard was his footsteps and quiver as he went deeper and deeper.
He saw an orange light that was like fire in the distance and he ran towards it, his feet thumping heavily upon the cave’s floor in his weary steps, each step echoed down the corridor until the light drew nearer and nearer where there was a room lit with torches and a spring in the middle. “Therwen,” Redwick said softly in relief as he saw her in the middle of the pool, she wore nothing but her skin and seemed to be looking at something. Redwick thought to surprise her and began to undress himself, but as he did so he looked up amd he noticed another figure approach the pool. He too wore only his skin. Redwick’s eyes glared with fury, “Bjorn!” he cried out at the top of his voice that echoed through the halls--drawing forth his bow he knocked an arrow upon it and let loose with a twang and a whistle as it set flight with the man in it’s pathway. However the arrow never made its mark.
For Redwick had sat up in his bed and was sweating heavily. He was warm in the blankets, not cold upon the Misty Mountains and he breathed with difficulty as he looked around the room that was dimly lit. The sounds of snoring caught his ears and as he looked to his side he saw Therwen where he expected her to be. He smiled, but she groaned in displeasure for he being sat up removed some of the blanket from her and she blindly sought to cover herself from the cold in her sleep. Lying back down Redwick wrapped an arm around her and it seemed that she could find peace in her slumber now, as could he as he drifted away again.
This time, he was in the Jarnsalr, the Ironhall, Hofding Tyrgrim’s land where he and the rest of the Mead Company would meet. Everyone was there, they were all merry with their cheeks flushed. Alfknutr was telling tales to children at the hearth, including Erline, Redwick and Therwen’s daughter. Vallen, Therwen, Merys and Skjalddis were all sitting at one part of the fire place, talking amongst one another. Torgrun and Fridbjorn were arm-wrestling and the veins upon their arms displayed as they challenged one another in brute strength. Tyrgrim was sat on his chair with the pride of a king and he drank from a that horn that was in his hand. Archer stood alone in a dark with his head unhooded, leaned against the wall while he sharpened his sword, scraping a whetstone over the blade. Threland and Threarn were having a drinking competition. Arukhor was was simply minding himself with a fond smile on his face, perhaps dreaming of the ocean.
It was the merriest night that Redwick could possibly dream of. All of his friends were in one place again, setting aside whatever separated them and they simply enjoyed themselves in each other’s company. The only violence was the friendly kind and in the end not a single drop of blood was spilt. They were deep in their cups. So deep that they probably wouldn’t remember the day that followed.
Redwick himself grabbed the largest horn that he could find and went to a keg. However, when he opened the tap nothing came forth!
Once again, he woke up with a startle and this time it was morning. Therwen was already awake and dressing herself as she noticed him. “Bad dream?” She asked.
Redwick blinked and rubbed his eyes with a groan that suggested dissatisfaction towards his amount of gained sleep. “Yea,” he absent grabbed a cup that was on the bed-side cupboard, there was still mead from the previous night within it and he began to down it. “Tell me what it was,” she questioned. Redwick huffed in relief as if life were coming to him, he looked into Therwen’s eyes as he said it:
“The mead in Jarnsalr's taps were gone.”
OOC:
Such nostalgia. So many great times and such captivating stories came from this group of roleplayers. Roleplay of such quality is difficult to find, and I think that all of you who participated in the Mead Company's adventures would agree whether we had our differences or not.
