Helga of Ulthane!

[Knifey Keith]

Chapter 1

The Two Tribes

The land of Ulthane is named after it's people, the Ulthar; though the Ulthar are no natives of the land. Their motherland lies far to the North, a land they left two hundred years ago and remains but a place existing only in history to the Ulthar. For the Ulthar of today not know the true reason to how they came upon the warm, green land that they now call Ulthane. Or to why they left the place of their origin to begin with. But regardless of how they came to be or what they have done in the time before; they established and recorded their history well after their settlement.

The Ulthar are a haughty, confident people. Typically Tall, blonde and of brown eyes they are an attractive people; their naturally pale skin quickly tanned by the long summer. The Ulthar were admired for their beautiful striped tunics and capes, which they quickly became to be recognized by. They are a people reputed for and taking pride in their many talents; the Ulthar are very skilled archers, tenacious hunters, diligent scouts, bold horsemen and makers of the finest mead in many lands. Many of those amongst other tribes and kingdoms would describe the Ulthar as a race of heroes, a tribe of warriors, a kingdom of kings.

Though the Ulthar see their new found homeland of Ulthane as something they were destined, entitled to; something forfeited to them as a right from the gods themselves… The Ulthar did not aquire the land now called Ulthane peacefully. With their favoured weapons of bow and axe, they drove out or enslaved the defenceless natives of the land. For in the minds of the Ulthar, they were rightfully entitled. But such unchallenged supremacy would not exist for long, for though the Ulthar were adept and fierce, they would be tested by another culture of Warriors.

From the West a ferocious, hardy and resilient tribe of warriors came. A brunette people of blue eyes, pale skin came, dressed in checkered tunics and capes unintentionally contrasting that of the Ulthar. Though short and stocky, they were broad, strong and tough; a people who were skilled fighters with fist, knife, spear and sword and charged into battle with a terrifying frenzy. They were a people who seemed to feel little or no fear, no mercy and practiced brutality upon themselves as well as their enemies. These people were the Harthag, aside from being powerful warriors; they were also skilled metalworkers and an artistic people. Through these vicious, war-loving people the Ulthar met their equal…

Where an Ulthar man threatened his Harthag counterpart, a man of the new nation of Hargath would reply with his fist. A man of Ulthane would seek vengeance with a club, a Harthag man would kill him with his knife. An axe would be brandished by an Ulthar warrior, a Harthag warrior would produce his sword. Where the Ulthar took to their bows, the Harthag would ready their shields. When the Ulthar trode to battle on horseback, the Harthag would charge head on mounted upon their own steeds. War between them lasted for some thirty years; it seemed as if the gods had unleashed upon the Ulthar a people to match them in order to teach them a lesson of their arrogance. Brutal, violent and fearless were the Harthag that he Ulthar lost their stomach for war; falling back on their wits and cunning they plotted on any tactic conceivable, searched for any edge that was available. The Ulthar resorted to asking for aid in the very people they had enslaved and terrorised… The numerous native tribes who though primitive in many aspects were a magical people, who's help if attainable could give the Ulthar an advantage that would allow them to defeat the barbaric Harthag.

Offering freedom to those they had enslaved and gifts of beautiful jewellery made of gold and silver to the banished native tribes. The indigenous tribes were easily bought, though very few in number; their heightened gift for magic was employed against the Harthag. Traps, attacks, curses and tricks of native magic were cast; allowing the Ulthar a vital edge that they desperately needed. As the Ulthar fought long and hard with the Harthag to conclude the war in their favour; it became clear that despite any magical intervention would not persuade the Harthag into surrender or accepting defeat. However the forces of the Harthag were equally wounded and expended as that of the Ulthar, and as the two tribes had each lost a great deal without any sign of a victory for either… A truce was called.

Across the river schammel which had provided the only god made barrier between the two waring peoples. King Hansel Yohanson of Ulthane and King Karl Targan of Harthag met under the yellow banner of truce; there perhaps the two greatest heroes of their time bartered out an agreement. A pact of peace and co-existence, where borders would be guarded carefully but commerce would begin, where an Ulthar man could trade with his Harthag neighbour over the river. Where though the two tribes then hated each other, the law of the two crowns would enforce not only peace… But flexibility, the chance for friendship amongst the two kingdoms.

The treaty made on that day will be fifty years in a week’s time from now. The two tribes still exist in their purity; one contrasting the other. Yet over the ancient, ever flowing border that is the river between Ulthane and Hargath lie two villages dangerously close to each other. Over the years both sides of the border have bickered and hurled insults over the river; not daring to cross without permit- For they would be subject to punishment from their own nation.


Chapter 2

Stupid Girl

The hero of this story may seem unlikely to some, impossible to others. But SHE would be the savior of both the Ulthar and Harthag. A young woman only of twenty years of age, still called a girl at best; a feminine boy at worst.

Her name is Helga. Helga Brackel Olafsdattir; as her surname says, Helga is the first born child of Olaf Haroldson. Her father a kind, jolly man who took great pride in both his work and his only child; his daughter Helga. Helga was a disturbance in comparison to other girls of Ulthane; where the woman of the Ulthar were reputed for being good mothers, hard workers and supportive of their husbands… Helga was strange. Even at twenty she had not yet wed a man, few men had the courage or the want to court her. She was outspoken, arrogant, abrasive and often butted heads with the young men of her village. Her mother would call her lazy and incompetent, as well as silly for her ambitions and dreams of becoming a warrior. Her father while caring and supportive, was reluctant to show it publicly; as other men would often mock him by complimenting him on his "First born son".

Helga belonged to a family of dairy farmers and millers. Both trades were hard work and required much of their time; something to which Helga began to realize, as she got older. She hated hard work in general, she also didn't enjoy milking cows none too much. Whenever she had time to herself Helga would wander across the sheep paddocks nearby her families’ house and their windmill, down the hill and onto the flat clearing cut in half by the river. There the often angry blonde girl would secretly practice archery by shooting copper headed arrows into home made straw targets hung off trees. As a child and even at times these days she would also practice her skills with a rock and sling, sometimes at trees; but often at a person she considered her "Arch enemy".

Since she was young she came to practice with her sling, then her bow by the river Schammel, a boy would also come to spend his time on the other end of the river. A Harthag boy who Helga often exchanged harsh, abusive words with and once in a while would engage in fisticuffs with. Her skirmishes with the boy was one of the several places she learned to wrestle. For many years she would mock and fight the boy; until when she had reached the age of thirteen, the boy himself being the same age… He had less frequently visited the river until… He stopped coming by the river altogether. Though Helga had felt a sense of victory and accomplishment by having eventually scared off the stupid, short, fat Harthag boy that she used to bully… She did think of him from time to time. Always curious to why he never used to mess about near the river anymore, to where he went… But Helga was still content to practice her skills in the thin woods below the fields and beside the river.

Today however she had no such luck. Knee deep in jobs and chores, she was miserably busy milking cows in the barn. A job she despised though she had become used to it, today of all days she thought it the worst time to have jobs piled on her… As tonight was a special night for her. TONIGHT! Fori Olson the Troll Slayer was coming to town! To any among the Ulthar or even Harthag who didn't know who Fori Olson was… Helga would be astonished, shocked and offended; Fori Olson was a great hero of the Ulthar people and his exploits well known across several lands. A killer of trolls and other vile monsters, a clever, witty hero who dispensed his enemies with his great battle axe who's shaft was crafted from a Jotun's shin bone. He was a beloved hero and more importantly, he was one of Helga's heroes; second only to Brackel Svardsdattir (Her all time biggest hero among heroes and luckily for Helga, where she had gotten her middle name from.). Though it was quite melodramatic of her, Helga felt she would die if she passed up the chance to meet the Troll Slayer himself.

Alas she had work to do, milking cows a many and after that she was expected to clean up the mill for grain making early tomorrow morning (Another job that was required of her.), life in agriculture was hard work. Constant hard work that seemed never to end for Helga; unfortunately her plight was in no way unique, as it was true of many and most people in the world. But Helga had always felt special, or that she was always the exception. Always feeling that if she were a boy, she wouldn't have to sneak around and practice the skills of war in secret; that her aspirations of being a warrior and adventurer would be accepted, even encouraged. But unfortunately within the realm of Ulthane… It had always been a mans world. With little indication of it changing, many men looked at women simply as wives, sex objects and servants. Helga's father was different, he had always been a kind and understanding man that judged someone by their individual worth rather than just what was between their legs. Though Helga had heard stories of far off lands where women were treated even worse, without the right to own property or choose their husbands.

Though she had never really thought about it, she didn't truly know what Fori Olson the Trollslayer was like. Whether he was like her father or to whether he was a pig, as it seemed in her eyes so many Ulthar men were. Then again Helga didn't much care for menfolk in general, Helga had many secrets; one of which was the fact that she didn't like men none too much at all. Helga liked girls, quite simply she was attracted to women. Something that though a fair few suspected of her (Her mother in particular) she knew all too well that it would be social suicide for her to publicly admit to it. None really knew for sure with the exception of her cousin Harold (Whom she was very close to.) and the handful of girls that she had the courage to mess around with… Girls that were curious only and had broken Helga's heart each time.

As she sat on the short stool, squeezing the cows udders to squirt milk into the wooden bucket below. She pondered on how she would sneak out tonight; she had already arranged to help out in the merry making with the maiden of the Cheiftain's hall. Though the serving of food and mead in a hall filled with drunken, rowdy men was generally a job Helga would despise and avoid at all costs… It was necessary in order to get her chance to meet Fori. She had begged the maiden not to let her mother know that she was going to be out tonight, sneaking out however was Helga's problem. Helga ceased milking the cow for several minutes, plotting and scheming upon her predicament in her mind. Trotting into the barn came Helga's mother Astrid Axelsdattir, a woman who through her own means had earned the respect and dislike of both her male and female peers alike. She was a very chubby woman, like Helga she was blonde. Her incredibly long hair was tied into two thick plats that reached down a little bit past her knees. Helga had the look of her mother, Helga herself however was far prettier; Astrid frequently wore her anger and grumpiness on her face- Like mother, like daughter; Helga herself well known to be quite a grumpy pants herself.

Astrid was a strong woman, both mentally and physically. She took pride in being wife and farmer, with no tolerance for nonsense like adventuring or expressing ones individuality or FUN… Astrid had no time for any of it, nor did she have any patience for her daughters "Childishness", there was work to be done. Helga had courage in her bones, she wasn't afraid of much; nor was she afraid of any man she knew… But she had always been terrified of her mother (And horses). Though Helga was strong for a girl, her mother could (And would.) slap her around like she was still a toddler. Though Helga was quick to give a bit of back talk, she chose her words carefully in fear that her mother would slap her onto the next world.

Astrid looked town on her wayward daughter displeased, her right hand in a fist; pressed against her waist. With her left arm she carried a sack of flower on her shoulder. Helga looking up at her nervously, now thinking of how to explain why she had stopped milking the cow… Astrid scowled at Helga, a chill went down her spine as she suddenly realised that her mother had caught wind of her secret plan to sneak out for the night and go merry making in the Chieftains hall. "You tired?" Astrid said, Helga staring back skittishly. "Hey you go take a break, go eat some fruit. The cows can milk themselves…" Astrid said sarcastically, Helga frowning immediately at her mother's mockery. Astrid dropped the heavy sack of flower on the ground, strutting over to the cow she looked the apathetic beast in the eyes. "You don't mind taking over so f*** head here can go play and stuff her face?" She said to the cow, though receiving no reply… But Astrid continued to converse with the cow regardless.

"No no Mrs. Cow… Helga shouldn't have to work so hard, doesn't matter if she's 20 years old. She's special; the entire village… NO! THE ENTIRE KINGDOM OF ULTHANE! Would fall to ruin if the Princess had to do more than an hour of work. Us peasants and animals have to pick up the slack so she can get back to her important business!" Astrid said to the cow, "Sitting around and hurling stones at folks over the river is vital to our survival. For what would happen if Princess Helga were not there to pester the Harthag savages!?!?!" She added sarcastically.

Helga scowled at her mother angrily, though Astrid was for the most part a practical, no nonsense, hard working woman… She was quite eccentric and had a bizarre sense of humour. "We'd get f***ing invaded! You'd be ravaged by the Harthag men again and again! And once they had grown weary of you; they would make you into sausages!!!" she said continuing to speak to the cow as if it could understand. "Ridiculous cow! My daughter is a hero! I will not hear of your contempt for her again! SHE IS A HERO!" Astrid stated as if she was replying to something the cow said. Pointing her finger at the cows face, she screwed her face up; pretending to be offended and enraged by the cow.

Storming off, she hoisted up the very… Very heavy flower sack with one arm onto her shoulder. "My daughter the warrior! Guardian of the border! f***ing ungrateful livestock!" Astrid continued to ramble on to herself as she walked out of the barn without saying another word to Helga. But the message was clear "Get back to work", Helga held up her hand and made a strange gesture to her mother's back- A gesture considered quite offensive in Ulthar culture. Then, under her breath Helga would go on to quietly mutter the very first words of her saga…

"Fat bitch!"

Some hours later the evening had come. The early nights in Ulthane were still fairly warm, as it slowly and gradually cooled down into the chilly, moist dawn. Olaf Haroldson and his family sat to a dinner he had cooked and prepared himself; bread with saer krout, carrots, lentils, roast lamb and milk. They weren't a family of big meat eaters in spite of Astrid's preference in food. Helga and her father had always preferred their vegetables; and as being a family of dairy farmers and millers, they were seldom in short supply of bread and milk. Ulthar people were big fans of cheese, milk and honey in general; like butchers in Harthag culture- Dairy farmers and bee keepers were important, very highly esteemed among the Ulthar. Helga was a big eater; her mother would often comment that she often had an appetite suspiciously large for a girl who did so little work.

But dinnertime was one of Helga's favorite times of day; aside from the eating aspect, she always enjoyed the time to chat with her father. As well as the calm, passive demeanor of her mother while she was munching down her food. Helga also enjoyed the prospect of sleep after dinner; something unfortunately she would have to miss out on as she still planned to sneak out and up the hill deeper into town. There she would throw on her apron and start her night of work at the Chieftains hall; a few copper coins thrown her way for her trouble and obviously the opportunity to meet Fori Olson. She was still confused to why more people weren't thrilled about it… He man killed monsters for a living!

He killed Jotun with a great big two handed axe partially made form a Jotun! To how someone didn't see him plainly as one of the most awesome, fantastic people of all time was… Well it was beyond Helga's comprehension. Though the Ulthar were a warrior people, not all Ulthar were so obsessed with notions of heroics or adventure; nor did everyone have such respect or admiration for a man like Fori as his fans did. Though it didn't matter to Helga at the end of the day, she was going to meet one of her heroes… With hope he may even take her on as an apprentice. Why any monster slayer in their right mind couldn't the pass up a keen archer to help them out. Though she tried not to think about it or even acknowledge that such a thing could happen, if Fori refused to take her on as an apprentice or seem completely unimpressed at all… She wouldn't know what to do with herself. She would be deeply hurt, crushed for sure; but she insisted on staying positive, even a little bit delusional. She was sick of this boring, dull village life; she wanted to see more of Ulthane. She wanted to see lands outside of Ulthane other than just looking over the river, she wanted to slay monsters and fight villains. The prospect of being able to meet gorgeous, like minded girls was also something that attracted her to the notion of an adventurers life. It wasn't to say that she hated her home village, but it was boring and she always felt out of place… She was proud to be Ulthar, but her small village was hardly the shining example of the Ulthar warrior spirit.

Times had changed however, people in Ulthane were more interested in living a comfortable, secure life with money to spare. Things had seemed good for quite a time, the Harthag though still highly militant. War seemed something that was only going on in the far distance and few considered that conflict or danger would make its way to Ulthane. Helga wasn't a vicious or needlessly violent person, but she was caught up in the romanticized illusion of battle. For truly she had no real comprehension of true violence- Beating up a soft, mouthy boy from across the river or bullying her cousin Harold and his friends was not quite the same. Helga had boosted her ego by once or twice besting one of the bigger bullyboys of her village in a fight. But the current reality was that she was a civilian, though a decent archer and slinger, though she knew a thing or two about wrestling and she was quite strong for a girl… Helga was not yet a warrior. Helga had often heard stories of the Harthag, though she had only ever met one in person; she on occasion saw their warriors patrolling across their side of the Schammel. Many said that they were a brutal people who valued skill in war above all else, that daily they were beaten and drilled into being skilled and ferocious warriors from a young age. That men and women were more or less equal and that they were a very hard people, able to take a great beating and still fight viciously. Many said they were nasty and loved violence, that they HATED the Ulthar simply because they could.

Though the Ulthar had a couple or more good reasons, the feeling was mutual. Helga wondered how Fori felt about them… Though Helga thought about the Harthag quite frequently, it didn't seem as if many others in her village did. People simply accepted the fact that they lived on the other side of the river and even when gangs of their soldiers menacingly patrolled up and down the rivers from time to time… People hadn't paid them too much attention for quite some time. As Helga scoffed her second serving, she scooped the last remaining clumps of saer kraut and carrots out of her wooden bowl. As she finished the contents of her bowl, she grabbed a piece of bread, dipping it into her milk filled wooden mug and taking a bite. She had trouble containing her excitement, hoping that her mother wouldn't suspect anything. But Astrid was far to busy tearing apart the roasted lamb with her teeth; she ate the majority of the meat as neither her daughter or husband had quite the love of meat she had.

The two began to watch Astrid scoff down the lamb veraciously; the chubby, middle aged blonde woman grabbed at the cut up slices of sheep flesh with her thick fingers. Shoving it into her mouth and gnawing it apart with little modesty; though Helga hated her simpleton view on life… Her mother was certainly quite a strong woman, certainly not frail or delicate. After a hard days work, they were all hungry… And tired.

Helga would struggle not to fall asleep once she hopped into bed.

[Knifey Keith]

Chapter 3

Shadowing Heroes

After the house of Olaf Haroldson had finished their supper, the three cleaned their table. Upon finishing yet another dull, but necessary task… It was time for the three to go to bed.

Though it may be common for people in some places in the world, some periods of time to have several rooms in a house. For a child to have a separate bed room to their parents… This was not the case for the majority of the Ulthar, and the Harthag the same. Helga's home, like most others only had a separate room in which to go to the toilet; in some houses there was also room between the door and the main building… A foyer of sorts. Helga's house however was not one of these. The common house of anyone in Ulthane or Hargath was made of wood logs, wicker and mud for walls- The roof generally made from a thick and tightly tied thatch made of twigs and sticks. These houses were designed for the most part to be water proof and retain some level of heat… Though they could still be quite cold.

Houses in Ulthane tended to be long and rectangular. Their Harthag counterparts typically lived in round, circular houses.

Helga's position was a tricky one; with her parents sleeping in the same bed (Merely a collection of soft fabric sheets on a larger sheet of animal skin.) on the other end of the single large room in the house; any attempts she made to sneak out before they were well into a deep sleep would certainly wake them. Though being caught once could be gotten away with, if she was discovered up again in the night questions would be asked… As her parents had already slipped into bed, Helga slipped off her sandals and unpinned the broach on her cape; setting them both aside with all her worldly possessions stacked in a messy pile next to her bed. Rolling onto her "Mattress" she pulled her thick, grey blanket her over herself.

"Gova Nott!" Her father said politely. Helga simply grunting back incoherently, her lack of manners was something her father didn't particularly notice… In fact he was somewhat oblivious to any of her wrong doings or bad behaviour, though he knew others had their criticisms. Helga impatiently brooded beneath her blanket; her head filled with tales of Fori and other heroes, envisioning herself as being a great adventurer and warrior. Shooting down Harthag and slashing down at hordes of stunted monsters with a sword from horseback. Her eyes began to become heavy… But she resisted the urge to sleep; what she had felt was near an hour or so passed. The sounds of both her parents snoring heavily bothered her, but it was a good sign.

She was thankful that she often fell asleep before they did; their loud snoring would certainly keep her up at night… For a second she even speculated to whether she snored too… But then she slowly flipped her blanket off herself and silently rolled off her mattress. Deftly grabbing her sandals in her right hand, and bunching up her cape and broach in one hand. She hadn't bothered to take off her belt and pouch as she knew it would take too long to put back on; it had been fairly uncomfortable to lay on her side while wearing it… But she had no intention of spending the night in bed after all.

Through the darkness, she quietly tip toed towards the front door of the house. Slowly pulling the thick, iron locking pin from the iron brackets on the light wooden door and door way. Pushing the door open, she turned to push it closed as quietly as she could. Quickly throwing her grey, patchy cape across her shoulders, she pinned it together and onto her blue and white striped dress/tunic in order to keep it held on. Leaning on the wall of the house with her right hand, she hastily strapped on her sandals; looking about to see if she was being watched.

The last thing she needed was someone with a big mouth to spot her and turn her in to her parents… Wouldn't of been the first time it had happened whenever she had bullied someone else or been up to some other mischief. Her stomach and chest began to tingle with excitement, as her both her feet were now on the ground; she jogged off up hill into the Centre of the Village quickly, but unfortunately quite loudly. Though Helga wasn't worried at this point, marching up the hill and towards a collection of dozens of houses, sheds and other buildings she eventually progressed steeply and higher up hill until… The Chieftains long house; his magnificent hall in which all Noblemen and honoured guests spend nights and merry making frequently.

Of course the term Ulthar "Merry Making" was the equivalent to the Harthag "Getting shit faced". Though their languages were fundamentally very similar… There were quite a few linguistic and dialectal differences.

As Helga's strong legs hoisted her up over the hillside and across the short path towards the door of the long house, a pair of women stood outside the door. Almost as if they were waiting for Helga; one was middle aged and brunette- A hair colour quite rare amongst the Ulthar. The other woman being roughly the same age as Helga and having a auburn tone to her hair… The daughter of the older woman. Their names were Svetlana and Yilda; the wife and daughter of Chieftain Gorthar Eichen. The two looked uncharacteristically pleased to see Helga- Though the party was strictly a small, exclusive affair. If it wasn't for the fact that Fori's companion (An unpleasant, tactless man named Ralph) had a particular appetite for young women (Information incidentally withheld from Helga.), Helga would probably not have been allowed such an opportunity.

"Helga! Good to see you!" Svetlana said, feigning excitement and friendliness. Yilda simply remained quiet, but forced a smile… Helga couldn't for the life of her see their insincerity and took it simply what for they intended it to appear as; genuine friendliness. Unfortunately this would prove to be a very mean spirited, malevolent deception indeed.

The feisty blonde girl's nerves kicking in, she found herself becoming overwhelmed with both excitement and a little bit of fear. SHE WAS GOING TO MEET FORI OLSON! She still had a hard time believing it; the wife and daughter of Chief Gorthar slowly slipped past the torch lit entrance of the house and through the sturdy wooden door. Helga following them eagerly, and without delay she followed them directly to the kitchen- In a home of a nobleman, a separate room for the kitchen was common- In Ulthar culture it was generally perceived as crude and at best very humble to prepare a meal within a guests view. It was something typically not tolerated amongst nobility and certainly not met with any understanding in the eyes of noble or important guests… Though a man like Fori surely wouldn't mind; after all he was certainly used to eating his meals from a spit over a camp fire. It was something that Helga resonated with; though her family weren't poor. They certainly weren't rich and a more modest, less extravagant standard of hospitality is what her families guests were sure to receive… Though Astrid prided herself in taking good care of her guests and offering them the best her home had to offer. Helga certainly wasn't much for entertaining guests… She was more the person to enjoy someones hospitality or more commonly in her case- Impose upon people.

The kitchen was a fairly large room (As rooms went in Ulthar homes anyway.), two finely constructed fire pits with a large chimney above them. There was also an old clay oven that would be used for the making of bread. Helga didn't know the first thing about the culinary arts, she couldn't even properly roast a chicken drum stick to save her life… It was something her mother, or on occasion her father did for her. But she knew that wasn't what was expected of her; she was simply a hand in what ever way they needed and as she knew full well… What ever way she was capable. Svetlana and Yilda were likely to use her as a waitress, sending her off to the dining table with meals and to make sure that if any of the men emptied their mugs or drinking horns… They would not be empty for long.

To her understanding the dinner would consist of Chieftain Gorthar, Fori and his man Ralph, Gorthar's son Klein and perhaps the sore thumb in the group… Edmond Alfredson; Edmond was a man known for his skill as a soldier and many years of battle experience, he was reputed to be a master of tactics and most importantly- He was perhaps the most powerful man in the village. Though Gorthar was the Chieftain, Edmond was far wealthier and was not only of noble blood, but was a cousin of the King of Ulthane!

Though he was a modest man, generally seen to be a nice fellow; quiet but of sound words, observant but social. He was also the Commander of the Village's militia, he recruited, trained and organised the village guards. Helga had seen him in the village, yet never really spoken with him. Though she always thought well of him, she knew he was certainly someone worthy of respect.

The five men already seated at the dining table, told jokes and stories to pass the time before the feast began. As Helga peered her head out of the kitchen room doorway, she saw him! Gazing in awe upon who she unmistakably knew was Fori… The tall, handsome blonde man was truly a sight to behold- With a slight, well kept beard and clean, shoulder length hair; he certainly knew how to take care of his hygiene and appearance despite his occupation. As mentioned before, Helga never really found herself taking a liking to boys… Much preferring girl folk… But Fori was certainly an exception.

An excitement sparked in her that she usually only felt when with another girl… Or when she was fighting. She leaned against the doorway, staring at the man who was oblivious to her presence. He seemed engaged in the conversation, yet still laid back and deep; a man who was focused, yet still alert. No matter what anyone said, Helga felt nothing could sully her opinion of Fori; she thought him magnificent. Then it caught her eye; his right hand resting on the AXE! The battle axe thats shaft was made of a Jotun's shinbone! The axe that killed many many monsters or many kinds! Such an object was priceless to Helga, SHE NEEDED TO TOUCH IT! On this night, she needed to do two things; she needed to touch that axe… And the touch Fori. She quickly schemed on which of his belongings she could quietly swipe; something he wouldn't immediately miss, something small that was his and that he probably would give away if she had just asked.


Helga's shoulder was suddenly tugged; "Pour the men their mead.", Yilda said handing Helga a large jug of mead. Snapped out of her deep trance, a startled Helga took the clay pitcher of mead. Walking towards the table as gracefully as she could (Which for Helga unfortunately… Was as about as graceful as a headless chicken.), she approached the table nervously; Ralph being the only man to pay her any initial attention. Pouring mead into his drinking horn, the other men held out theirs; eager for drink. Helga though neurotically shaking, managed to fill their cups without any spillage… Even more thankfully without tripping or stumbling. None of the men took any particular notice of her; except for Ralph, who eyed her briefly with interest. Edmond the only amongst the men to thank her, though for Edmond this was typically a reflex- He was well known to be quite the gentleman.

So far Helga was intoxicated merely by Fori's presence. She felt giddy, joyful; she felt apart of an epic tale waiting to unfold… Though she had no idea how big a part she would play.

[Knifey Keith]

The pitcher of mead emptied upon filling all five drinking horns; Helga returned to the kitchen. She was on the ball enough to know when empty… Fill up. Because when the men emptied their drinks, they would expected them to be refilled quickly. Though Helga was keen to do well… This was in no way her ideal role or job; simply a means to an end she though. Svetlana and Yilda continued to slave away in the kitchen; both the women cooking a great feast for five men of great importance. A legendary hero, his loyal companion, a well reputed nobleman, a chieftain and his eldest son… Helga knew that Svetlana would brag about this for years to come, even more sure that her mother Astrid would be one of the primary victims of Svetlana's showing off. The kin of Gorthar were obviously nobility, and they certainly acted like it- Always keen to remind others of their wealth, status and importance; catering to such esteemed guests made their year. Much different from Helga's own family; she came from modest, humble people who didn't brag or show off… Of course Helga had always been an exception to the rule (She was a notorious show off.), though speaking ill of the Nobles and your villages Chief was social suicide. Nasty, bitter thoughts about them frequented Helga's mind; Yilda in particular got under her skin.

Helga slowly scooped into the tub of finely brewed mead with her clay jug. The Ulthar prided them selves on making the best mead; even the Harthag eagerly bartered their fine metalworks for a few barrels. The golden liquid smelled sweet and inviting, Helga herself was tempted to get a few mouthful's. But she wasn't nearly so stupid, she would be kicked out as quicker than she could swallow it. With a full pitcher of mead, Helga danced out of the kitchen; eager to stay close to the table and listen to their conversation.

Near to an hour had passed, drinking horns emptied and re-filled numerous times. The Ulthar prided them selves on their ability to handle alcohol; in the very least, they certainly were big drinkers. This could not be disputed. The roast lamb and pork that had been slowly cooking for several hours before Helga had even arrived was finally finished. The delicious, aromatic smell filled the long house- The men's stomach's rumbled so loudly that Helga could hear the collective noise every time she was at the table pouring their mead. Yilda emerged from the kitchen carrying a wooden platter with a leg of roast pork, passing by Helga she eyed the kitchen as to signal that it was where she was needed. Helga picked up on it immediately, making her way back to the kitchen, Svetlana instantly pointed to the roast mutton as she gathered all the bread and cooked vegetables together. Helga placing the ceramic jug on one of the kitchen tables, with two hands she picked up the wooden platter on which the large, heavy mutton loaf upon it.

Bringing out the mutton, she was soon followed by Svetlana, skilfully resting a thin wood platter of bread on one hand and several vegetables such as parsnips, carrots and cabbage on the other. Helga and Svetlana both laying them at the table, as Yilda had gone to the kitchen to bring out the wooden bowls and spoons. The men; like most Ulthar, Harthag and most anyone else- Carried a small eating knife on their person, thus aside from the large carving knife that would be brought out by Yilda. All the men were able to cut and slice their food.

Helga took some initiative for once and walked back to the long house's kitchen with haste. Appearing less than a minute later with a full jug of wine, Yilda raising both her eyebrows and smiling… As if she was amazed that Helga managed to do something right without being asked.

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