Under the Gaze of Crom -- Ultann's Saga

I was just a boy, playing at being a man, when I first remember the warriors returning to the village after a battle. All were bloodied, flesh-torn and bone weary. Each man tread with solid steps, steps that bore the weight of exhaustion and anger, of pride and honor, of manhood...of being a warrior and a man.

My father and oldest brother were counted among the living. Both wore new battle-scars; the face of each man bore new grim lines from war-screams and battle curses. All had aged years in the few days they had been gone. Yet each man also showed pride and satisfaction. The living had once again cheated death, had once again beat back the grave-grasp, and had returned to the warm fires of the guild hall. The dead had met their ends with honor, had fought to the last, gripping blade and spear, fighting as long as sinew and bone would let them. My uncle was among these men, men feasting with the gods, and being sung out as heroes in the mead hall.

Stinging tears fell on my cheeks as I asked my father about my uncle, and why Crom, the god that was on the lips of all men, hadn't shielded him. My father set aside his ale and smiled at me. He smudged my tears aside with his thumb, and said:

"My son, you are the child of a cold and uncaring god. Crom cares not for our woes, or our fears. He will not heed pleas or whimpering for aid, he will not hear you if you beg for mercy. He cares for little, in this life or the next. But....fight well, be strong, and bring down your enemies....be just and true, be stalwart with your shield-brothers, and you will earn a place at Crom's side. Be the strongest and best warrior you can, the best man you can be, and you will earn a place at Crom's table for the eternal feast, and a place at his side in the eternal battle."

He smiled at me again, clasped me on the shoulders, and said, "Your uncle, and all the men who fell this day, are not remembered with sorrow. They fought well, and died well, and tonight, they sit with Crom!"

A rousing cheer went up from the men, and a new round of battle-hymns and war-poems began. Weary laughter filled the hall as new boasts were made, men honored, and vows renewed. As the night wore on, I gazed into the fire-pit and let the sounds fill my ears until they could hold no more. It was that night I made a vow of my own -- I would earn my place at Crom's table. I would spend the eternal feast drinking and eating all his table had to offer, and I would fight by Crom's side....

I would be a Cimmerian, to the end of my bones and flesh, and into the dying breath of the afterlife.

(It's great to have you with us )

(Thanks for the welcome! More tales to come in the RP section....hopefully soon!)