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Story bit 4
The pole was stained deeply, all crimsons and ruddy browns from head to foot, given a likewise stained crown. It was a raw monument to anger and scorn, and it would remain in Hrafen’s memories to the end of the age.
A niđstang.
The pole had been taken from the temple of this settlement, and planted deeply into the earth facing the mainland. The little mare that had been in the stables had its throat slit, its sanguine life-water applied liberally to the pole. It was only after that the head had been torn from the body and placed upon it, skull, spine and all. Ásvald had not yet finished, and drawing his knife, he carved out his curse.
Hrafen hadn't a clue what wrongs this land had done to Ásvald, but it was not something Hrafen cared to ask of. Scorn-poles were a rare and serious thing, never had he heard of a man who raised one without cause or justice, and it was not the place of a carpenter's son to challenge a jarl so.
Instead, he turned his mind towards the treasures they had pilfered. He had never seen such wealth amassed in a single place with not a guard to speak of. Oh a few of the brown-cloaked men of the settlement had resisted, but they proved little challenge. Many had completely fled, but a few had been caught, enough that one man in two could have a thrall. A share of gold and a pair of hands would put Hrafen well off indeed, enough give Kelda the first of many golden bands.
And with winds to their backs now, the return would be somewhat easier, though they would be weighed down by the gold and thralls. Nothing that the ships could not bear across the whale-road, it would only add a day or so.
A niđstang.
The pole had been taken from the temple of this settlement, and planted deeply into the earth facing the mainland. The little mare that had been in the stables had its throat slit, its sanguine life-water applied liberally to the pole. It was only after that the head had been torn from the body and placed upon it, skull, spine and all. Ásvald had not yet finished, and drawing his knife, he carved out his curse.
Hrafen hadn't a clue what wrongs this land had done to Ásvald, but it was not something Hrafen cared to ask of. Scorn-poles were a rare and serious thing, never had he heard of a man who raised one without cause or justice, and it was not the place of a carpenter's son to challenge a jarl so.
Instead, he turned his mind towards the treasures they had pilfered. He had never seen such wealth amassed in a single place with not a guard to speak of. Oh a few of the brown-cloaked men of the settlement had resisted, but they proved little challenge. Many had completely fled, but a few had been caught, enough that one man in two could have a thrall. A share of gold and a pair of hands would put Hrafen well off indeed, enough give Kelda the first of many golden bands.
And with winds to their backs now, the return would be somewhat easier, though they would be weighed down by the gold and thralls. Nothing that the ships could not bear across the whale-road, it would only add a day or so.
- piratedude
- Word Count: 320