Born a Monster

188 Servant of the Axe, 88 – Tale of Igrun Sivert

Chapter Type: Background/Lore

As always, these are only faithful repetitions of the words as they were spoken in my presence. I cannot swear to the accuracy of the tale, and caution the reader as to acceptance of the tales as fact.

Not that long ago, as stars reckon time, the father of the current jarl ruled. He was a wicked man, known as the Executioner. Everywhere he would look, he would see disloyalty, and always he punished this with death.

We of the wilderness clans withdrew to the north, to the very edge of the wood, and maintained hidden paths by which we could flee should the worst happen. Such is the fear that we lived in, that we stored the bulk of our wealth deep in the woods, in caches both buried and hidden above, in the limbs of trees.

Fearful of our disloyalty, the Executioner sent one of his most trusted thanes, his own brother Hrolf, to assess it. But this is not a tale of Hrolf, for it is not he who won over our trust. No, nor is this the tale of his son, for his son practiced constantly with weapons, and seemed as an alien to us.

This is the tale of his daughter, who ran about from clanswoman to clanswoman, from child to child, and then even among the males, asking endless questions.

Endless. And these questions seemed at first to have no focus. She would ask about sheep, and then the sheep dogs, and the crafting of shepherd hooks, and then of the making of bows, of snares, of how to track animals in the wild, and the ways of woodcraft.

Around the firelight, she would ask for stories. Not of brave Hector and Julius and Miletus, who first brought the Itinar culture to our world, nor of the Legendary Heroes who brought to Athal the Norvik culture. She wanted tales of the common folk, of those who lived and breathed, of what they had learned and how they had learned it.

And eventually, we clansfolk understood that she had a desire to learn of us. Not just of our possessions, or when to gather wool, or what seasons to expect furs, but to actually learn of our lives and lifestyle. So, a proposition was made to Hrolf, son of Norfinn, brother and thane to the Executioner.
.....

For a moon, he would train a boy among the clansfolk with an interest in Norvik and their weapons. In exchange, the clansfolk would accept and train his daughter as one of us. And, if they agreed, they would be married and thus secure by blood a loyalty that had been scorned by the jarls since first they took the city.

Well, I don’t need to tell you that didn’t work. Bewildered by pirates and raiders, the boy re-imagined himself to be Diamond Jack Hoarfrost, and travels the islands to this day. But this is not his tale, and we’ll not be speaking further of his vile betrayal this night.

For the daughter, Igrun Sivert, the very woman you travel with today, became much endeared to the clansfolk, and was formally adopted into the clans. She would keep her blood-father, but chose to accept a father among the clans as well. And this agreement was reached between her fathers, that she would live a moon with one and then a moon with the other.

Being a willful girl, Igrun would sometimes switch ahead of or beyond the time appointed. Some seasons, her clan-father and clan-brothers would not even see her, having to inquire of merchants for news of their relative, whom they had come to love.

And, after he whom shall not be named again, who left this island and all its peoples to return perhaps once a year, had left her, another sought after her affections.

This young man was Sigmund Findseth, younger son of our jarl, and not yet destined to become the next. He was of exceptional appetites, even then. Some called him an eater of women, though many of them lived after he was done consuming them. Indeed, it did seem to both those of the clans and those of the city that he meant to consume every female who was unclaimed and fair of face or figure.

This view was supported by the fact that he especially pursued those who would not yield to his hungers, seeking to win by deception and duplicity that which charm alone could not win him. It was not until after he claimed his first wife that he began using force upon the women of his desire.

This, his father did not approve of. “My son,” he said, “This is not a good thing. You should not harm any among your citizens, save only to kill them entirely. For any that you leave among the living, however destitute or injured, those that you harm shall become your enemies. And, should your brother not exile or kill you for such, it will reflect poorly upon him, as jarl.”

But Gluttony and Lust were not the only sins engaged in by Sigmund, but also the raw ambition that comes only from Vanity and Envy. For he asked himself why the mere order of birth should mark him as inferior to his older brother. Why should he serve, when he thought himself so capable to lead?

Yes, niece? Do you perhaps wish to tell this tale? Then please, permit me to continue.

It was one night when her father was away in the city and her mother had taken ill that Sigmund and Victor did make between them a challenge. One should bed and make wife of Igrun, whom both of them had grown to desire, and that one should sit upon the throne of their aging father, now deep into the madness of Woden.

Of which this is not a tale, save to note that same madness is now consuming his child.



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As the eldest, it was Victor who had the right to approach the woman first. He plied her with drink, and with sweet fruits from foreign islands, with poetry and song and flattery. Fool that he was, to win her favor for that night, and thus to lose his dominion later! For, although she had given her maidenhead to a clansman who no longer lives, the brothers did not know this. And so did both brothers desire even more to bed her, both the elder who had tasted her favor and the younger, whom she continued to spurn.

And it was this jealousy that was to turn the brothers against each other, for she asked Sigrun “Why should I sully myself with your touch, when I have the favor of the heir, your older brother?” And though this comment was intended to stay his lusts, it only furthered his warped sense of destiny. If he could claim the jarl’s throne, then all he wanted would naturally come to him.

So it was that he publicly proposed a second contest, claiming the first had not been fair, as he had never had his chance to seduce Igrun. And in so doing, he publicly shamed her, and her family, and his own family to include his own father. The Executioner proposed a final contest; that both should eat and drink their fill at his table, and if Sigrun failed that night then it would be settled for all time.

At the time, it was not unreasonable to think that Victor might win such a contest. He had eaten a smaller breakfast than Sigmund, as was his habit. He had been hunting and tracking on the mountain all day, while Sigmund had lounged about the long hall, and had been eating from the pantry, as was his habit. And in this manner, his father had intended to forever relegate his warrior son to the one of calmer humors.

But none could have expected that Sigmund had the capacities he did; his feats on that day, and at subsequent feasts, led to rumors that he had corrupted his System inventory to hold things that reached his stomach, for none could readily believe that he could ingest four people’s worth of food, while his brother could only hold food for between two and three. And though his father raged, the word of a jarl is law, even when they are foolish words.

And so, did he command Igrun to his bed again, and again did she deny him. Again, his desires were only increased by his will to possess and consume everything near to him, whether it was by law his to take or not.

Ah, but I see now that we are ready begin our march home, so let us end this tale for now. Know that the continuation does involve a time of prolonged shelter with her family of choice, and the destruction of her family by blood.

But quiet and speed are our allies now, and not the stories of the clan.

The Norvik, like many cultures, believe that emotions are distilled into the blood. Although there is some merit to these beliefs, there are other, stronger relations, such as the brain (which, I realize, is not widely accepted across Athal at the time of this tale’s completion).