Lyric The Fair

Jarl of Nuxvar

A large, heavy fur cloak made from several wolf pelts, landed on Rissa's shoulders with a light but solid thud. The fur blanketed her in a warmth that would soon turn to sweltering heat as she stood beside the fire. She had to admire the cloak. It had been made in a hurry for her, as the ceremony was only known to be needed a couple of days ago. She had the honor of being able to hunt the wolves herself, going for only the older ones, as she liked the color that the grey fur added to the browns and blacks they already had. She calmly lifted the hood over her head, placing it delicately on her braided hair. The face of the wolf came down just in front of her eyes, the teeth adding a sort of snarling barrier between her and anyone she looked at.

The Ulfheðnar worshipped wolves. They embodied everything that they believed in and their strength was beyond measure. Rissa's clan often fought like wolves did, a few standing together to draw the eye while several others surrounded the enemies. They could trap them quite easily and hardly ever faced defeat. That was until the servant girl bested her father.

Rissa dipped her fingers into the white substance she was going to use to cover her face. The little servant girl. Something was strange about this girl. Not just the fact that she was able to kill one of the greatest fighters the world had ever known but, every time she thought about the girl, Rissa's stomach gave a slight flutter. It was unusual for her to feel something like that towards anyone, let alone a person she had never even seen. Fortunately, that fluttering feeling was almost instantly drowned out by rage and thoughts of revenge.

Spreading the cream across her face, Rissa tried to push the violent thoughts from her mind. Today was about celebrating her rise to Jarl and the celebration of her father's passing. She did find herself disappointed to have not gone to retrieve her father's body but, there wouldn't have been a safe way to escort it home. The length of the journey alone would have left the body decomposing and smelly. Getting it through the storms they faced would have been next to impossible. They had, however, prepared a wrap of her father's possessions, including his ceremonial sword and his own Jarl cloak. They were placed atop a structure of wood on a raft. Two chests of her father's riches, including gold, and a bit of English money, were set at either end of the wooden structure. These were sent with him as offers to the gods as thanks for allowing him the prosperous life he had. It was going to be a fine burial for a man without a body. As it should be for one of the greatest Jarls the Ulfheðnar had ever seen.

Dipping her fingers into the blue paint, Rissa spread it across her eyes and looked at her reflection in the bowl of water that sat next to the paint. This was how she often saw her father pain his face before a ceremony or a battle. He told her that the blue symbolized freedom, reflecting the open sky above them and the white stood for the clouds that flew freely through it. It was quite a beautiful and poetic explanation, something that rarely came from her brute father in the first place. She washed the excess paint from her hands in the bowl of water and went to adjust her belts.

Rissa secured her sheath and slipped her seax inside, wiping her thumb over the handle to remove a slight speck. All of her weapons and belts had been polished to a beautiful shine, looking as if they were forged just that morning. She was glad to see that the skill of the blacksmith had remained fairly high, even improving from what she last remembered seeing. She marveled at the village as she walked through it the past few days. So many things had changed since she was last home, so many more children played in the streets, many with wooden swords and axes. The spirit of the Ulfheðnar had not waivered at all. It made her quite proud.

A loud, low-pitched horn blasted through the air, shaking her awake where she stood. That was her signal, it was time for her to approach the longhouse and take her seat as Jarl. Rissa took a deep breath and glanced down at her shifting reflection in the water once more. The woman staring back at her was fierce, her eyes burning a bright, hot blue. As she watched, the woman shifted into something else. The wolf hood became her face, teeth growing down into sharp, snarling points in her mouth. Her eyes lit like the moon in the dead of night, shining brighter than anything she had ever seen. Though the vision was not real, the power that came from it was surging through Rissa's veins. Her heart pounded in her chest, urging her smile to spread across her face. She gave herself a smile and a nod as she stepped out of her home, and began walking towards the longhouse.