Post by Dorano on Dec 7, 2012 22:43:04 GMT -5
Quick overview- girl with screwed-up family, became a ghost, stalker of the village. Sort of. Keep reading, you'll get it all soon.
Also- the prophecy goes like this. (Bryn is the only one who knows about it as of yet)
An ancient feud a family will divide.
As leader stands tall and proud,
Blood spills blood as kinsmen turn and descendents speak.
The stroke of an axe, the cut of a sword
No eye left to weep for the dead.
________
Prologue
You can die- and rot- alone! You're no Viking. You're not my kin.
"Thanks, Dad." The girl muttered. She knew what would happen. Her name would be blotted from the records. Nobody would speak her name again. Ever. If anyone saw her now, they wouldn't know her. How could they? It had been more years then she cared to remember, and yet she hadn't changed. Or no, that wasn't right. But she looked the same, sort of. Sure, she'd aged normally, before that… whatever it was.
Sitting down on a stump, the girl crossed her legs as the rough wood failed to register her presence. Adopting a pose she'd become accustomed to, she rested her chin on one hand and let the other fall onto her knee. And she remembered. It had been so long ago. Two hundred fifty-three years, four months, and six days, to be exact. And she was. She was a ghost now, of course. She chose to stay on her island when she'd died. The girl wasn't quite sure why. She just felt that she had a part to play. Closing her light brown eyes, she let the memories wash over her.
Her name. Brynhildr, also known as Bryn. Her father's. Arnvald. History, she'd learned, knew him as Arnvald the Cruel. Small memories flashed before her eyes. The day she got her first sword- her preferred weapon. The day her father told her she would start dragon training. And then the first big memory hit. She'd taken down a Gronkle, but her father had dismissed it as luck. She argued. He slashed at her face with his axe, giving her a white scar from her cheekbone to a point just below her ear. Throughout the years, that side of her face had come to look like a tree trunk, thanks to her father's blows.
Shock. The Skrill that she'd nursed back to health. There was only one snag- her father had seen her while he was out hunting. That had caused a massive problem, and gotten her erased from the records, and of course kicked out in a big, humiliating ceremony. She'd stayed in the forests for over two centuries, tied to the woods of her homeland. Berk. "Twelve days north of Hopeless, a few degrees south of Freezing To Death, and located solidly on the Meridian of Misery, with the sort of balmy fun-in-the-sun climate that gave you frostbite on your spleen." The lines in her head snapped her back to the present as the face of the boy she'd gotten them from swam in front of her head. Hiccup Horrendus Haddock III. Ouch. But, as he'd said, not the worst of names, although Bryn thought of it as pretty unfortunate.
A lot like that one prophecy that had been passed down on the now-ancient leather hide. She'd believed it had meant her and her father. But it hadn't. Then Hiccup and Stoick the Vast. Again, no. So if not them… then who?
Chapter 1
First impression- ow. First thoughts- How am I able to feel that? She was a ghost. She didn't feel. Or smell. Or taste.
Yet here she was, lying flat on her back, hurting like heck, with the smell of burning pines in her nose, and the soft morning grass against her arms. Slowly, she managed to stand. It was pretty strange, after over two hundred years of being a spirit, to be flesh and blood again. She was back. And it was…amazing. Flexing her fingers, her hand found the familiar shape of her sword's hilt. Old leather. Polished stone for a hilt. The blade was metal, thin but hard and durable. A faint smile curved her lips as she looked up at the sky. A part of her mind wondered: How much time had passed? None? A few minutes? Her ghost senses had faded, remaining just enough to enhance her hearing and awareness… but nothing else. Her inner clock was gone. But, she supposed she no longer needed it.
Looking up, she frowned. What was that blot against the sky? No, not one. She counted five. Shielding her eyes with her hand, a spark ignited in the back of her head. Or rather, Shock did it for her. Turning, she smiled at the Skrill that had followed her into the woods on that day. Rather, Shock's ghost had, but it was, in a way, the same. Jumping onto her old friends back, they shot into the sky to greet the dragons, only to reel back in surprise when she saw the riders. Vikings. Kids, like her, although from their expressions, they hadn't been kicked out of the village. Then she saw their faces, and the leader, riding the Night Fury, was Hiccup. Toothless, she remembered, was the dragons name.
She flew up to meet them, but kept a respectful distance. Shock had never been good around strangers, and to be perfectly honest, Bryn didn't blame her one bit.
Also- the prophecy goes like this. (Bryn is the only one who knows about it as of yet)
An ancient feud a family will divide.
As leader stands tall and proud,
Blood spills blood as kinsmen turn and descendents speak.
The stroke of an axe, the cut of a sword
No eye left to weep for the dead.
________
Prologue
You can die- and rot- alone! You're no Viking. You're not my kin.
"Thanks, Dad." The girl muttered. She knew what would happen. Her name would be blotted from the records. Nobody would speak her name again. Ever. If anyone saw her now, they wouldn't know her. How could they? It had been more years then she cared to remember, and yet she hadn't changed. Or no, that wasn't right. But she looked the same, sort of. Sure, she'd aged normally, before that… whatever it was.
Sitting down on a stump, the girl crossed her legs as the rough wood failed to register her presence. Adopting a pose she'd become accustomed to, she rested her chin on one hand and let the other fall onto her knee. And she remembered. It had been so long ago. Two hundred fifty-three years, four months, and six days, to be exact. And she was. She was a ghost now, of course. She chose to stay on her island when she'd died. The girl wasn't quite sure why. She just felt that she had a part to play. Closing her light brown eyes, she let the memories wash over her.
Her name. Brynhildr, also known as Bryn. Her father's. Arnvald. History, she'd learned, knew him as Arnvald the Cruel. Small memories flashed before her eyes. The day she got her first sword- her preferred weapon. The day her father told her she would start dragon training. And then the first big memory hit. She'd taken down a Gronkle, but her father had dismissed it as luck. She argued. He slashed at her face with his axe, giving her a white scar from her cheekbone to a point just below her ear. Throughout the years, that side of her face had come to look like a tree trunk, thanks to her father's blows.
Shock. The Skrill that she'd nursed back to health. There was only one snag- her father had seen her while he was out hunting. That had caused a massive problem, and gotten her erased from the records, and of course kicked out in a big, humiliating ceremony. She'd stayed in the forests for over two centuries, tied to the woods of her homeland. Berk. "Twelve days north of Hopeless, a few degrees south of Freezing To Death, and located solidly on the Meridian of Misery, with the sort of balmy fun-in-the-sun climate that gave you frostbite on your spleen." The lines in her head snapped her back to the present as the face of the boy she'd gotten them from swam in front of her head. Hiccup Horrendus Haddock III. Ouch. But, as he'd said, not the worst of names, although Bryn thought of it as pretty unfortunate.
A lot like that one prophecy that had been passed down on the now-ancient leather hide. She'd believed it had meant her and her father. But it hadn't. Then Hiccup and Stoick the Vast. Again, no. So if not them… then who?
Chapter 1
First impression- ow. First thoughts- How am I able to feel that? She was a ghost. She didn't feel. Or smell. Or taste.
Yet here she was, lying flat on her back, hurting like heck, with the smell of burning pines in her nose, and the soft morning grass against her arms. Slowly, she managed to stand. It was pretty strange, after over two hundred years of being a spirit, to be flesh and blood again. She was back. And it was…amazing. Flexing her fingers, her hand found the familiar shape of her sword's hilt. Old leather. Polished stone for a hilt. The blade was metal, thin but hard and durable. A faint smile curved her lips as she looked up at the sky. A part of her mind wondered: How much time had passed? None? A few minutes? Her ghost senses had faded, remaining just enough to enhance her hearing and awareness… but nothing else. Her inner clock was gone. But, she supposed she no longer needed it.
Looking up, she frowned. What was that blot against the sky? No, not one. She counted five. Shielding her eyes with her hand, a spark ignited in the back of her head. Or rather, Shock did it for her. Turning, she smiled at the Skrill that had followed her into the woods on that day. Rather, Shock's ghost had, but it was, in a way, the same. Jumping onto her old friends back, they shot into the sky to greet the dragons, only to reel back in surprise when she saw the riders. Vikings. Kids, like her, although from their expressions, they hadn't been kicked out of the village. Then she saw their faces, and the leader, riding the Night Fury, was Hiccup. Toothless, she remembered, was the dragons name.
She flew up to meet them, but kept a respectful distance. Shock had never been good around strangers, and to be perfectly honest, Bryn didn't blame her one bit.