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Background
Born to a cold land, Ranulfr's parents were of the farmadr caste and had strived long and hard to raise a good plot of land upon which crops grew tall for the three months of the year they could farm at all and cattle grew fat. Blessed as they were with good lands on a river, the fishing was good and the old vessel his father had often used in raids when it suited remained as ever a task to maintain if only for the fishing during his father's later years. It was into this caste that Ranulfr was born, a certain freedom to learn and to explore from an early age saw his wanderlust often tempered by his father's lessons of the shieldwall and the axe. Though Ranulfr's father hoped that his son would follow in his grandfather's footsteps, for the man was renowned for wielding two axes.
Exhausting and often painful, the lessons were a constant reminder of the threats they faced, from the south and from those who might well seek to take what they had. Each lesson focused not only on the use of the shield, but also when necessary the effort required to wield two axes as if both hands were made for such a task. Ranulfr had often found it easy to switch from one hand to another, but utilising both hands was something that came slowly and painfully. Unswerving in his devotion to such lessons, Ranulfr sweated and bled for his lessons and it was often after a strenuous few hours that he would find his hair ruffled and be taken off to fish, where a good many tales of his father's youth would be told. Tales of raiding and of a particularly pleasing slave he had once had for a brief time and lessons of their faith from his mother. The Many who ensured that those of White hall were strong and independent. It was often The Harvest that the Raudi's offered their thanks to, for the land they tilled was good.
When not practising his skills with the axes and the shield, he was often aiding his father in the fields for those three blessed months or helping his father prepare for the eventual harvest and offering up their prayers to the Harvest, seeking the blessing from the many, learning how to plant and to sew and tend to the cattle that blessed their plot of land, ensuring that they were certainly blessed when it came to food by most standards of the frozen north. But they knew all too well that such a life wasn't to be taken for granted. And so that constant and unwavering practice of how to act in a shieldwall and how to batter and beat down ones opponent with an axe continued unabated. Even as the crops continued to be harvested and grown and the cattle raised, milked and slaughtered. Ranulfr learnt in those other months to kill and to defend all that he held dear.
It was one cold winters day that Ranulf's aging father sought to take him on a trip down the river, to show him the ways of the river, how a good Njorvolk vessel handles and how it cuts through the water with ease. It was exhilarating for Ranulfr, the freedom and watching the spray splash against the sides of the vessel, it was a joy to witness and Ranulfr felt a certain longing for the open sea, though he knew that he would always be called back to the land. Good farmers were needed, but for the fleeting first journey aboard his father's vessel, there was not a care in the world as he took to it, learning the ways of the vessel and taking to heart all that his father sought to impart.
The vessel had been obtained by his grandfather, another farmer and raider who in his time acquired enough from those forays against the enemy to gather wood and the resources needed to bless the Raudi family with a small but swift vessel. Though the Raudi's had a good few generations back begun as slaves, they had as the generations passed devoted themselves to ever greater feats. To providing food in a most inhospitable land, to fighting beside those who had taken them from their home. The Raudi's considered themselves Njorvolk, their blood ran with ice and fury, Their lives before White Hall forgotten, the island was all that mattered and the people all they cared for.
The weapons that could be brought to bear upon this vessel were added slowly and surely over one or two generations, each carved in a different manner, each linking the boat to a family member who had given their life while raiding for the good of the clan they served. And time and time again, Ranulfr sought to practise and get to grips with those weapons. Eager to feel the power within his hands and to learn how to better protect his family. The family's skill in warfare and agriculture having grown from their capture and their service, throwing themselves into their new lives from a rocky start as reluctant slaves to the present generation of proud farmers and raiders. Eager to learn how to slay their enemy, to conquer and vanquish their foe.
It was perhaps due to his father's injuries that raiding was always at the fore of Ranulf's thoughts in his youth, for his father had often signed up with his own vessel or signed onto a longship to raise his status and raid the fertile lands to the south. From this service, he had suffered many an injury before finally he lost an arm and with it enough injuries to prevent him from further raiding for a good while. Unswerving loyalty to his Jarl was simply his father's way and indeed Ranulf's. There was little to be gained from intrigue and too much aspiration in his father's opinion, his opinion was that they were placed upon this land to aid his fellow northerners, to feed them, to fight beside them, to aid them was everything that he and his family sought. If anything the Raudi's were dependable, steadfast and firm in battle and good company. Knowledgeable of the land and ever wistful to be upon the water.
Ranulfr knew all too well that his father despite his status as a good and dependable man, a man who provided food for the clan, a man who had fought and held his own in a shieldwall, a man who knew that there was a good chance he would never fight again, was fading. Worried that he wouldn't die with a weapon in his hand, but a plow or an udder. Though he would often joke that it wouldn't be so bad if the udder was his wife's. But Ranulfr and his mother knew all too well that though a good farmer with a good holding and good standing, the man wanted to die well for he had been denied and whittled away by enemy blades and yet he still stood, scarred and proud.
Ranulfr as ever sought to make his father proud, his time practising ensured that with a bearded axe in each hand, he could batter and pull away a shield before levying a fatal blow with the other. It was perhaps the smile on his father's face as he hacked at a target his father had set up, moving with a certain swiftness and grace, his feet swiftly keeping his balance true as one blade slashed and another swung about to keep up a constant and aching punishment upon the target. Ranulfr's own body aching from the arduous nature of the skill that was the wielding of two axes. His arms taut and the muscles straining as blow after blow whittled and cut apart the target, Ranulfr moving and dancing about his 'foe' as he paid heed to his father's shouted encouragement and advice.
It was perhaps to be so for there was to be a raid and Ranulfr as a skilled enough axeman was asked by his father to join him on his last raid, if he died he died, if he lived then so be it, but with the family vessel ready to join as one of the two of three vessels designated for plunder, it would need good men to see it safely back. And so Ranulf in his eighteenth year saw how it was to raid those fertile and lush lands of the south east. The three vessels cut through the water with ease, sailing south and beaching with the men swiftly making landfall. Ranulfr and his father like many of the others offered their words to The Sea, their thanks and their praise and then to War their thoughts and words turned. The fishing village that they had chosen was surrounded by good fields and their intent was clear. The food was theirs.
Ranulfr and his father witnessed the menfolk gather what weapons they could, seeking to drive off the invaders as others sought to send word for aid. A few good soldiers in the village, merely stopping for supplies as they sought to move east were perhaps in the wrong place at the wrong time, but in their good armour they moved to aid the villagers. It was Ranulfr's nod to War that stirred something within his chest, it was exhilarating to see these men come to face them, to try and deny them what was theirs for the taking. Shields were locked and beside his father he stood. Axes thumped a rhythm against the shields and they stood firm for a few short moments before advancing. A few arrows were loosed from the village, but this was no well defended town, but a village blessed with food and too close to the waters.
The advance was swift and without pause, the southerners threw themselves up against the shieldwall and those who were unfortunate enough to clash too heavily found themselves tumbling through only to be finished off on the ground by those that followed. Shields splintered from the blows, spears thrust through and on more than one occasion, a villager found himself pulled off balance and his life stolen by the increasingly bloody axes and swords that the raiders wielded. Once the second soldier fell, the enemy wavered and broke and with a mighty roar the notherners charged. Those villagers who stood were cut down, one of the remaining soldiers turned at Ranulfr's father and hacked, the old farmer a touch too slow to defend himself and down he went with a weapon in his hand.
The sight enraged Ranulfr, he knew all too well that his father had gotten his wish and Ranulfr sought only to avenge him regardless. That anger welled and with a ferocious spittle-flecked roar, the son sought to bring down the soldier who had slain his father. The first blow splintered the soldiers shield, such was his strength that it knocked the soldier back a step. But Ranulfr kept pressing, kept hammering away at the soldier's shield, chipping great chunks from the wooden shield with each axe he wielded and thus keeping his enemy from being able to bring his own weapon to bear. Though the soldier sought to slam his weapon against Ranulfr's side, the blow no doubt broke a rib or two, but Ranulfr took the opening that blow gave and shattered the man's nose with a swift headbutt. Stumbling back against such an attack, Ranulfr didn't even hear the man's plea for mercy and drove his axe deep into the man's neck and followed through with a swift hacking cut with the other and severed the man's head.
That anger simply wasn't done with though and Ranulfr cut down two villagers as they sought to flee, the rage and the anger within him as he turned to face a second bloodied soldier, hacking at him and slamming his first axe against the soldier's own as he sought to drive him into the ground. With the man's weapon knocked from his shattered hand, Ranulf sought to finish him and found his arms grasped by two of his fellow raiders, their hold firm upon him even as he strained and pulled against them, but as the leader of the raid stepped before him and clasped his head between his hands, words offered and jumbled to Ranulfr's ears. But slowly their words slowly sunk in. And Ranulfr sagged within their arms. Tired, his head pounding from the anger and aching from the loss of his father, the teen was guided back to the longboats, the pillaged food, a few slaves and the arms and armour from their foes stacked amidst the two supply ships and the raiders and Ranulfr's father's corpse began to make their home.
Despite spotting sails on the horizon, the only sign they had been there was the smoke rising from the torched houses and the boats on the shore. The dead of the village scattered amidst the streets and the stores broken open and left empty. The resistance had been rather fierce for such a small village, the men had put up a good fight and though they were utterly outmatched, they were in some small way saluted by the warriors who had been bloodied that day.
Back home, Ranulfr's father's corpse was sent off amidst flame and glory and Ranulfr returned to the farmstead with some small measure of wealth for the efforts he and his father gave during the raid. One of the female slaves had been gifted to Ranulfr for his efforts, his bloodlust and ferocity rewarded with a rather pleasing and buxom wench who had been the daughter of one of the fishermen that Ranulfr had slain. The food soon found its way to the stores and a successful raid was proclaimed. And such was Ranulfr's first raid. But such was life that there was little time to mourn, though his father's life was celebrated and Ranulfr set about repairing and preparing the farm for the up and coming harvest. Between efforts, the long boat was repaired and stowed away securely and as ever his practice with the axes continued. His slave Sif watching the angry raider reducing his targets to kindling, tiring himself as he sought to work the rage from his bones.
Ranulfr saw ten further raids as the years passed, each time he would seek to do his father proud in the shield wall or putting two bearded axes to great use. That unrelenting strength guiding each unwavering blow. But on each occasion, his long boat carried a good portion of the loot and carried it back safely for the clan. But there was no escaping his true vocation, no matter how much he might occasionally dream, to tend fields that were frozen nine or ten months of the year and practise for the day he might find himself of use again. It was upon these raids that Ranulfr took to further learning of the weapons upon the longship, weapons his father had carved with intricate patterns, good omens that he would often trace with his fingers. The very weapons that would see off several attempts to thwart their efforts and ensure their escape when the omens proved not to be in their favour.
One such battle saw their crew turned and forced to flee, the weapons from each vessel flew back and forth, shattering wood and rending flesh, flames licked at the very vessel upon which Ranulfr stood and yet he kept firing as the raider beside him kept loading the faltering carrobalista. Time and time again, their explosive bolts slammed against the larger enemy vessel, though the damage was telling, their smaller vessel took a fierce broadside that for a moment seemed to still the very wind. And then the vessel simply exploded, a vicious crack rent the very ship as it was torn asunder by the enemy's attack. Men screamed, others simply sank into the waters and Ranulfr was one of them, dragged down dazed and bloodied. The waters enveloping him till he twisted about and struggled with lungs burning to break the surface.
Two days later Ranulfr and those few other survivors found themselves all too fortunate as one of the returning White Hall vessel's spotted the debris and drew near to search and aid the survivors. Cold to the very bone, almost dead alongside all the others, Ranulfr was pulled into the boat and borne home. It was a hard few months, but Ranulfr was strong and his slave Sif certainly helped his recovery. After being lost at sea, a warm body amidst the furs certainly kept the blood circulating and Ranulfr's strength slowly recovered.
For even after that crushing defeat, not every raid offered success, but each helped shape Ranulfr, each time he returned with a story or some small trinket that he would gift his slave Sif, and each time he would spend hours upon his return wearying his young children and Sif also with weapons practise. Tiring his slave and often slinging her over his shoulder when practise was done, to much amusement from all before carrying her inside. Much as in his life on land, the omens Ranulfr respected could only be guessed at, a flock of birds, a single raven, a fallen plate or a shattered cup. All such omens that could perhaps be interpreted one way or another. Each time Ranulfr tried to guess, dared to hope that fate's thread would see him home. Regardless of the mundane happenings, Ranulfr would often hint at some grievous or great omen. Yet continue regardless.
Though as the years had passed, Ranulfr had managed to teach his slave whose name was so complicated to pronounce, he gave her another, Sif, how to speak his tongue fluently. Despite a certain amount of friction during those early months, given he had slain her father and then enslaved her a good many raids previous, the ways of White Hall weren't as fearsome as she had expected and the two ever more frequently found some measure of solace in eachothers arms and she helped Ranulfr with chores about the farm, preparing as ever for that harvest that would draw near so quickly, alongside teaching her how to wield an axe and protect and fight for her new home if the need ever arose.
The years passed and Ranulfr saw his mother pass, finally able to be with her own love in death serving the Harvest as they had in life. The farmstead was as ever filled with life for Ranulfr found himself blessed given his slave had given him two children, the farm rang to the noise of axe on shield as he taught both children as his father had taught him from an early age. Though a peaceful life it wasn't to be, for the three months a year that they could farm, the work was hard and it certainly kept Ranulfr at his peak as the futher two slaves the family owned toiled alongside him, It was a hard and unrelenting life, but Ranulfr saw to it that those two children were prepared for it. Training them as his father trained him.
Farming when he could in that brief window and tending animals, fishing and logging the rest of the year, Ranulfr ensured that he was very much part of the community. A strong community. With unswerving loyalty to the Jarl, Ranulfr continued to forge his family into one that would serve, perhaps even one day raise themselves to the caste Vigamandr permanently, though at the fore of his thoughts was the fact that his clan needed food and his family needed him and so he tilled the soil and tended his animals. For despite his dreams, to waste his skills as a farmer would be a considerable waste indeed. And so he practised with the axes and the shield and instilled their use into his two children. Who as he reached thirty, were ten and eleven.
To raid was indeed his love, his slave Sif kept his homestead warm and the other two slaves were as loyal as slaves could be, keeping the farmstead tidy and the harvest ready for planting. While Ranulfr at times took to the sea, the old vessel smooth enough with but him and a friend, but to let The Sea know his vessel, to feel it atop her, would perhaps ward away many a bad omen.
On the Grid
- Overview
- Ship
- Wolfhounds
- Farmadr Caste
- Physical Description
- Quirks and Personality
- Gallery
- Logs
- Memoirs
- Farming
- Loot History
'It is better to stand and fight. If you run, you'll only die tired.' - A Viking Saying
'You're fools,'
I snarled.
'You are all
arse-licking,
piss-dribbling,
nose-picking
fools.'
I was determined to enjoy myself.
- Bernard Cornwell, The Pagan Lord.
Honey and wheat, mead, beer and bread, you proliferate the things that make life worth living. But while the heady drink and sweet breads fill the belly and salve the soul, the sword ensure you will only ever look over your lands with one eye. Perhaps it is time to sit back and reconsider, or else to train until your sweat brings you low? - Prophecy.
The Scythe - A small White Hall vessel passed from father to son. A hunter, swift on the sea and endowed with a fierce bite.
Armed with a carved ram beneath the waterline at the fore and six carrobalista.
Ulfr and Lifa
Ranulfr's wolfhounds bred from stock captured a couple of generations previous. Loyal, shaggy furred and protective of the Raudi farmstead and those who live within it. Two exceptionally beautiful animals.
'To be without silver is better than to be without honour.' - Old Nordic Proverb
Blessed with good lands that have been tilled for generation after generation of Raudi's, the Raudi family has always sought to escape the land and find their freedom upon the sea. But time and time again the land anchors them, draws them back from raiding and pillaging to provide the next harvest as those short three months arrive when the land isn't frozen solid. Upon this landholding live 3 shaggy cows, 1 oxen, 12 chickens, 2 roosters, 1 goat and 3 sheep.
Standing tall at just over six foot, his build is toned and firm. His brown hair is a distinctly shaggy mess, with the locks falling where they may given the messy hairstyle tumbles about his ears, partially covering them to a degree. His pale features are handsome enough and his blue-grey eyes are bright and clear, while over them his thin brown eyebrows are arched. His nose juts lightly above his lips, lightly bearded with scruff as his features are, while his cheeks are defined and offer a certain wolfish look. His youth offers a healthy glow and only adds to that strength that is evident in his frame.
His strong figure is clad in armour, the scaled armour in good condition and concealed somewhat by the heavy wolf-fur cloak that hangs heavy about his shoulders. His arms are protected by the same interlinked scales that are dark and stained over the leather upon which they are set, while his hands are protected by scaled gloves and about his waist a thick leather belt is fastened and wrapped. Upon it a good many pouches hang, while against his left hip a sturdy looking bearded axe is looped. Upon his back a thick wooden shield, reinforced about the edge with a metal rim and in the centre with a engraved metal dome. The heavy cloak falls about his legs, each protected by leather breeches, scaled as they are, while his feet are shod with leather boots, each bound with fur.
Omens Everywhere - Be it in the sudden flight of a flock of birds, a lone raven cawing, or a bucket of milk spilled. Everything is an omen to Ranulfr. They might well be good or they might be bad, the meaning of these omens doesn't often become clear until much later. But all one can do is push on and fight and stand.
Steady in the Shieldwall - To stand shoulder to shoulder in a shieldwall is an honour. To know that those either side of you and that you also will stand, shields locked against whatever comes builds a bond that can never be broken. Ranulfr has stood in many a shieldwall and stood firm.
Axes into Ploughshares - Ranulfr is a Raudi and they have always tilled the land. They have raided, they have pillaged and they have fought. But the land they hold is fertile land, it is good land and for three months of the year, Ranulfr has other concerns. Sewing and harvesting crops. He may dream of sailing all year round, of raiding and slaying those who would seek to do harm to those he loves. But the land is an anchor and it always draws him back home.
One Isn't Enough? - Ranulfr has trained long and hard from his youth to the present day, dual-wielding twin bearded axes to terrible effect. Though skilled with a single axe, the nature of the unrelenting assault from two ferocious weapons that can be used to pull away a shield and kill in an instant, is used as much to instil fear into an enemy as to kill them quickly.
Crop | Info | Planted | Harvested |
---|---|---|---|
Ice Peppers | Thirsty plants that thrive in the milder weather that afflicts White Hall, their constant need for water if at all stifled results in the plants stalling their growth amidst the well drained beds in which they are planted, but then flooding their soil has much the same effect, so it is a delicate balance as they continue to mature over the following 150 days. Planted at the beginning of Avril, they mature over the next three months where upon the plump and fiery peppers blessed with an ice blue hue are harvested in late Aout. A fiery bite that can numb the mouth and especially the tongue, almost chilling before that fiery explosion kicks. | Avril | Aout |
Cabbages | In the previous autumn, Septembre and Octobre, the ground is picked clean of any stones and rocks and stomped hard and flat on the patch where the cabbages are to be grown. Each year a different spot is picked to keep what few hardy pests that exist from ruining the next years crop. From Juillet onwards, the cabbages which are particularly hardy are ready for harvest with a sharp knife and a great deal of effort. | Septembre to Octobre | Juillet onwards |
Potatoes | The seed potatoes are encouraged to sprout in Fevrier and stored away until Marse were they are then planted in the well turned ground. The sprouts constantly covered with fresh layers of dirt the moment they break through. Come the end of Aout, the potatoes are ready to be harvested and are ready to eat the moment they are lifted. | Marse | Aout |
Wheat | Wheat on White Hall is planted in Marse and is ready for harvest in Aout. A hardy plant, it certainly requires a great deal of land to ensure a large enough harvest. | Marse | Aout |
Date | Place | Description | Status | Ranulfr's Loot |
---|---|---|---|---|
1866-04-25 | Dalton, Aequor. | Village & monastery. | Reduced to ruin. | 1 good quality cooking pot and 1 buxom wench. |
Relationships - White Hall
Relationships - Enemies and the Tolerated beyond White Hall
Veslingr (VEHS-ling-uhr) = Puny wretch
Vamr (VAHM-uhr) = Loathsome person
Nidingr ((NEETH-ing-uhr) = Villain, vile person
Arka (AR-kah) = Sensitive, cowardly
Fifl (FEEF-uhl) = Fool, idiot
Hraumi (HROWM-ee) = Braggart
Dunga (DOON-gah) = A useless fellow
Slapr (SLAHP-uhr) = Lazy person
Gloggvingr (GLOHG-ving-uhr) = Stingy person
Bakrauf (PAH-kah-roif) = Anus