Bjorn

"Oi! Get out of here you little bastard!" I was chasing around a large fat rat with an axe after I caught it trying to steal my morning meal from me when my back was turned. My name is Bjorn. I was born to a mother that died shortly after my birth and raised by my village, Dechrau. When I say raised in Dechrau I mean, the mothers of other children my age would bring me in, clean me, feed me, and give me a place to sleep, then pass me around like a warming stone to the next family that was able to feed me for that week. While the men of the village looked down on me, they occasionally taught me a thing or two or gave me work. I stand six foot seven, long black hair, green eyes, and a scar or two from the wilds of life. People say my mother may have birthed me but that I was the child of a mountain because of my size. I was muscular, and stronger then other men my age. When I was around ten years old I met Gallion. He took me in, brought me on as an apprentice in crafting metals and more, and eventually became like a father to me. He has taught me as much as he could in the last seven years and I have much to repay him for in my life, I am forever grateful for bringing me into his home and giving me a chance in life.

When I turned the age of eleven, I started to dream of a woman I believe to be my mother. She is standing on a cliffs edge dressed in a plain white gown, he hair is black like mine and long, he eyes green matching my own. She is pointing out to sea, wind blowing against her and water crashing against the rocks behind her in the distance. She is saying something but I can't hear what it is. Every time I yell at her telling her I can't hear her, she gets more scared and more urgent, pointing to the sea silently yelling at me. I always wake up at that point. Nothing else ever happens. The dreams are often enough I can smell the sea during the time I am awake. Gallion says it probably means nothing. That they come often because they bothered me enough that I made them happen. The only thing is, I feel like I know the cliff's edge, like I have been there before.

"Are you in there, Bjorn? Why haven't you cleaned up this work area?" Gallion called from the shop that was behind our home. "Sorry, I'll get to it now, I was... busy." I lied. I wasn't busy, I was just daydreaming. "Come on then, stop thinking of things that are out of your reach." He said to me. "Oh? And what's out of my reach?" I asked him, "Bah, anything unless its a hammer and anvil." He huffed at me in his usual grumpy tone. Gallion wasn't grumpy, but he sure liked to sound like it. He likes people to think of him as if he was a big scary Viking man who goes on raids across the ocean on great galleys, but he's not. He's just a blacksmith who prefers to stay on land, work metal and eat good food. Something I understood. Boys who grow into men my size are expected to become great warriors and join the Morwyn y Duwiau, and sup with the old gods. Gallion trained me plenty in sword art, and protection skills. He insisted that working the metal was only half the job. If I didn't understand how to use the weapons and shields I was creating, they were useless. Gallion provided plenty of time and training for both work, and battle training.

"Gallion, what do you want done with this sword? Hang the damn thing up." I complained to him. "Lets trade it. I'm sure someone with little coin would be willing to pay something for its scrap." Or maybe a shovel, I though to my self. The blade of course was waste. It was old, broken nearly in half just above the hilt, and chipped along the tips edge. It looked like it may have been a grand broadsword in its days of glory, but finally met its end when the blade was cracked. Gallion told me once he was going to restore it and tell me the story of its forging, but I figured it was one of the stories that started with, "once when I was a young lad.". He hasn't restored it yet, and I still haven't heard the story. "Why don't you restore this thing like you said you were going to, eh? Then you can do something with it. Or at least tell me the story you keep claiming you know about it." I yelled at him. "And what do you know about restoring that blade? That blade's story is important to some people in the world." Gallion asked me as he stepped into the shop door. "Well, I may not know about what's needed to restore your mythical blade, Gallion, but that's only due to your own neglect." I held it out to him by the hilt. "Might as well just melt it down and use the metal for something useful." I said. "Another day, boy. Another day." He said to me as he took the sword and placed it back on the shelf it had lived on for the whole seven years I have been here, and longer then that probably.

Gallion left the shop and headed back into the house, crossing the stone path between the two. I could hear the sounds of men and horses riding up, probably here to have their tools repaired, or weapons sharpened. We don't usually have to much action around here, so I was leaning towards the tool repair being the likely cause of their visit.

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"What can I do you for?" I could hear Gallion asking the riders outside. "Ahh, Gallion, I was wondering if you could make me something." A man said from outside.

At this point I lost interest in listening as I knew whatever it was that needed making I would be assisting Gallion later with. Hammering and molding metal was something that was satisfying to me, in the end when the blade that you worked hard crafting, and sharping become something to be proud of. Maybe Gallion would teach me to restore the old broken blade and that would give us something to work on together.

Just as I was thinking this, Gallion stepped through the door. "Let me guess, He wants a new aged tool that is going to change the world." I laughed, turning towards Gallion. He was standing with a serious expression on his face, arms crossed over his chest. "Want to make a delivery for me?" Gallion asked me. "Where?" I ask cautiously. Gallion only ever sent me on deliveries if he wasn't very keen on the receiver. "Tavis's house, I hate that old bear. He is always grumpy." He said. I knew it, Tavis was always grumpy, his wife died years ago, and his sons were either dead or moved on. Going to Tavis gave me the opportunity to go to go by the river however. "I want to stop[ at the river on my way back. We could use a stock up of fish anyways." I told him. The river was somewhere I enjoyed going for myself. One of my earliest memories was of the river where I was playing with the other children my age in the shallows. It was just a happy, simple time where I felt like I was apart of something. That didn't last long for me of course. As much as the families of the village took me in, there were still nights that I was cold, hungry, and scared. Those were the times I would go to the river, and watch or try and interact with others. "Just watch your back, there's been strange talk about of a group of men in these woods." He informed me. "What do they mean strange?" I wondered. "Oh, I don't know. Taking lone people in the night, only for those people not to be seen again. Strange stuff." He shrugged. "Sounds like it's made up." I laughed. "Men stealing people in their sleep? Were you at the alehouse when you heard this talk?" I asked. "Shut up. Give me a hard time for worrying about you, I should let the door hit you on the way out!" He shoved my shoulder laughing. "Nah, Who would make the deliveries to Tavis's for you then, old man?" I smiled. "Really though, it sounds absurd. I will be careful, and I'll camp out of sight." I promised him. "Good." He turned and walked away.

That evening Gallion and I were eating supper and drinking some ales, talking about things that didn't really matter much when a knock at the door startled us slightly. Standing I grabbed a sword, late night visitors were not a usual occurrence. Gallion talking of strange folks in the woods had me thinking worrying thoughts as I walked to the front entrance of our cabin house. "Who is it?" I called out ready to lift the board that blocked the door away. "Dara!" A woman called out. Dara and I grew up together, her mother was one of the woman who helped raised me before Gallion. Her family traded ore, fur and whatever else they had from a small shop like ours on the edge of the village. I opened the door to bring Dara inside. She was overwhelmed, and red faced as she breathed heavy as if she had ran here. "Lock it, please." She asked me in a rush turning towards the door to help me board it once again. "What's going on? Why have you come so late, alone?" I asked her. Even living inside the village had its threats. Plenty of thieves and strangers came through for trading and whatever else they were in search for. "My father has been killed. They found his body along the rivers edge this morning, then my mother and I were eating a late meal when we could hear our pigs screaming, being slaughtered. I thought an animal at first, but it... it was two men." She was looking at Gallion with wide, worried eyes. "My mother grabbed her sword and shield and went out to confront them." She stopped talking. "She's gone, Bjorn," She shrugged and started to cry. "I am not a maiden of the blade like my mother, I did not know where else to go." She said looking at me. Gallion put his hand on her shoulder and led her over to our table helping her sit on the bench. "What do you mean she's gone? Killed? Inside the village?" He asked her. "There were no sounds of fighting. No sounds at all. She walked towards the men, I heard her call out to them to leave, and then nothing..." She said again. Dara looked at me and shook her head, " First my father, then my mother. What am I going to do?" She asked through tears. "Stay here tonight, we will figure out the rest in the morning." Gallion said, pouring her a cup of ale from the jug. "We will go back to your home in the morning and look around. There are plenty of places for men to hide in the village, especially in the night."

I gave Dara my bed to sleep in and set up some hay and furs for myself on the flor near the fire for warmth. I fell asleep thinking about the strange groups of men murdering people at night, only to slip into the same dream of my mother screaming at me from the cliffs edge. Except this time, she called my name, and I heard it. Sitting up, breathing heavy, my body was wet with sweat and I felt... I don't know, but it wasn't scared.

Gallion was sitting at the table drinking a mug full of ale, smoking a pipe of weeds. "You have been having those dreams for as long as I have known you, Bjorn, but never have I heard you call out in your sleep from them." He said to me. I stood up, the cold night air a cool greeting against my hot skin, "The woman, my mother, she called my name." I told him as I sat on the bench across the table from Gallion."She called you Bjorn?" He asked me. I thought about it for a moment. No. No, She didn't call me Bjorn. Shaking my head, my eyebrows creased with thought, "No, not Bjorn. Aadi." I said as I looked at Gallion. "She called me Aadi."