Runúlfr “övendr" Georgarson
I was born near to the settlement of Aros (Aarhus) in Dannemark, the son of Georg Valdarrarson who had once been a famous skald travelling across the lands serving various Jarls but had since renounced the life of a wanderer to settle and raise a family on a small farmstead.
From an early age I would listen to his tales of the Aesir, the legends of the Sagas and Edda’s and as I grew older I would delight in learning and telling these tales to others. I also found I had some ability to write verse that people around me enjoyed to hear. I would also delight in wandering the forests and wilderness as far as my feet could take me, communing with the various spirits of the land.
One day Christian missionaries came to our village and began to tell stories of their God, but as I was a follower of the old ways I did not care too much for what they were saying. But as time went on more of the local populace seemed to come under the spell of this white Christ which troubled me greatly.
One day I was practicing my spear skills and one of them noticed i was left handed, he began to berate me as a child of the devil, and to call me evil, when i replied that Tyr was the same he began to mock the Gods of Asgard saying that his was the true god and there were no others, this insult I could not take and I threatened him that if I saw him here again I would use my spear in anger. This missionary complained about me to the Jarl whose protection he was under and at the Thing it was declared that if I carried out this deed I would be declared outlaw.
I decided under my father’s advice as things could soon go against me to leave and find a new life he gave me my Grandfather’s sword. He had been a warrior of renown to our family and I made a vow to my ancestor that I would do great deeds with it. I joined a ship sailing to raid the Aenglish kingdom of Wessex and we had much success, my iron ring shirt was taken from a Saxon warrior I killed during a skirmish. Shortly after this we were surprised by a warband near to Chippenham deep in the land of Wessex, i was captured and for many years was held as a slave by a Saxon called Adlewine, my armour and weapons were taken from me, and I felt a deep shame and dishonour to my family, the only thing that that kept me going was my faith that the gods would conspire to free me. Some years later fate was on my side and I was able to escape my bonds, recovering my sword and maile I ran into the dark of night and headed away from Wessex, harbouring a distrust of Saxons and vowing to Tyr that Adlewine would one day receive my vengeance.
After many months of wandering, I came across a band of fellow danes on the banks of a small river in the Mercian settlement of Stodfald, and began to relearn my warriors skills with them, at one of their feasts I earned the respect of their Hersir Arngrim, the thegns and all present when i told the tale of how the God of Thunder, Thor recovered Mjolnir after it was stolen by the giant Thrym. I now travel with the warband as their skald telling the sagas of the Norse and also constructing poems to celebrate the great warriors of the warband.
I look forward to the days when I can take my place in Wryngwyrm’s shieldwall, to fulfil my vow and make poems of their victories until then I will hone my skills, and tell tales of the Gods, and of warriors past.
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