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The Futhark

On Tuesday, the 9th of July, comes the new chapter. A Civil engineer, Antonio Lombardi, wakes up after a car accident in ancient Europe and helps the Scirians, one of the countless Germanic tribes, to regain their greatness. The Roman Empire had collapsed and unrest, religious tensions and the migration of many Germanic tribes to the Western Roman Empire heralded the era of the great migration. The story will not and cannot be historically correct because magic and gods are real in this world. This is my first story. Spelling mistakes and illogical or confusing connections may occur. I am Back

Pergaron · Fantasy
Not enough ratings
17 Chs

Herul

They ran with all their might, and Thorvik carried Herul through the woods. What kind of inhuman strength was that? Is it normal? Is he some sort of superhuman, a god, or an ancestor of Chuck Norris? Anton's thoughts were interrupted when he noticed the small village, which was in a miserable state. The people seemed tense, and everyone Anton saw was packing up belongings and filling narrow wooden carts.

A platinum-blond man with a bronze spear approached the group. His hair was disheveled, and his dark circles spoke of many sleepless nights. He wore thick fabric clothing with a warm fur cloak and simple brown pants.

Frijja went ahead and said to the guard:

"Hail, Tiwaz. Help me with Herul! We were attacked by a wisent."

She called to Thorvik, slightly anxious:

"Take Anton to the longhouse."

Tiwaz looked a bit taken aback but helped Göll and Frijja carry Herul to the herb house.

Thorvik, Gerald, and Anton walked past many houses. Many of them seemed decrepit. He saw a rundown forge, an empty small market, and a kitchen.

Gerald asked Anton:

"Anton, what were you doing in the forest?"

Anton looked a bit confused at Gerald, his thoughts racing to find an excuse. He glanced at a passing woman with a basket and said:

"A basket..."

Gerald glanced at him questioningly and replied:

"A basket?"

Anton looked around and saw a flower sprouting from the ground and spoke: "Flowers..."

Gerald, completely baffled, asked:

"A basket of flowers?"

Anton looked at Gerald and declared, as if it were the most normal thing in the world to wander into a dark, dangerous forest to pick flowers:

"Exactly, flowers."

Gerald glanced at Anton amused and didn't point out that Anton wasn't carrying a basket. Gerald looked ahead in the direction they were walking and asked Anton:

"Are you ready?"

A wooden shed roof covers the building, and many Germanic and Nordic symbols are carved into it. Gerald approaches the nearly two-meter-tall guard. The guard's threatening exterior quickly fades as Gerald jumps up to him, and gentleness enters the guard's eyes.

"Riki, how's it going? Is Jarl Odoaker back yet?"

Eirik replies, "Odoaker Greuthung is still in Dobryzen, overseeing the preparations. He won't be back until midday tomorrow. Until then, Heinrich is in command. Go on inside, but be careful. Heinrich is in a bad mood and drunk right now. Oh, Gerald... stay away from that Ulv," and Eirik ruffles Gerald's hair.

"Thanks, Riki," Gerald says contentedly.

They step inside and see a few people eating and drinking. The atmosphere is grim and rather tense. Suddenly, a mug flies in their direction and hits Thorvik directly in the face. Blood and watery mead drip down his face. "Bring me better booze!"

The drunken Jarlsson points at Thorvik with his finger and says with a slight smile, "Thorvik, why are you wet? Did you slip and fall into a puddle? At least your smell confirms that! Hahaha!"

Anton looks at Thorvik's face, which stares neutrally at the lord. Outwardly, he is the picture of calm, but the swelling veins, the clenched fist, and the tense muscles in his arm show that punches will soon fly.

To everyone's surprise, he kneels down and says, "My lord, I had an accident. I will clean up the mess."

He takes the wooden mug, tenses his muscles, walks up to Jarlsson Heinrich, and places the wooden mug on the oak table in front of him. As he does so, the wooden mug shatters into a thousand pieces in his hand.

"It seems the mug was damaged upon impact, my lord." Thorvik's look of contempt sends a brief chill down the spines of almost everyone in the room. Another person with long black hair and a dark expression sneaks a dirty smile.

Unimpressed and arrogant, the Jarlsson speaks, "You Skirians really aren't that bright, are you? At best, you're somewhat useful as farmers, if slaves weren't the cheaper option." His gaze sweeps over the crowd and with a hint of surprise, it lands on Anton. He gets right up in Anton's face, the smell of alcohol wafting from his mouth: "Cousin! I didn't expect you to bring vermin into the longhouse!"

Anton reflexively responds, "Ugh, Heinrich, you stink terribly of alcohol. Pull yourself together!"

Heinrich's expression is dark, yet he smiles brazenly. With a few steps, he moves to one of the chairs and sits down. "Ugh, I feel sick..."

Anton looks at his younger cousin and adds, "Go and..."

Before Anton can finish his sentence, Heinrich falls asleep on the table.

The heavy wooden door of the longhouse opens and Göll enters with a regretful expression. He goes straight to Anton, Gerald, and Thorvik and announces, "Herul survived... but he may never walk again... Alva will surely be sad."

Anton recalls more details from this life. He is a hunter and lives on the outskirts of Iwòrzin near the Bòrz Forest, a sparse forest outside the Wiesent territory. Alva is the daughter of Herul and the granddaughter of Göll.

The day was coming to an end and Anton tried to recall all the memories that slumbered within him, and many things started to make sense. The former land of the Skirians now belonged to the Goths, and the Skirians were considered inferior. Odoaker, his wife Hilda, and their son Heinrich Greuthung were the Gothic Jarls, and Anton was a distant relative of the Lombard family from the Lombard tribe. Frijja was a shaman from Jutland who had come with Thorvik to the lands of the Skirians. Anton quickly adapted to the place and the people, thanks to his memories of the old Anton.

Towards evening, the longhouse filled with the villagers, and they spent the evening there. Time passed quickly, and the old man Göll told tales of his adventures, his youth, and the many wars he had participated in. His adventures were incredible and exaggerated, yet entertaining. After a while, when Göll became sentimental, he told of a foundling in the forest whom he raised alone and named Herul. He had been abandoned because he was an albino, and the parents thought they should leave him at the "Elbaum" so the elves would take the child. "IDIOTS," Göll shouted, slamming his empty mug on the wooden table. "If it weren't for me, he would have become raven food or frozen to death." Göll stared into the void for a while, then stood up and said, "I'm going to sleep..."

Outside, it had become dark, and Anton also decided to go to sleep. A thunderclap woke the sleeping ones, and they heard extreme hail hitting the house walls and roof like pebbles. The powerful thunder resonated through their bodies. Lightning briefly illuminated the hut, and seven seconds later, the thunder was heard. Göll sat on a chair, watching the storm. Anton looked at the storm and knew he wouldn't get any sleep tonight. His back ached on the uncomfortable straw bed. They spent the rest of the morning having breakfast and telling stories. Suddenly, someone started banging on the door in a panic.

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This project is close to my heart, and I hope you find this idea exciting as well.