05/06/20
What Meiri lacks in its trading and barbaric raids to get rich, it makes up for with fertile land and healthy livestock. As a result the country thrives and grows stronger in the shadow of the Viking Kingdoms. Though tension still lingers in the air as they prepare for another attack at any given time. Naturally they assume the Vikings will want their revenge, despite being beaten twice now. They could not hold Hertug, and they lost their King. But the Meirian people believe that isn't enough to stop them. Meiri won the battle, but they are left mentally scarred. So it begs the question, who really won that fight?

As for the Meirian King, Aeth is forced to revisit the scene of the battle as the country continues to rebuild. Though the mud and blood soaked hills now cradled long grass as nature reclaimed it, he can still see where his men fell...And where his father died.

In his personal life, he steals moments with Lofn when they're able, playing a dangerous game as she hides amongst his soldiers. He doesn't know how long they can keep this up for. Hoping to one day just reveal her to everyone and all would be fine. But its never as easy as that.

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05/02/20
Reluctantly fell into his duties as the new King, he gives the people what they want. Realising soon enough that although the people voted for a new leader, they did not vote to a new way of life. Still, he gives them what they want, what the previous Kings had failed to do.

Has spent the last few months journeying along the northern coast, strengthening the borders, the watch towers and the military. Dirtied his hands to aid the reconstruction of destroyed houses and made an effort to visit various churches each Sunday. He needed his people to show faith in him, to trust him, and he would bend a knee to the will of the people for that to happen.

But all is not perfect. A King hides his turmoil under false smiles and false prayers. At night he is still tormented by the blood left on his hands. No amount of dirt and hard labour can cleanse them.

His only reprieve is his love, and though their meetings are brief, he cherishes every second.

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07/10/19
Overwhelmed by the self-made isolation as he kept himself locked away, finally 'broke' and slipped into the forest in an effort to get away from the drones of Meirian's wanting his presence to crown him. Had dark thoughts, wanting to launch himself into a fight or maybe the pond. Not necessarily to end himself but give him a sharp wake up call. Did neither of those things however, as upon entering he simply lay there as though his legs were too weak to carry him, much like his mind was too weak to carry the burdens that had been placed upon him.

Had no real goal in the forest other than to try and allow the ambience to sooth him. Didn't expect to be found by Lofn.

Broke down in the presence of his friend. And though he didn't share every detail, explained that he had finally murdered the man who'd haunted him and his people for all these years. Told her that the man was his father...And that now he was truly alone since his newfound family would never accept him and he'd never accept them. The mere thought of being related to heathens made his blood boil more, feeling disgusted with himself that this was some vile test God had placed on him. Without realising it however, his words had struck a cord with the Wandering Star, making her feel insignificant as he'd said he was now 'alone'.

Started an argument and made retorts that he had been alone during this battle, that she hadn't been there. And then asked her to prove that she really was his light. Made a threat that quickly crumbled as it only angered her more. He wasn't a violent man. Despite the countless faceless enemies he had slaughtered, he could never raise a hand or force her to do anything against her will. His meekness only seemed to anger her more as she demanded to know what he wanted from her. Felt forced. Put into a position where he was forced to confront his own feelings and ultimately confessed that all he'd ever wanted was to hold her. These feelings that had been locked away out of fear that his God would shun him.

Ventured back to his dark isolation of a room in Meiri, but this time with Lofn. Behind the wooden door in that dark, away from prying eyes and as though God himself could not see what was happening, they made love. Giving themselves to each other openly. He had lost whatever family he had, but he had gained her. They still carried their secrets, their thorns that might hurt each other, their worlds that would try to keep each other apart, but their love was real.

There was no guilt afterwards. God had owned his mind for all these years, but now he felt like he had something that he would fight for more than his God. Those guilty thoughts were replaced now with boyish glee and a challenge to try and keep their relationship a secret from everyone else, lest the outside worlds destroy their little piece of happiness.

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04/09/19
While the country believes Aethelwulf is sick with fever, the false wolf himself hides away. Struggling to process the recent revelations and cutting himself off from everyone around him, he feels himself slipping each day. He has no interest in what the people want as they wait to crown him the next High King of Meiri, and as such is dragging things out. Has lost his appetite, and often thinks of wanting to simply disappear, to fade into nothing. To let the burdens and memories slip away.

The Meirian people however, are full of celebration for the victory. Even marking the day they won as a new holiday. And though a King still exists within the country, none follow him anymore. Labelled as a coward, some have offered a bounty for his head, as Aethelwulf will not be crowned until the previous royal line is snuffed out.

The nights in solitude do not offer any peace, as the false wolf dreams of nightmarish things. Though vague and obscure, he see's things torn apart, a fire and weeping angels. Every time he wakes covered in a cold sweat, believing the visions to be about Meiri, which only adds to his reluctance to take the crown. Somewhere in the distance, a raven always taunts as it watches him through the window. And though he can never see the creature, he shivers as he believes the bird carries the same icy blue eyes as his father.

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26/08/19
In order to win something, something else must be sacrificed. It was a philosophy that Aethelwulf had grown up with. Whether it be theft, love or even someone’s life. And this time it would be the latter that made the difference and ultimately swing the tides in the Meirian’s favour. A desperate plan concocted by desperate people as word spread of the Vikings looming presence out to sea. The heathens were going to raid again.

But in the months where winter had offered a respite from the attacks, the Meirian’s had been reinforcing their defences. Watch towers had been erected along the coasts as the country finally learnt the direction the Rikian’s came from. It didn’t look all that impressive, but they were crucial for being able to alert the army faster than in previous years.

Upon entering the river, the heathens invaded and the Martyr took his position. An ambush. A desperate plan for a desperate country. Aethelwulf had a lot of respect for Ceolred, a man who would be willing to sacrifice himself simply to buy time for the rest of the army. His brothers wept as the false wolf blessed him one last time. God would be with him. It was probably a good thing that they never saw what became of him. Flayed alive by the heathens, proof that they truly were nothing but monsters. But Ceolred would be remembered as a hero. The time he bought was crucial.

After that, everything fell into place. The Vikings divided their forces as the Martyred king, in his dying words had sown the seeds. Make the heathens believe they could gain the upper hand by striking first. And after that, Gods wrath slowly began to rain down on the Vikings.

Make them believe they could win. The backbone of Aethelwulf’s plan. And just when they think victory is within their grasp, tear it away from them just as they had torn families and towns apart.

(the following are extracts from the rp)

How well did the Rikian’s truly know their enemy? A single horseman sits atop a nearby hill. A seeming bystander bearing witness to the carnage. A foreboding sight.

The Rikian’s knew that Meiri was once ruled by a single King. And some might have learnt of the change of crowns as the King’s son’s took over the throne. And it’s there, at the very root of the opposition, that the Vikings underestimated their enemy. You see, Varg had summoned an impressive army, enough to make many countries quake with fear. But he had not summoned his full strength. Some had not heeded his call, some had stayed behind. This is where the Vikings went wrong.

As one Meirian King died at Hertug last year, another died only last night as a martyr. That meant that two remained. Two Kings and a false wolf, whose black steed stood silently atop that hill, watching. The Vikings were strong, like giants, but they did not realise they were not fighting a simple army, but the entire country. What the Meirian’s lacked in their own strength, they made up for in sheer numbers as the entire continent took up arms against the heathen invaders. The black stallion is soon joined by two more impressive mounts, and behind them waited what might have been described as Ragnarok for the Rikian Vikings.

For a moment the false wolf watches, seemingly looking for someone in particular. Then his gaze locks onto his target. The Viking King. A hand slowly raises as some of the heathens finally clock onto his presence. And behind him, a line of horsemen form atop the hill, spears pointing towards their enemy. A single sweep of his hand is all it takes for the Meirian’s to launch their final attack. With Aethelwulf charging close behind the horsemen, behind him the hill blackens with foot soldiers. Too many to count.

The false wolf remains locked onto his target. A wild grin spread wide across his features. This time, the Vikings were going to lose.

With spears pointed and horses charging at full speed, the Vikings nearest the waves of horsemen are thrown back with relative ease. Skewered and crushed from metal and hoof.

The false wolf, ever close behind suddenly falls as his horse is struck by someone’s arrow. And for a moment he’s lost in the shadow of Meirian’s only to reappear still in full charge, though this time on his feet. He dare not look back to the screams of his dying horse. It was only more fuel for the fire in his heart. Another sacrifice made for the greater good. Another step closer to his goal. His light was not here on this battlefield. There was nothing stopping him from holding back or slipping into the dark.

In the distance, the ominous sight of catapults disrupt the scenery. The same creations that had blasted through Hertug and allowed the Meirian’s to take back their town. Now two sat in preparation to target the ships if they could get close enough.

The High King moves with his men, struggling through the sea of soldiers towards the catapults. But as Varg loses his allies amongst Meirian and Rikian, he spots someone he recognises. The familiar mismatching eyes that he had seen before. The church boy, the Hertug soldier. With a wide grin he welcomes his old foe, opened armed in a mocking fashion before they clash blades. Surrounded by friend and foe alike, their attacks are interrupted over and over as they dodge stray arrows, axes and swords, and dance their way around bodies and dying men. With ragged breath the High King finds himself clear for a moment. A second to regain himself in an opened space near the river.

But in the next second those nearby lose sight of him. The King is kicked back and disappears into the water, and a sickening feeling sets in to all that bear witness as the river turns red.

The false wolf watches for a moment. Is it over? But as he turns to look back towards the battle behind him, he feels a thud. A heavy hot feeling takes over as he sees his shoulder struck by an arrow. He doesn’t fall, but he falters and turns back to the river. And suddenly his own heart sinks as Varg rises from the water. Never before did the High King look as terrifying as he did then. The false wolf staggers backwards, desperate to get out of the giant’s shadow, desperate to fling the sword out of Varg’s hand. And when the King loses his family heirloom, he launches towards the false wolf, sending his (Aeth’s) sword and himself to the ground. Hands grip tight around his neck and he’s certain his death is near. But the warmth of the enemies’ blood suggests otherwise. The High King was dying, and the words he whispers next would surely haunt the false wolf for the rest of his days…

"So it is true.. The prophecy said that I would die at the hands of my own blood.. which means that you are my son."

Mismatching eyes widen and seconds later he forces the weakening king away and scrambles across the ground, clinging to his wounded shoulder and in shock. The world around them stands still. The fighting seems to wither as those around them take note of what’s happening. Vikings would rush towards their father, grandfather, king. And amongst the cries for their dying Patriarch, the false wolf raises his good arm.

“Cease…Cease fire!!” his words broken, but the Meirian’s listen. A silence takes over as friend and foe stop in their tracks. Meirian’s do not move to take advantage of the situation, and Vikings do not move for they knew they had lost.

Comforted in the hands of his family, the Viking King smiles, just like he usually did. A strong man until the very end, never showing the pain he suffered. Though his voice is strained and his mouth stained red, his words were clear for all to hear.

"Take good care of your mom, the kingdom... and each other.. I love you.." And there the once powerful icy blue eyes slowly grow dim as the life finally leaves him.

“Go…” The words are difficult as the false wolf struggles with his own emotions. Everything he had believed until now, turned on its head. “Take him..go back to your lands…And never return.” A moment of mercy, a chance for the Vikings to leave, and they had no choice but to take it.

The moment the ships would round a corner away from the battlefield, a roar of triumph would sweep across the area. For the first time in history, the Meirian's had stood their ground against a heathen army and won. Everyone cheered and patted each other on the backs, all but the false wolf. No sooner had the ships left their sight had Aethelwulf sunk to his knees. There were men around him, concerned for his wound, but he was oblivious to them all. Eyes would only shift when someone brought questionable news. One of the Kings had been found dead. It was laughable. If the Vikings had known one of the Meirian kings had fallen, they might have found the willpower to last longer. But what of the other king? The last one standing. Nowhere to be seen. At some point he’d fled the fight. A coward. Though in that sense the Meirian’s still won by the lore of battle, the people would not tolerate such cowardice after this victory. Something like that could not stain their achievement.

Word spread fast. And before the clean-up had begun, the Meirian’s had made their decision.

“Hail King Aethelwulf.” The words quiet at first, but soon enough a momentum would pick up, and all would start to chant. Out with the old, and in with the new. No Meirian would follow a coward, but they put everything they had into Aethelwulf. He’d led this army, and he’d killed the Viking King.

“HAIL KING AETHELWULF!” The chant would turn into roars as soldiers began swarming the false wolf. They’d raise him up, carry him, and praise him. But the cheers did not seem to reach him. They might have thought he was crying from happiness. They’d likely never know that he was weeping over the death of his father.