Scarburg Meadhall - The Barrow-Downs Discussion Forum

Thinlómien · 05-23-2011, 06:20 PM

Life was ironic, Wulfric thought, sitting outside alone in the dark evening. Today he had promised the men they could have a drinking contest, yet there they were having it without him, because his father - his sad excuse of a father - had decided to throw off a feast before he had been able to suggest it. Wulfric was in no mood for games now, and it was likely no one missed him. Who would? A worthless son, a bully of a brother and a leader with no followers - no, no, it was better he was out here alone.

To be honest, Wulfric did have other worries than the shortcomings of his father or those of his own too. The ground he sat on was cold and uncomfortable, but it was not much compared to the cold and discomfort Wulfric felt inside, at least if you asked him. All the other men had cheered when Athanar had settled his business with Faramund, and the young lord's father had regained his authority over the hall and publicly rebuked his son. Wulfric had felt pity and anger on behalf of the humiliated son. Faramund had maybe not been the best of lords, but no man deserved such treatment from his demented father he had been looking after.

Wulfric started picking pebbles and throwing them to the distance. Maybe he should go and visit Lord Faramund and offer his sympathies. The proud man might not welcome them, but with two old men going nuts with age ruling the area, the alliance and friendship of those young and strong would benefit both of them. And of course if he went back to Faramund's hall, he could have another chance to meet the girl again. Their meeting had been regrettably brief, but Wulfric had trouble keeping her out of his head. Target number three hundred and sixty-two selected, Wilheard would say mockingly, but it never was quite so simple to Wulfric himself.

05-23-2011, 06:20 PM	#11
Thinlómien Shady She-Penguin Join Date: Dec 2004 Location: In a far land beyond the Sea Posts: 8,093	Wulfric Life was ironic, Wulfric thought, sitting outside alone in the dark evening. Today he had promised the men they could have a drinking contest, yet there they were having it without him, because his father - his sad excuse of a father - had decided to throw off a feast before he had been able to suggest it. Wulfric was in no mood for games now, and it was likely no one missed him. Who would? A worthless son, a bully of a brother and a leader with no followers - no, no, it was better he was out here alone. To be honest, Wulfric did have other worries than the shortcomings of his father or those of his own too. The ground he sat on was cold and uncomfortable, but it was not much compared to the cold and discomfort Wulfric felt inside, at least if you asked him. All the other men had cheered when Athanar had settled his business with Faramund, and the young lord's father had regained his authority over the hall and publicly rebuked his son. Wulfric had felt pity and anger on behalf of the humiliated son. Faramund had maybe not been the best of lords, but no man deserved such treatment from his demented father he had been looking after. Wulfric started picking pebbles and throwing them to the distance. Maybe he should go and visit Lord Faramund and offer his sympathies. The proud man might not welcome them, but with two old men going nuts with age ruling the area, the alliance and friendship of those young and strong would benefit both of them. And of course if he went back to Faramund's hall, he could have another chance to meet the girl again. Their meeting had been regrettably brief, but Wulfric had trouble keeping her out of his head. Target number three hundred and sixty-two selected, Wilheard would say mockingly, but it never was quite so simple to Wulfric himself.