The Tragedy of the Black-Mane

The gates of Svarthlhus yawned open with a groan of frost and chain as a party of twelve rode in, cloaked in shades of grey. At their head was a man wrapped in black, his cloak crusted with snow, a claymore strapped to his back.

They formed a loose line across the courtyard. The lead rider dismounted with a practiced motion pulled two bundles from his saddle, and handed the reins to one of the others. He stood at 6'3"—not short by most measures, but in Hralgorn, especially in Svarthlheim, where Jotun blood ran deep, it marked him as a runt.

Svarthofnir stood atop the steps at the great doors of Svarthlhus, watching the figure approach through the flurries, hood low.

"Riding down here couldn't have been easy in this weather," Svarthofnir called.

"We travel light. Some of us don't need carriages and carts for a day or two of wind."

"Very funny, Rolnir. Now get a move on, I'm freezing my bollocks off out here."

Rolnir's breath fogged as he let out a dry laugh. "And here I thought you pure-bloods were supposed to scoff at winter."

"Yeah, yeah—just get in. The boys are excited to see ya."

Svarthofnir held the door for Rolnir, and the Brothers walked to the Dining Hall. Rolnir took off his hood, exposing his face for the first time since he left Thegnhus. His black hair was cropped short, and his beard was tied into a singular knot. Next to each other, you could hardly tell they share half their blood. Rolnir hardly came up to Svarthofnir's shoulders, and only half his width.

Svarthofnir nodded to the two bundles, "Those for the boys?"

"Yeah, grabbed 'em from the Bramoran Church before Fringar held court."

"You could've sent them down with me, you know."

Rolnir scoffed, "And let you get all the credit? Fuck no. 'Sides, they asked me to get it for 'em, not you."

Svarthofnir blinked—then his expression shifted. "You actually got them the kits?"

"Need to maintain favourite uncle status somehow."

 Svarthofnir laughed again and clapped Rolnir on the back.

"You ought to visit more often, Brother. I mean, I wouldn't afford a bastard such as yourself a bed, but I'm sure there is more than enough straw lying about the stables. Maybe the horse shit will even keep you warm."

Rolnir shoves Svarthofnir into the wall, doubling over in laughter.

"If it were so easy, I'd have killed you years ago."

The pair continued walking down the hallway towards the Dining Hall, the smell of eggs and sausages strengthening with each step. Just before they reached the final stretch, Rolnir slowed. Svarthofnir turned to see what his brother was doing and noticed him staring at a picture of Frixnar.

"You alright there?" Svarthofnir called out.

"Who did the painting?" Rolnir called back.

"No clue, I think Father had it done when he was crowned, and Fringar sent it down here after the War."

"It's very well made."

"Father always had expensive tastes."

"I... I wasn't there when he died. When all that business with the Madness happened. How was it?"

"Why do you ask?"

Rolnir let out a sigh, "Just curious, I guess."

"I mean, why now?"

"Everything's settled, hasn't it? Everybody had time to get over it, imagined it couldn't hurt to ask. 'Sides, I'm not exactly around all too much to ask."

"It was bad, for a time. We had just fought one of the Kaosbrons' larger armies, Hyretrs, and won. Father was proud of the accomplishment and decided to take Hyretr's Helmet as a trophy. Put it on once, and refused to remove it. It obviously had some sort of curse on it, to turn whoever wore it mad. I mean, in hindsight, it's obvious. The God of Madness wearing a Helmet that turns people mad? 

Who'd have thought it?

Anyway, he was relatively normal on the way back to Thegnhus. A bit eccentric, more boastful than usual, but most of it could be chalked up to the amount of ale and beer he had. It was only when we made it back to the Keep did it get really bad. Lashing out at staff, I think he even took a chunk out of a guard's arm. Me and Fringar tried to... put him out of his misery, but couldn't. So, we just lured him into one of the gatehouses and closed him in. 

Left him there for a while, only died when he tried to stop Einwyn from getting into Thegnhus."

Rolnir let out a breath, "Yeah, bad is an understatement."

"Funny you should ask about it, actually. Was talking to Seraphine about it last night."

"Really? Why?"

"Not important. Anyway, I'm getting hungry. Let's go."

When they finally reached the hall, they hardly made it through the threshold before the pair of goblins charged through, almost knocking Rolnir to the floor.

"Uncle! Father told us you brought us gifts?" Phobos said, hands full of Rolnir's Cloak.

Seraphine slowly walked behind the pair, picked them both up, and tucked them beneath each arm. "You haven't seen your Uncle since Spring. What do you say?"

"Hello, Uncle Rolnir," the boys say in unison.

"So what did you get us?" asks Deimos.

"Maybe it's wiser to do this out of the doorframe. Don't want Baeldrin to whip our knuckles for getting in the way of the staff," Svarthofnir said, ushering the children back into the Hall.

The bundles hit the table with a dull thud.

Rolnir untied them with calloused fingers, the boys practically vibrating with excitement. He unfolded the hide wrapping and revealed the kits in full.

Two ashwood quarterstaves—around 5ft in length, covered in sap to resist splintering. A pair of sand-weighted cloaks, stitched with Heimcypher runes, and finally two wooden battlemasks, each carved to resemble the snarling visage of a Ral'Bear—a Great Ursidae Beast with two jutting teeth akin to a sabertooth. 

"You actually got them..." muttered Deimos.

"They're heavy," Phobos said, already trying on the mask.

"They are yours. Try not to hurt each other." Rolnir finished, a soft grin curling on his face as the boys scrambled for the staves.

"Boys, you aren't to play with them until after you've eaten. Then you are to go into the Garden and play." Seraphine said, her tone firm.

"But we just got them!" complained Deimos.

"And you will still have them after breakfast. So sit."

The lads huffed slightly, then sat at the far side of the table.

Svarthofnir turned to Seraphine, "Love, is it alright if you sit with the kids? Me and Rolnir have some things to discuss."

"Of course," she turns to Rolnir, "Great to see you, Rolnir. Please holler to Baeldrin if you want anything to eat."

Rolnir nods in acknowledgment, and Seraphine goes to sit with the children. He turns back to Svarthofnir

"So, Blackgrasp. What do you know about it?"