Fafner's Early Childhood

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Fafner's Early Childhood

Postby Mothball Wabbithugger » Tue Mar 12, 2002 4:14 pm

Chapter One<br><br>Fafner’s mother, Morra, snow-witch, delivered her firstborn son one cold winter night, surrounded by the competent hands of several midwives and Elder Matriarchs, in a humble little tent in a town called Halas, and a sudden howl of wind shook the tent and rocked the night as Fafner gave his first cry. There was no father to pace nervously outside or swallow brew after brew in the McQuaid's Bar and Stout with his fellow barbarian warriors as he awaited the birth, for Fafner’s father had been killed, shortly after his conception, by a rampaging wooly mammoth. Indeed, Fafner’s father had never even known his firstborn was forthcoming, and Morra wondered, if he had known, might he have taken more care in his hunts and strayed less far from the safety of the warrior guards. But her grief was soothed as the infant was cleaned, wrapped in soft polar bear cloths, and held to her breast. Little Fafner’s cries faded, and he clutched her finger tightly. He was strong, like his father, she thought. A fine warrior he will be.<br><br>Fafner WAS strong. At three months he could pull himself out of his cradle, and so she placed him for sleep in a pile of mammoth hides on the floor. At six months, two months before normal barbarian babies, he could pull himself up to his mother’s knee by clinging to her skirts; and at nine months he could toddle wherever he chose. He was a whirlwind of activity; pulling the stewpot off the cookstove, teething on the wood for the fire, collecting snow and watching it melt on his mother’s bedclothes. The only time he remained still was to let his mother hold him, gazing into his cobalt eyes, holding her gaze, letting her drink him in. And this was the next sign she had that something was different about her child. For all barbarian children are born with deep cobalt blue eyes; yet by a month of mother’s milk a barbarian’s eyes change to brown, or green. Fafner was almost a year and still his eyes remained the cobalt of the newborn. She asked the Elder Matriarchs and they shrugged.<br><br>When Fafner was three, he joined the other boys for warrior training. His mother dressed him warmly in soft leather greaves and a jerkin, covered his head with a wolfhide cap – the polar bear head that all barbarian men wore would have to be earned, and he would do so during warrior training - and slipped mittens, woven late nights from spiderling silk, onto his hands. She kissed him fiercely and let him be led off for the day by the group of boys and their warrior mentor. She watched him travel down the path, the other boys laughing and teasing, nervous and trying their strength on each other, and Fafner, silent, following behind, his cobalt eyes on the trees and the birds and the wind.<br><br>At the warrior’s circle they gave to the young warriors their first swords: short, rusty blades of cheap metal with which they could to little damage to themselves, or each other. They gave them shields of wood and showed them how to hold them. Fafner inspected his sword and shield, in his solemn way, then dropped them both to the ground. The children laughed; the trainers suppressed a smile. His weapons were placed into his hands again and he shown to hold them, “Like so.” Again they fell; and this time the trainers look puzzled. “Do you not wish to fight with these?” they asked him, and Fafner shook his head. <br><br>“These you must start with, little warrior. You will receive better weapons when you have mastered these.”<br><br>“You do not understand,” replied Fafner. “I do not wish to fight, at all.”<br><br>Someone threw a snowball in the silence and it landed squarely on Fafner’s forehead, knocking off his cap. Tears stung his eyes, and he ran into the woods.<br><br>“It is a lack of a father,” the Warrior Elders told his mother, later that evening. “A boy needs both: A mother and a father. He has had a mother long enough. Let him come live with the older warriors, in the warrior tent. There he will quickly learn the ways of barbarian men.”<br><br>But that night, gazing into his eyes, she knew she could not let him go. <br><br>Thus Fafner grew up. Days he spent sitting on the sidelines, watching the other boys his age as they learned to handle their swords: first the short sword, then a long sword, and then, the strongest of them, huge swords that required two hands to be held, and that could be swung for enormous damage. While they learned he studied the trees and the snow squirrels, and the snow rabbits and the snow spiders. He watched how the tree could withstand the wind; and understood how the roots held it in place. He watched how the squirrel could move its body in such a nimble way that it sprung from branch to branch in the blink of an eye. He watched the rabbits, how they could make themselves disappear right in front of you eyes. But most of all, he watched the wolves.<br><br>The wolves were everything. Nights he spent seeking them, all alone; hoping to understand how they flew like birds across the snow, faster than any other animal. He held himself on all fours and tried to learn their speed. He watched silently, his cobalt eyes open and piercing, seeing more than just the wolves themselves, seeing also their spirit. At night he dreamed he was flying over the snow. His feet barely touched the ground and he ran with the wolves; fast, sleek... in the morning he awoke to his pile of hides on the floor, and dragged himself to his next warrior lesson. <br><br>The other boys long ceased to tease him, for he never responded. He sat outside their circle, looking far away into the distance. The warrior trainers had given up prompting him to hold a sword and only shook their heads when they thought of him. <br><br>One night as Fafner ran across the tundra, again chasing the wolves, and again losing them, falling far behind, in his frustration he flung out his hands and wrung his arms in a desperate attempt to grab their spirit and capture their speed. <br><br>His arm must have moved just so, or his mind focused just so; and suddenly, for one second, he was FLYING over the snow, his feet faster than wind; and he knew he had become a wolf, for that one second. Or somehow, someway, he had brought their spirit into himself for the smallest of moments.<br>        <br>He could not sleep that night. He finally arose early morning, and, kissing his mother goodbye, he ran back into the tundra, skipping his warrior lesson completely. He ran with the wolves all day and all night. He made tiny adjustments to his vision, his hands, and his thoughts as he ran, trying again and again; one small change at a time; and by the evening he was running WITH the wolves, no longer falling behind. He ran and ran. He found that he could run for part of an hour at a time before needing a rest and to make the spirit enter him again. He flew across the tundra. His face was bitten by the wind and the snow and he saw places he had never seen before and animals he had never seen before; and he was not afraid; for he knew the wolf was the fastest creature out there and he could outrun them all, even the fearsome wooly mammoth which had killed his father. He ran past the tundra guard Bandl McMarrin, who yelled at him to come back, but he paid no heed. He ran and ran.<br><br>When the moon was directly overhead he returned home. He kissed his mother, who stood in the doorway wringing her hands, and collapsed into bed, and could not be awakened until morning.<br><br>The end of Chapter One <p></p><i></i>
Mothball Wabbithugger
 

Re: Fafner's Early Childhood

Postby Flintrok » Tue Mar 12, 2002 4:27 pm

whoa !! nice Moth !!! keep it comin! <p><table border="0" width="350" cellspacing="0" cellpadding="0"><tr><td width="25"></td><td width="300" valign="top"><a title="View more detail on Flintrok Ironforge" href="http://www.magelo.com/eq_view_profile.html?num=36384" target="_blank"><b><font face="Times New Roman"><font size="4"><BR>General Flintrok Ironforge</font><font size="3"> </b></a><font face="Times New Roman"><BR>51 Dwarf Cavalier of Light<b></b><i><font size="4"><BR>Morell-Thule Server</font></i><b><font size="4"><BR>Mystical Lightfighters</font></b></font></td></tr></table> </p><i></i>
Flintrok
 

Re: Fafner's Early Childhood

Postby FafnerMorell » Tue Mar 12, 2002 6:16 pm

Very well written sweety, I'm truly impressed and honored! <p></p><i></i>
FafnerMorell
 

Re: Fafner's Early Childhood

Postby Grishkalur » Wed Mar 13, 2002 9:32 am

Good reading Moth, hope this will be a continuing saga...don't leave out any of the juicy parts.<br> <p>GrishkalurMystic of the Tribunal<BR>The Mystical Lightfighters<BR>"For Honor and Light"<BR>"Be not afraid of greatness. Some are born great, some achieve greatness, and some have greatness thrust upon 'em" William Shakespeare</p><i></i>
Grishkalur
 

Re: Fafner's Early Childhood

Postby Pyronious Flare » Mon Mar 25, 2002 7:46 pm

Well written<!--EZCODE EMOTICON START :) --><img src=http://www.ezboard.com/intl/aenglish/images/emoticons/smile.gif ALT=":)"><!--EZCODE EMOTICON END--> <br>Now to concoct some way of explaining Imzakhors existence...heheheh<br>Pyro <p></p><i></i>
Pyronious Flare
 

Re: Fafner's Early Childhood

Postby Imzakhor » Mon Mar 25, 2002 8:22 pm

Must... Not... Hijack...<br><br>(Nice story.) <p><html><body><table border=4 cellspacing=0 cellpadding=0 bgcolor=white><tr valign=bottom><td colspan=2 bgcolor=black align=center><font face='ms sans serif' size=2 color=red><b>Imzakhor the BattleChanter</b></font></td><tr><td valign=top bgcolor=black><a href="http://www.magelo.com/eq_view_profile.html?num=43032"><img src='http://www.spads.com/uploads/LizzyImzy.jpg' width=63 height=148 border=0></a><td valign=top><table cellspacing=0 cellpadding=1 background="http://www.spads.com/uploads/ImzyHalfface.jpg"><tr><td><font face='ms sans serif' size=1 color=white>WarriorMage of Norrath</font></td></tr><tr><td><font face='ms sans serif' size=1 color=white>Slayer of Tombstones</font></td></tr><tr><td><font face='ms sans serif' size=1 color=white>Fury from Felwithe</font></td></tr><tr><td><font face='ms sans serif' size=1 color=white>Elven Mindlord of Faydark</font></td></tr><tr><td><font face='ms sans serif' size=1 color=red>"I'm not an Iksar? PROVE IT!"</font></td></tr><tr><td height=12></td></tr><tr><td height=3></td></tr><tr><td><font face='times new roman' size=1 color=white><i>Risen of ashes of Shissar of old,<br>With tales of Silver, of Mithril, of Gold,<br>Of Trolls, of Ogres, of Evil untold,<br>Yet Imzakhor leaves all his enemies cold.</i></font></td></tr><tr><td height=3></td></tr><tr><td align=center><font face='ms sans serif' size=1 color=black><a href='http://www.mysticallightfighters.com' color=white>The Ubiquitous Lightfighter</a></font></td></tr></table></td></tr> <tr><td colspan=2 bgcolor=black align=center><font face='ms sans serif' size=1 color=red><b>"What's NOT to love?"</b></font></td></tr></table></html></p><i></i>
Imzakhor
 

Re: Fafner's Early Childhood

Postby Ravarg » Fri Apr 05, 2002 2:49 am

Very nice story Moth. Very well written. <p><div align="left"><a href="http://www.magelo.com/eq_view_profile.html?num=57064" target="blank">Ravarg Hunterhawk</a><br>General of War - Mystical Lightfighters<br>Proud Wanderer of Tunare<br><br><p><a href="http://www.magelo.com/eq_view_profile.html?num=148275 " target="blank">Jakery</a><br>Monk of the 38th Season<br></div></p><i></i>
Ravarg
 


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