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Introducing the Red and Green
Well, here's a story that popped into my head today about these two characters that've been brewing for awhile. I don't know why they chose this scene to be the first I write about them, but here they are.
I give you Hrothgar "Garth" the Red, and Illya Greenman.
Garth is a professional warrior that was betrayed by a compatriot and left for dead. Illya, a member of a traveling healer sect known as the Greenmen, found him and brought him to his camp to doctor him up. This scene takes place a while down the road, after Illya has left with Garth to see the world and find out for himself whether it's really the horrible place his people say it is.
This particular story is in media res, or it's already started for those not in the know. As I said, I don't know why they wanted me to pick it up here, but here it is nonetheless.
As always, point out any mistakes.
A multitude of many-colored candles cast their flickering light around the inside of the spacious tent set aside for the Northmen children’s Candlenight celebration. Earlier there had been fun and games. The corn dolly had been passed around the circle, each child frantic to get it out of their hands before the music stopped. The winner, a girl with three little ponytails, had been given a glazed corncob to eat.
Several children had cackled with delight when the oldest girl in attendence had stood and proclaimed her self the Snow Queen. Each child then tried to sneak up on her when she wasn’t looking, but if she turned her eyes their way they had to stop. Turned to ice, according to the rules of the game. This game’s winner, a little boy wearing his father’s furry hat, had “vanquished” the queen. Then using a stick to represent the queen’s magic hammer he had gone around smashing his fellows free of the ice.
He’d been scolded after hitting one of his friends a little too eagerly on the head.
During all these festivities, Illya and Garth had walked around the tent providing supervision—and hiding their laughter behind a hand.
After the games were finished each child had chosen a candle and made a wish for the coming year. It was tradition that if you kept your candle burning all through the night, and kept your wish a secret for the entire winter, then the wish would come true when the ice thawed. Illya thought it was a little dangerous to be lighting candles in a tent, but he was a guest among these people and had raised no objection. After all, they’d been doing it for years hadn’t burned themselves up yet.
That had been earlier, though, and now the children all sat crossed legged on the ground. Garth, much to Illya’s amazement, was telling them a story.
“Do you know the story of the Beautiful Hag?” Garth was saying, his ice-colored eyes solemnly surveying the children.
Just as seriously, the children shook their heads. This wasn’t true. They all did know the story, of course, but they wanted to hear it told anyway.
Mischief was plain on Garth’s face. “All right then.”
Shaking his ash blond hair out of his face, Illya leaned against a tent pole and watched with wonder in his chocolate eyes as the somber mien of his warrior friend melted away. Though his reddish hair was longer now than when Illya had met him those months ago, it was still cropped nearly military short. The beaten steel over top of his hard leather garments could never be mistaken for anything other than the armor it was. His whole bearing spoke clearly to his title of warrior.
But right then, none of that mattered. Everyone in the tent was captivated by the emotions playing out on Garth’s face.
The deep baritone of his voice was smoother than Illya had ever heard it when his friend spoke again. “It is said that, long ago, the Hag Goddess walked the earth with her silver hammer in hand. She forged the world as she went, beating up mountains to be her stepping stones.”
Garth made subtle hand motions to indicate these events, never enough to distract from the story, but just enough to enhance it.
“When she reached the Far North, though, she got a little carried away. One mountain she beat into existence was much too high for even her to stand on.” Garth grinned down at the children. “But being the inventive Goddess she was, she decided it wasn’t a total loss and made that mountain her worldly home. It was too big to stand on, but just right to live in.”
Illya was glad the Northmen tribe had provided him clothes to replace the ones he’d lost; he was already getting chills.
“Up in that highest mountain, which we men call the Mount of the Mother, she built a cave to dwell in. Filled it with the wonders of winter as only a Goddess can know them.” Holding up one finger, Garth looked around at each child’s face. “Now, they say that on the last day of fall, on Candlenight’s Day, she leaves her mystic home. The Goddess goes down into the forests and gathers wood for her fire for the coming winter.”
Despite himself, Illya was leaning forward in interest as much as the children.
“If the day before Candlenight is sunny and bright, then it means we’re in for a long snowy season, as the Goddess is taking a long time to gather her firewood.” Garth leaned into them, and every child hunched even closer. “But if Candlenight’s Day is foggy and gray winter will be short, for the Goddess has already gone inside.”
“It was cloudy today!” A child from the back peeped up excitedly.
Garth smiled. “Then hopefully the Goddess keeps her word.”
The parents began returning from their own celebration about this time, and gathering up their children to take them home to bed. Though, of course, all of them were Not Sleepy, despite their covert attempts to rub their eyes. Each child wanted to carry his or her own candle as well, but most parents ignored that declaration as well.
When the last child was gone, Illya and Garth began picking up the tent. The only candles left where incased in glass and hanging from the tent poles.
“I had no idea you were such a storyteller,” Illya said in his soft voice.
Normally Garth would have scowled at him, but today he cast him a slow, easy smile. “I have secrets left yet, Illya Greenman.”
Illya hid a grin. “Clearly.”
The tent flap moved, and both friends turned toward it.
“Ah, there you are.” Rikar, Chief of this Northmen tribe stood before them.
He was a big man, more solid even than Garth, but he was taller as well so it evened out. Rikar was also the northern epitome of masculine beauty. Besides his size, his nose was long and straight, his brow high, his dark hair swept back and decorated with the bones of his hunting conquests. It was, Illya had to admit, a pretty effective picture.
“Hello, Rikar,” Illya said. “How’s your friend?”
“Better now that you’ve tended to him.” The Chief cast him a smile. “Are you sure you won’t stay? We could use a healer of your talents.”
“We head out at first light,” Garth said, his voice carefully blank.
Casting his friend an annoyed glance, Illya turned back to the Chief. “We do have to leave early. We have ground to cover.”
Rikar sighed. “Very well then. I’ll have my servants bring you bedding and blankets to set up in here.”
He smiled again, and there was a teasing hint in his voice. “Unless you’d like to stay another night with me? I won’t destroy your clothing this time.”
Illya fought a blush as Garth’s face turned dark. “Thank you, but I’ve…taken advantage of your hospitality enough as it is.”
“As you like.” As the chief left he wasn’t entirely able to hide the grin on his face.
The moment his footsteps could no longer be heard, Garth muttered “I don’t like him.”
Illya shook his head. “I told you, he’s just trying to rile you up. Your little spat with him this morning was all a misunderstanding.”
“A misunderstanding involving you naked and wrapped in his blankets.” It was evident by his voice Garth wasn’t convinced.
“My clothes were wet, Garth, and I was unconscious,” Illya said. “What was he supposed to do? And he gave me the best furs in camp to keep warm, which just happen to be his. It was very generous.”
Rikar’s servants came then, and Garth went to take the furs from them. After they left he continued. “Still, I don’t like the implications. And he shouldn’t be talking about it like that in public. What if someone had heard?”
Very slowly, Illya released a breath. “Garth, we talked about this.”
His friend scowled. “I know, I know. I’m too protective. Excuse me if I don’t want to turn a healer who happens to be my best friend loose among a tribe of Northmen. We don’t need him to ruin your reputation on top of it.”
“Garth, I’m a wandering vagabond healer.” Illya’s voice was wry. “I don’t exactly have a reputation. Besides, there was no one to hear but you and I. And I think Northmen view these things, ah, differently.”
“Yes,” Garth said in a striking parody of Illya’s soft, easy voice. “Clearly.”
“Get your own catchphrase.” Illya kicked off his boots and hurriedly jumped beneath the covers, not even bothering to take off his cloak. “I think the real reason you don’t like him is that he’s taller than you.”
“Only a few inches.”
“A head, more like.”
“Well, you would know.”
“Garth—”
“Illya, the next time we fight don’t fall in a freezing river, okay?”
This was as close as Garth would come, Illya knew, to putting his worry into words. The friends lay in silence for a few seconds, the twinkling candlelight soothing away their tensions.
“So, tell me more about this Beautiful Hag,” Illya said. “I haven’t heard that story before, but then with the jumble of religious traditions my people follow that’s hardly surprising. Where’d you learn it?”
“My mother,” his friend said softly.
“It’s a beautiful story,” Illya said. “Does she have a name or do you just call her Goddess?”
Garth rolled onto his side toward Illya. “Around here we call her Kallex, but I know further south they call her Byra.”
“Byra?” Illya said, shifting toward Garth. “I know that one. My people call her the Queen of Winter, and as she travels around the world winter follows after. When snow begins to fall, they say it’s because the Goddess just walked by.”
Garth smiled. “I kind of like that.”
“It’s a nice story.”
“Why do your people know it, though?” Garth asked. “That tradition’s farther south than the Greenmen go, isn’t it?”
Laughing, Illya shrugged with one shoulder. “Why do my people do anything that they do?”
Illya’s smile fell away at that thought.
“Hey, don’t worry. She’ll be glad to see you.”
“Garth, how can you possibly know that?”
“She’s your mother,” he said gently.
“Goodnight, Hrothgar.”
“Goodnight, Illya.”
I give you Hrothgar "Garth" the Red, and Illya Greenman.
Garth is a professional warrior that was betrayed by a compatriot and left for dead. Illya, a member of a traveling healer sect known as the Greenmen, found him and brought him to his camp to doctor him up. This scene takes place a while down the road, after Illya has left with Garth to see the world and find out for himself whether it's really the horrible place his people say it is.
This particular story is in media res, or it's already started for those not in the know. As I said, I don't know why they wanted me to pick it up here, but here it is nonetheless.
As always, point out any mistakes.
A multitude of many-colored candles cast their flickering light around the inside of the spacious tent set aside for the Northmen children’s Candlenight celebration. Earlier there had been fun and games. The corn dolly had been passed around the circle, each child frantic to get it out of their hands before the music stopped. The winner, a girl with three little ponytails, had been given a glazed corncob to eat.
Several children had cackled with delight when the oldest girl in attendence had stood and proclaimed her self the Snow Queen. Each child then tried to sneak up on her when she wasn’t looking, but if she turned her eyes their way they had to stop. Turned to ice, according to the rules of the game. This game’s winner, a little boy wearing his father’s furry hat, had “vanquished” the queen. Then using a stick to represent the queen’s magic hammer he had gone around smashing his fellows free of the ice.
He’d been scolded after hitting one of his friends a little too eagerly on the head.
During all these festivities, Illya and Garth had walked around the tent providing supervision—and hiding their laughter behind a hand.
After the games were finished each child had chosen a candle and made a wish for the coming year. It was tradition that if you kept your candle burning all through the night, and kept your wish a secret for the entire winter, then the wish would come true when the ice thawed. Illya thought it was a little dangerous to be lighting candles in a tent, but he was a guest among these people and had raised no objection. After all, they’d been doing it for years hadn’t burned themselves up yet.
That had been earlier, though, and now the children all sat crossed legged on the ground. Garth, much to Illya’s amazement, was telling them a story.
“Do you know the story of the Beautiful Hag?” Garth was saying, his ice-colored eyes solemnly surveying the children.
Just as seriously, the children shook their heads. This wasn’t true. They all did know the story, of course, but they wanted to hear it told anyway.
Mischief was plain on Garth’s face. “All right then.”
Shaking his ash blond hair out of his face, Illya leaned against a tent pole and watched with wonder in his chocolate eyes as the somber mien of his warrior friend melted away. Though his reddish hair was longer now than when Illya had met him those months ago, it was still cropped nearly military short. The beaten steel over top of his hard leather garments could never be mistaken for anything other than the armor it was. His whole bearing spoke clearly to his title of warrior.
But right then, none of that mattered. Everyone in the tent was captivated by the emotions playing out on Garth’s face.
The deep baritone of his voice was smoother than Illya had ever heard it when his friend spoke again. “It is said that, long ago, the Hag Goddess walked the earth with her silver hammer in hand. She forged the world as she went, beating up mountains to be her stepping stones.”
Garth made subtle hand motions to indicate these events, never enough to distract from the story, but just enough to enhance it.
“When she reached the Far North, though, she got a little carried away. One mountain she beat into existence was much too high for even her to stand on.” Garth grinned down at the children. “But being the inventive Goddess she was, she decided it wasn’t a total loss and made that mountain her worldly home. It was too big to stand on, but just right to live in.”
Illya was glad the Northmen tribe had provided him clothes to replace the ones he’d lost; he was already getting chills.
“Up in that highest mountain, which we men call the Mount of the Mother, she built a cave to dwell in. Filled it with the wonders of winter as only a Goddess can know them.” Holding up one finger, Garth looked around at each child’s face. “Now, they say that on the last day of fall, on Candlenight’s Day, she leaves her mystic home. The Goddess goes down into the forests and gathers wood for her fire for the coming winter.”
Despite himself, Illya was leaning forward in interest as much as the children.
“If the day before Candlenight is sunny and bright, then it means we’re in for a long snowy season, as the Goddess is taking a long time to gather her firewood.” Garth leaned into them, and every child hunched even closer. “But if Candlenight’s Day is foggy and gray winter will be short, for the Goddess has already gone inside.”
“It was cloudy today!” A child from the back peeped up excitedly.
Garth smiled. “Then hopefully the Goddess keeps her word.”
The parents began returning from their own celebration about this time, and gathering up their children to take them home to bed. Though, of course, all of them were Not Sleepy, despite their covert attempts to rub their eyes. Each child wanted to carry his or her own candle as well, but most parents ignored that declaration as well.
When the last child was gone, Illya and Garth began picking up the tent. The only candles left where incased in glass and hanging from the tent poles.
“I had no idea you were such a storyteller,” Illya said in his soft voice.
Normally Garth would have scowled at him, but today he cast him a slow, easy smile. “I have secrets left yet, Illya Greenman.”
Illya hid a grin. “Clearly.”
The tent flap moved, and both friends turned toward it.
“Ah, there you are.” Rikar, Chief of this Northmen tribe stood before them.
He was a big man, more solid even than Garth, but he was taller as well so it evened out. Rikar was also the northern epitome of masculine beauty. Besides his size, his nose was long and straight, his brow high, his dark hair swept back and decorated with the bones of his hunting conquests. It was, Illya had to admit, a pretty effective picture.
“Hello, Rikar,” Illya said. “How’s your friend?”
“Better now that you’ve tended to him.” The Chief cast him a smile. “Are you sure you won’t stay? We could use a healer of your talents.”
“We head out at first light,” Garth said, his voice carefully blank.
Casting his friend an annoyed glance, Illya turned back to the Chief. “We do have to leave early. We have ground to cover.”
Rikar sighed. “Very well then. I’ll have my servants bring you bedding and blankets to set up in here.”
He smiled again, and there was a teasing hint in his voice. “Unless you’d like to stay another night with me? I won’t destroy your clothing this time.”
Illya fought a blush as Garth’s face turned dark. “Thank you, but I’ve…taken advantage of your hospitality enough as it is.”
“As you like.” As the chief left he wasn’t entirely able to hide the grin on his face.
The moment his footsteps could no longer be heard, Garth muttered “I don’t like him.”
Illya shook his head. “I told you, he’s just trying to rile you up. Your little spat with him this morning was all a misunderstanding.”
“A misunderstanding involving you naked and wrapped in his blankets.” It was evident by his voice Garth wasn’t convinced.
“My clothes were wet, Garth, and I was unconscious,” Illya said. “What was he supposed to do? And he gave me the best furs in camp to keep warm, which just happen to be his. It was very generous.”
Rikar’s servants came then, and Garth went to take the furs from them. After they left he continued. “Still, I don’t like the implications. And he shouldn’t be talking about it like that in public. What if someone had heard?”
Very slowly, Illya released a breath. “Garth, we talked about this.”
His friend scowled. “I know, I know. I’m too protective. Excuse me if I don’t want to turn a healer who happens to be my best friend loose among a tribe of Northmen. We don’t need him to ruin your reputation on top of it.”
“Garth, I’m a wandering vagabond healer.” Illya’s voice was wry. “I don’t exactly have a reputation. Besides, there was no one to hear but you and I. And I think Northmen view these things, ah, differently.”
“Yes,” Garth said in a striking parody of Illya’s soft, easy voice. “Clearly.”
“Get your own catchphrase.” Illya kicked off his boots and hurriedly jumped beneath the covers, not even bothering to take off his cloak. “I think the real reason you don’t like him is that he’s taller than you.”
“Only a few inches.”
“A head, more like.”
“Well, you would know.”
“Garth—”
“Illya, the next time we fight don’t fall in a freezing river, okay?”
This was as close as Garth would come, Illya knew, to putting his worry into words. The friends lay in silence for a few seconds, the twinkling candlelight soothing away their tensions.
“So, tell me more about this Beautiful Hag,” Illya said. “I haven’t heard that story before, but then with the jumble of religious traditions my people follow that’s hardly surprising. Where’d you learn it?”
“My mother,” his friend said softly.
“It’s a beautiful story,” Illya said. “Does she have a name or do you just call her Goddess?”
Garth rolled onto his side toward Illya. “Around here we call her Kallex, but I know further south they call her Byra.”
“Byra?” Illya said, shifting toward Garth. “I know that one. My people call her the Queen of Winter, and as she travels around the world winter follows after. When snow begins to fall, they say it’s because the Goddess just walked by.”
Garth smiled. “I kind of like that.”
“It’s a nice story.”
“Why do your people know it, though?” Garth asked. “That tradition’s farther south than the Greenmen go, isn’t it?”
Laughing, Illya shrugged with one shoulder. “Why do my people do anything that they do?”
Illya’s smile fell away at that thought.
“Hey, don’t worry. She’ll be glad to see you.”
“Garth, how can you possibly know that?”
“She’s your mother,” he said gently.
“Goodnight, Hrothgar.”
“Goodnight, Illya.”
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""...for even she to stand on."" for even her to stand on?
I don't know...neither seems to sound right...I think I'm too tired to attempt editing anything lol.
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I have now asked my sage aunt, and she says it should be her. *goes to edit*
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*shrugs* I don't know why my characters have to be so damned difficult, lol. I haven't even named the damn countries for this world yet, but they were clamoring inside my head today so here they are.
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