Member
Dion
cider
erikhStatus
Recent Statuses
5 yrs ago
Current
I haven't updated this in over 7 years.
1
like
11 yrs ago
I'm so happy, found two orphan newborn kittens and was able to put them in with a nursing momma cat and she adopted them right away!
4
likes
11 yrs ago
Ladies, come help me defeat the men in the count down game in Spam. They're just asking for it.
11 yrs ago
Free used couch. Only has three legs and missing one cushion, stains minimal. Please pick up from the curb.
Bio
+18 only, I check IDs
Most Recent Posts
You like it like that. Don't play coy.
Oh you.
Or, you know, keep the arguing and debating srs bizness to other forums and just loosen up and relax here. One thing I've learned in my time in Spam is that people really have to get to know you before giving you the benefit of the doubt that you're not being serious and for you, it's an uphill battle because of your reputation. I'm not telling you how or what to do, but just offering a bit of advice. Chill out, stay away from topics that make you want to argue. I'm not saying shit post or anything but just talk about regular shit and keep OT type stuff out of Spam.
Magic Magnum said
True.I guess it's not something I think about much cause the majority of RP's I'm in take place in some kind of fantasy land.So if people are going to a gritty/cruel medieval world they just make it that, not much need to focus on the specific year or location.
Of course, a fantasy world is easier to make up whatever you want, but people and cultures are complex and sometimes contradictory. I did an RP once set in the height of the Black Plague in Germany. It was pretty damn gritty and awful. Society breaks down and people prey on the weak, superstitions run wild and lead to mass murders. This was probably the closest to anarchy that occurred in the Middle Ages.
While life was certainly rough up until modern era and there was a reason for the gender roles seen as 'traditional' but like everything human, it is complex and not always what it appears. Certainly the Vikings raiding the coast of England and Ireland are a good example of barbaric hordes. They looted and burned, they took slaves and raped women. But on the home front a woman in pagan Viking society had a significant among of control over herself. Divorce was common and though it tended to favor men when it came to adultery, a woman could divorce her husband if they just did not get along. If he was caught hitting her in public, he would face a fine or even a challenge from the men of her family. So it was illegal for a man to abuse his wife and yet it was seen as perfectly fine for the same man to go rape an Irish woman during a raid or even kill his own slaves without a blink of an eye from the legal system.
Anyway, that's enough from me about that. I could dig up examples all night.
Magic Magnum said
I will admit my Medieval knowledge isn't that great.But it was a time where human rights were almost enough, and misogyny was rampant.Very easy setting to have a "Woman are oppressed" setting if you ever wanted that to be the theme of the RP for some odd reason... :/But also very easy setting to create really dickish villains who wouldn't realistically be in jail or suffer a death penalty.
I happen to be a bit of a history buff and historical RP is a favorite of mine so I feel I have to stay something about it. There is a very good reason to have a dickish villian that can be a rapist and get away with it. He could own slaves, he could be a lord of the lands and frighten his subjects into not defending their women. Depending on the place and time period of course. For example, in Scotland starting in about 5 or 6th century AD, there was laws against the beating and rape of women. A man could be punished harshly by the justice system at the time.
If you chose a time like the Dark Ages, after the fall of Rome in Britannia or during the 12-13th century Europe where it was constant warring between warlords, it would be hard to enforce any laws. Just like modern times, it depends on the society. If you go to the Sudan or Afghanistan, women are treated like property, even in 2014.
Magic Magnum said
Yes, but this is the same time era where the pillage of towns and the rape of woman were fully acceptable act's culturally.It's not hard to imagine a man may act entitled to a woman's body.
There's a difference though. While the rape and pillage of a conquered village was acceptable, going up to another man's wife or daughter and raping her was not. A double standard to be sure. It was more to do with war and putting a populace under heel than sex. But, of course, it doesn't change that some people think of other people as property in particular in a time like the Middle Ages when human rights was basically unheard of.
Magic Magnum said
Depends on the definition of feminism.-If you mean third-wave, as in the belief/idea that women are always discriminated against, men suck *yadda yadda probably the shit you said you didn't want to debate about*.I simply don't mention it. I have enough anger/frustration dealing with such people in the real world, I don't want such things also infecting the Fantasy escape I have.-If you mean the goal of Gender Equality (Basically 1st wave feminism), I normally don't address it. In most worlds/RP's I'm in men and women are already seen as equals, no judgements made so it just doesn't become an issue. So no woman character of mine ever goes around acting like they need to 'prove' anything against men. Men are people, women are people, we're all people.The only time the topic of feminism may come up is if say I'm writing a Villain and to get across he's a villain I may give him a trait such as "Claims young women as his own property to 'play' with as he wills". Usually it's not a sex specific trait, but some characteristic seen as cruel/evil to help get across that this is an evil dude.That or it's to fit the setting, such as say a Medieval land. Women are still expected to stay in the house, provide for their husbands, if they resist sexual advances they're called a prude etc.Mainly as a literary device to get across that this is not a nice world.
In the Middle Ages they were expected to resist sexual advances by anyone other than their husbands. I don't think being called a prude was something to worry about but the opposite. If they were open about their sexuality they could end up being labeled a loose woman all the way up to being forced into a priory or even called a witch.
Loker smiled down at her, the years lifting for a moment as he did, “I will be heading to the Hall soon, though I have to make a detour first. And yes, if you have a remedy to rid a chest of the smoke, I would be a fool to refuse it.”
His brow furrowed for a moment as he cast a look down the village, toward the far left of the Hall. His son and his in laws were holed up in their home and he hoped they had stayed there. He needed to check on them, the urge to make sure his child was safe was strong and he could not wait any longer. He put a hand on Hallerna’s arm and met her eyes.
“I have to go...” Loker looked back up as his men spoke with the wounded and cajoled or threatened them to go up to the Hall. “But I am also needed there. Hallerna I must ask you to do me a great favor.”
He bit his lower lip, his auburn beard bristling out for a moment, “I have a son, he is about a few years older than Eyja. He stays with his grandparents, my late wife’s parents. I cannot have him in the Hall...for reasons. I am concerned for their safety with the outbreak of draugr. Tell Ragnar I will be there as soon as I can, I must check in on them.”
Tora rested against the building, leaning on it to stay still, every movement was fire on her back and between her legs. The little girl stood close to her and stared up at her injured face with unabashed curiosity. The slave smiled through split lips though it pained her, Una looked down at the kitten, petting his soft fur. If she had not been so trapped by her own pain she would have gladly shared the wonderful little creature with the woman with the sad eyes and ugly bruises.
Faolan perked up, catching the conversation between them and his eyes rested on the little girl with the tabby kitten. She was a small, dark haired thing and the woman Hallerna had called her Una. That was a Gaelic name for sure and perhaps the little one was Irish. A slave? Or the daughter of a freedman? He moved closer while the two spoke and hunkered down, his hands resting on his knees.
“Sin piscín deas agat, cad é a ainm?” Faolan asked after the kitten’s name in Irish, his usual flat hard tone softening with the lyrical language and the fact he was speaking to a little girl, perhaps of his own kin.
The girl stared at him with huge eyes, squeezing Tore the kitten tighter. Tears welled up and she sputtered in Norse, turning away to hide against Hallerna’s skirts. Faolan’s jaw dropped open slightly and he looked sheepishly away. So she did not speak Irish, maybe the Northmen used that name as well. He stood up and sighed through his nose, both glad she was not another Irish slave and regretful at the same time. Faolan’s face slipped back into the stoic slave’s mask and he waited for an order from Loker in place of Ragnar who had gone up to the Hall, leaving his slave to aid the housekarl.
Hallerna’s listened intently, all her attentions for Loker the instant he held both her arms in urgent hands. The obvious anxiety in those dark blue eyes, the gravity in his voice when he asked his favor were undeniable. Not that she should have known such a thing of course, but hearing the housekarl had a son, a boy of his own only a few years older than her Eyja - yet one who did not live with him at the Hall? Seeing for herself the great man’s heart for children with her own eyes, this knowledge was truly a shock.
Yet for all her understanding of Loker’s desire to see to his kin, he was still the Jarl’s housekarl, and Hallerna wondered that he should leave his men now, even to see to his son and his late wife’s family. Hallerna’s mind raced for a moment before she resignedly settled herself to what seemed best, even if she must put off reuniting with her daughters just a while longer. That was all it would be of course, just a while longer, because Hallerna simply could not allow herself even a moment’s doubt, that Svala and Eyja were fine, safe and whole and simply waiting for their Madir to arrive in their new home at the Hall.
“No Loker, you tell Ragnar yourself. That is where you belong. I will go see that your son and family What is your his name, and that of your in-laws’? And where will I find - “
”What are you saying!? Hallerna? What… What is he… !?” Hallerna’s head snapped toward the sound of Una’s panicked voice, feeling the press against her leg where the little girl sat perched on her bag. One small fist was wrapped desperately in her skirts as wide, dark eyes watched the thrall rise to his feet.
“Shhh… Hush sweet girl… “ Hallerna lay one hand against Loker’s chest, a wordless plea for a moment of time. She turned to from his hold to wrap one arm about Una’s shoulders, steady reassurance for the hurting, frightened child still clutching the enormous kitten that continued to peacefully doze in her arms, perfectly contented.
Hallerna looked to the thrall beside Una, knowing him for Ragnar and Sigrid’s own. Not for a moment did she imagine he intended to scare the girl - she had watched him with the Ragnarsson children, and could see no cruelty in him. “His name is Faolan, Una,” she said gently, nodding to the thrall with a gentle smile. “He is not a Dane, but speaks the language of the land from which he came.” Hallerna truly did not know Faolan’s homeland, but there was one thing about the thrall of which she was sure. “He will not hurt you Una. I promise… There now… “
She rubbed the little girl’s back lightly for a moment before her gaze returned to Loker expectantly, one hand still lying lightly on his chest. “I’m sorry Loker. As I asked, your son and family? Where may I find them?”
Faolan gave the girl a faltering smile as if his face was unused to using those muscles and Tora reached out for his arm, her hand gripping his tunic sleeve. He turned to look at her, a wave of renewed anger at the monsters that abused her. He put his hand over hers and murmured.
“Una’s an Irish name, I thought...”
“It is a Norse name as well,” she replied, her grey eyes full of sympathy for the homesick slave. Even after all his years his heart beat for Ireland.
Faolan nodded and pressed his lips together, half listening to the Danes speaking to each other. “I’ll take you home, cailín. Unless you wish to go to the hall.”
Tora leaned against him, wincing as she stepped, “I want to go back to the longhouse. I think the mistress will understand.”
He took her arm and put it over his shoulders, hefting her up into his arms. While he was not as big or strong as the Gaelic monk or Saxon priest, he could manage her slight weight. He felt a shiver of recognition, a remembrance of another slender woman who fit so snugly in his arms. The Irishman swallowed hard and blinked, forcing his emotion back down. At least Tora was a warm living burden, one that would be healed and made whole again. Not like his Bright One whose life was dimmed far too soon and whom he carried to give her a Christian burial rather than let the heathens leave her body in the rubbish heap for the stray dogs to gnaw at. Tora was fair and gentle, much like Niamh but she was not her and he could not pretend she was. She was his friend though, and she needed all his strength to help her through the nightmare that their lives had become.
Faolan went to Loker, his head slightly downcast in respect, “Sir, I’m taking her to the Ragnarsson’s place, where she can rest.”
Loker glanced away from Hallerna and nodded to Ragnar’s slaves, “Do that, I’ll let him know where you are, lad.”
When the thralls departed, his attention went back to Hallerna, “My son is called Bardr and he stays with my late wife’s parents, in a long house to the west of the Hall, close to the back. I must check in on them.”
Loker paused and set his hand again on her arm. She deserved to know before being surprised by the boy who most people felt uncomfortable around. He blushed with embarrassment under his beard, a redness rising in his cheeks, “Bardr...he is my flesh and blood but he is not a son I should be proud to call mine, if you catch my meaning? He is...touched in the head some would say.”
Hallerna’s eyes narrowed for a moment as she regarded Loker for several long moments, undaunted by either the man’s height or size, and unmoved by the redness rising in his cheeks. She let his words roll through her thoughts for a few moments, compared them to what he intended to see done.
Action always spoke louder than words - it was an old cliche, but true nonetheless. Of course there was good reason the boy was not taken to live with Loker at the Hall, but in these past hectic moments, Hallerna had not had time to dwell on the man’s reasons. ‘Touched in the head… ‘ Some would consider this a curse of the gods, Hallerna knew very well, and shun the boy as they might a man who lost an arm or a leg. This was simply the way of things, and there was no help for it among the Danes - and particularly for a housekarl residing in his Jarl’s Hall.
But Hallerna heard what Loker said and, just as easily, what he left unsaid, and nodded her head slowly. A slight shrug of her shoulders was all the estimation she could be bothered to give, for the thoughts of superstitious men who believed the gods resided in every last happenstance and misfortune, as if they’d not enough to keep them occupied simply by the running of the world.
“You should not be proud of Bardr, you say - and yet you are, and I think you the greater man for that. Why, there are probably not a few now who would say you ought not talk so closely with a madwoman, daft and utterly without the sense Frig should have seen fit to give her - and yet here you stay.” Hallerna smiled gently, and began to laugh. It felt surprisingly good, lightening the tightness in her chest no matter how out of place it might seem in the midst of smoke and death, and she did not stop herself.
But she did take a breath at last, still smiling. “I am glad you are not a man overly concerned with appearances then - or at least not so much, that you let expectations rule you. So no more of this, I will go find your Bardr - to the west of the Hall, toward the back, yes? And return to the Hall with news soon enough.”
Loker rubbed his beard, the rings jangling softly and shrugged, “He’s my boy, what the gods decided to do with him I could not change. His mother...she was looking forward to having a child. When she died...they told me the boy might not live. He was born blue, the cord around his neck and the gods had not given him breath. I was supposed to take him and and set him in the snow.”
He gazed at her, the falling flakes catching in her tousled blonde hair, “I set him down...and the lad started to cry. His color came back and I thought perhaps Odin gave me a gift.”
Loker chuckled bitterly, “And like so many of the gifts of the Wise One, it was double edged.”
His hand slipped down her arm and he held her hand briefly, feeling the warm slender strength in her nimble fingers and he looked her in the eyes. “I wouldn’t let you go alone, you’ve got this little one to look after. I’ll go but if you wish to come with me. I would appreciate it, it would put my mind at ease to not worry that you had come across trouble on your way to the Hall.”
Loker’s eyes fell on her axe snugged against her waist and gave her a brief grin, “Not that you could not handle it.”
His brow furrowed for a moment as he cast a look down the village, toward the far left of the Hall. His son and his in laws were holed up in their home and he hoped they had stayed there. He needed to check on them, the urge to make sure his child was safe was strong and he could not wait any longer. He put a hand on Hallerna’s arm and met her eyes.
“I have to go...” Loker looked back up as his men spoke with the wounded and cajoled or threatened them to go up to the Hall. “But I am also needed there. Hallerna I must ask you to do me a great favor.”
He bit his lower lip, his auburn beard bristling out for a moment, “I have a son, he is about a few years older than Eyja. He stays with his grandparents, my late wife’s parents. I cannot have him in the Hall...for reasons. I am concerned for their safety with the outbreak of draugr. Tell Ragnar I will be there as soon as I can, I must check in on them.”
Tora rested against the building, leaning on it to stay still, every movement was fire on her back and between her legs. The little girl stood close to her and stared up at her injured face with unabashed curiosity. The slave smiled through split lips though it pained her, Una looked down at the kitten, petting his soft fur. If she had not been so trapped by her own pain she would have gladly shared the wonderful little creature with the woman with the sad eyes and ugly bruises.
Faolan perked up, catching the conversation between them and his eyes rested on the little girl with the tabby kitten. She was a small, dark haired thing and the woman Hallerna had called her Una. That was a Gaelic name for sure and perhaps the little one was Irish. A slave? Or the daughter of a freedman? He moved closer while the two spoke and hunkered down, his hands resting on his knees.
“Sin piscín deas agat, cad é a ainm?” Faolan asked after the kitten’s name in Irish, his usual flat hard tone softening with the lyrical language and the fact he was speaking to a little girl, perhaps of his own kin.
The girl stared at him with huge eyes, squeezing Tore the kitten tighter. Tears welled up and she sputtered in Norse, turning away to hide against Hallerna’s skirts. Faolan’s jaw dropped open slightly and he looked sheepishly away. So she did not speak Irish, maybe the Northmen used that name as well. He stood up and sighed through his nose, both glad she was not another Irish slave and regretful at the same time. Faolan’s face slipped back into the stoic slave’s mask and he waited for an order from Loker in place of Ragnar who had gone up to the Hall, leaving his slave to aid the housekarl.
Hallerna’s listened intently, all her attentions for Loker the instant he held both her arms in urgent hands. The obvious anxiety in those dark blue eyes, the gravity in his voice when he asked his favor were undeniable. Not that she should have known such a thing of course, but hearing the housekarl had a son, a boy of his own only a few years older than her Eyja - yet one who did not live with him at the Hall? Seeing for herself the great man’s heart for children with her own eyes, this knowledge was truly a shock.
Yet for all her understanding of Loker’s desire to see to his kin, he was still the Jarl’s housekarl, and Hallerna wondered that he should leave his men now, even to see to his son and his late wife’s family. Hallerna’s mind raced for a moment before she resignedly settled herself to what seemed best, even if she must put off reuniting with her daughters just a while longer. That was all it would be of course, just a while longer, because Hallerna simply could not allow herself even a moment’s doubt, that Svala and Eyja were fine, safe and whole and simply waiting for their Madir to arrive in their new home at the Hall.
“No Loker, you tell Ragnar yourself. That is where you belong. I will go see that your son and family What is your his name, and that of your in-laws’? And where will I find - “
”What are you saying!? Hallerna? What… What is he… !?” Hallerna’s head snapped toward the sound of Una’s panicked voice, feeling the press against her leg where the little girl sat perched on her bag. One small fist was wrapped desperately in her skirts as wide, dark eyes watched the thrall rise to his feet.
“Shhh… Hush sweet girl… “ Hallerna lay one hand against Loker’s chest, a wordless plea for a moment of time. She turned to from his hold to wrap one arm about Una’s shoulders, steady reassurance for the hurting, frightened child still clutching the enormous kitten that continued to peacefully doze in her arms, perfectly contented.
Hallerna looked to the thrall beside Una, knowing him for Ragnar and Sigrid’s own. Not for a moment did she imagine he intended to scare the girl - she had watched him with the Ragnarsson children, and could see no cruelty in him. “His name is Faolan, Una,” she said gently, nodding to the thrall with a gentle smile. “He is not a Dane, but speaks the language of the land from which he came.” Hallerna truly did not know Faolan’s homeland, but there was one thing about the thrall of which she was sure. “He will not hurt you Una. I promise… There now… “
She rubbed the little girl’s back lightly for a moment before her gaze returned to Loker expectantly, one hand still lying lightly on his chest. “I’m sorry Loker. As I asked, your son and family? Where may I find them?”
Faolan gave the girl a faltering smile as if his face was unused to using those muscles and Tora reached out for his arm, her hand gripping his tunic sleeve. He turned to look at her, a wave of renewed anger at the monsters that abused her. He put his hand over hers and murmured.
“Una’s an Irish name, I thought...”
“It is a Norse name as well,” she replied, her grey eyes full of sympathy for the homesick slave. Even after all his years his heart beat for Ireland.
Faolan nodded and pressed his lips together, half listening to the Danes speaking to each other. “I’ll take you home, cailín. Unless you wish to go to the hall.”
Tora leaned against him, wincing as she stepped, “I want to go back to the longhouse. I think the mistress will understand.”
He took her arm and put it over his shoulders, hefting her up into his arms. While he was not as big or strong as the Gaelic monk or Saxon priest, he could manage her slight weight. He felt a shiver of recognition, a remembrance of another slender woman who fit so snugly in his arms. The Irishman swallowed hard and blinked, forcing his emotion back down. At least Tora was a warm living burden, one that would be healed and made whole again. Not like his Bright One whose life was dimmed far too soon and whom he carried to give her a Christian burial rather than let the heathens leave her body in the rubbish heap for the stray dogs to gnaw at. Tora was fair and gentle, much like Niamh but she was not her and he could not pretend she was. She was his friend though, and she needed all his strength to help her through the nightmare that their lives had become.
Faolan went to Loker, his head slightly downcast in respect, “Sir, I’m taking her to the Ragnarsson’s place, where she can rest.”
Loker glanced away from Hallerna and nodded to Ragnar’s slaves, “Do that, I’ll let him know where you are, lad.”
When the thralls departed, his attention went back to Hallerna, “My son is called Bardr and he stays with my late wife’s parents, in a long house to the west of the Hall, close to the back. I must check in on them.”
Loker paused and set his hand again on her arm. She deserved to know before being surprised by the boy who most people felt uncomfortable around. He blushed with embarrassment under his beard, a redness rising in his cheeks, “Bardr...he is my flesh and blood but he is not a son I should be proud to call mine, if you catch my meaning? He is...touched in the head some would say.”
Hallerna’s eyes narrowed for a moment as she regarded Loker for several long moments, undaunted by either the man’s height or size, and unmoved by the redness rising in his cheeks. She let his words roll through her thoughts for a few moments, compared them to what he intended to see done.
Action always spoke louder than words - it was an old cliche, but true nonetheless. Of course there was good reason the boy was not taken to live with Loker at the Hall, but in these past hectic moments, Hallerna had not had time to dwell on the man’s reasons. ‘Touched in the head… ‘ Some would consider this a curse of the gods, Hallerna knew very well, and shun the boy as they might a man who lost an arm or a leg. This was simply the way of things, and there was no help for it among the Danes - and particularly for a housekarl residing in his Jarl’s Hall.
But Hallerna heard what Loker said and, just as easily, what he left unsaid, and nodded her head slowly. A slight shrug of her shoulders was all the estimation she could be bothered to give, for the thoughts of superstitious men who believed the gods resided in every last happenstance and misfortune, as if they’d not enough to keep them occupied simply by the running of the world.
“You should not be proud of Bardr, you say - and yet you are, and I think you the greater man for that. Why, there are probably not a few now who would say you ought not talk so closely with a madwoman, daft and utterly without the sense Frig should have seen fit to give her - and yet here you stay.” Hallerna smiled gently, and began to laugh. It felt surprisingly good, lightening the tightness in her chest no matter how out of place it might seem in the midst of smoke and death, and she did not stop herself.
But she did take a breath at last, still smiling. “I am glad you are not a man overly concerned with appearances then - or at least not so much, that you let expectations rule you. So no more of this, I will go find your Bardr - to the west of the Hall, toward the back, yes? And return to the Hall with news soon enough.”
Loker rubbed his beard, the rings jangling softly and shrugged, “He’s my boy, what the gods decided to do with him I could not change. His mother...she was looking forward to having a child. When she died...they told me the boy might not live. He was born blue, the cord around his neck and the gods had not given him breath. I was supposed to take him and and set him in the snow.”
He gazed at her, the falling flakes catching in her tousled blonde hair, “I set him down...and the lad started to cry. His color came back and I thought perhaps Odin gave me a gift.”
Loker chuckled bitterly, “And like so many of the gifts of the Wise One, it was double edged.”
His hand slipped down her arm and he held her hand briefly, feeling the warm slender strength in her nimble fingers and he looked her in the eyes. “I wouldn’t let you go alone, you’ve got this little one to look after. I’ll go but if you wish to come with me. I would appreciate it, it would put my mind at ease to not worry that you had come across trouble on your way to the Hall.”
Loker’s eyes fell on her axe snugged against her waist and gave her a brief grin, “Not that you could not handle it.”
Bunnita said
xDDDRight. Sorry. I gets excited and gets all carried away. I'll edit it into human speak. ^^
I honestly don't think that's going to help much but go for it.
© 2007-2026