Tell us your Viking story and win a limited edition Vikings of Thule poster!

[Manny]

Gogogic are offering you the chance to win one of these beautiful limited edition Vikings of Thule posters.



To be eligible to win, be creative and tell us a backstory to your in-game Viking persona or tell us why you yourself are a Viking in spirit before 10:00 on the morning of Friday, July 9th. The Vikings of Thule team will then vote on our favorite story on Friday morning.

Let us hear who you are! The contest begins now...

[Manny]

(Post your stories in this thread!)

[Thor]

Bjorn Oakshield sits at his feasting table. He stands, stretching his stiff muscles as he does, "a colder morning than yesterday," he thinks to himself. He walks to a window of his great house and peers out with his cool eyes feeling the icy winds blow through his impressive beard and hair set aflame. Gazing out across his little slice of Thule, watching the men and women of Midgard toil about their morning tasks content in their knowledge that he will protect them. As he scans the sleepy landscape, waking as the sun's fingers caress, he thinks on how the gods have smiled on an unknown and unremarkable warrior. The bounty of the land have given him prosperity, even when he started with nothing in Hrisey. "Gods be praised." he smiles to himself. He feels a hand on his shoulder as his wife wraps the Loki's Cloak of Mischief around him and hands him another tankard of mead. "To stay warm." She smiles at him. He kisses her forehead and slings his shield across his mighty back. He opens the door and feels the north winds envelop him. His wife steps forward clutching a hammer pendent. "Be safe Bjorn Oakshield of Skalholt." He turns his head and smiles. "The Gods still have work for me." he says as he leans his heavy mace on his shoulder and walks out into the morning sun.

[Eyulf]

Thorgrim Alriksson was a Danish Bondi. Born on a farmstead near Hedeby in 839, his father was Alrik Eyjolfsson. As was expected for all boys he worked hard on the farm during his brief childhood, gaining many useful skills. He was a natural warrior and when he was thirteen started to eagerly join raids. Thorgrim went raiding every chance he could and was always away on expeditions, he would only come back to the farm when it was too dangerous to travel the sea. He distinguished himself as an exceptional warrior during Björn Ironside's raid of Paris in 857, when he was eighteen. While he was in Francia a freeman's daughter, Freydis, caught his eye, and he took her as his mistress.

After the raid on Paris Thorgrim's word-fame and wealth grew substancially, He came into possesion of a small longship which he named "Wind-Raven". He was with Bjorn Ironside's raiding party which was active in Francia and the Mediterainian between 859 and 862. When he returned home Thorgrim heard rumors of an large force being assembled by Halfdan Ragnarsson and Ivar the Boneless. He sought out this "great army" and joined it just before the start of their campaign.

The army arrived in Britain in 865, landing in East Anglia. In 866 They captured York and subsquently conquered Northumbria, followed by East Anglia in 869. During the times of limited peace Thorgrim started to consolidate the lands that he had be given. He built a large Longhouse which dominated his lands. In 871 the army was reinforced by the"great summer army", which included Guthrum. Mercia fell in 874, a year later the army had split up. Thorgrim went with Guthrum to Cambridge, instead of following Halfdan to York. In the winter of 878 Guthrum made a suprise attack on Wessex, pushing King Alfred to the marshes at Athelney.

Alfred rallied his forces and defeated the army, during the same year, at Edington. Thorgrim was slain during the battle. The defeat resulted in the Treaty of Wedmore, which forced the survivors to settle down in Danelaw. Thorgrim's oldest son, Svart, took ownership of his lands in The Kingdom of York.

[Freyja]

My Viking, Freyja, was stolen by elves when she was only a day old. These were not friendly elves, but rather the mean, nasty kind of elves who snack on children’s toes and never comb their hair. The elves were planning to roast the baby for a midsummer’s night feast after fattening her up a bit.

One day shortly thereafter, Hildur, Queen of the Elves, was sitting on a rock, poking sheep with sharpened sticks, when a butterfly landed on her and spoke. The butterfly said, in no uncertain terms, that if the baby Freyja was harmed in any way, that Hildur herself would be turned inside out and left to be eaten by birds.

Hildur recognized that the butterfly had been sent by the Vana Freyja, and took it upon herself to guard and protect the baby, and help her grow into a strong Viking woman. She was taught to use her axe and sword, and to never, ever, take any crap from boys.

Freyja grew to be strong and wise and eventually got sick and tired of living in rocks. So one day, she said her goodbyes to the elves and set out to rejoin the humans, mainly to find a nicer place to live. She met up with some friendly but slow-witted young Viking men who agreed to let her join them. One of these men made the unfortunate mistake of making unwanted advances toward Freyja, and she hacked him to bits with her axe. This totally impressed the other Vikings, and she was asked to join their raiding party.

Freyja became quite successful at raiding, because men were captivated by her beauty just before being decapitated by her weapons. She fell in love with a brave and heroic Viking known as Fjord Geysirsson, and they sailed the seas together, hacking and slashing and pillaging and looting and severing limbs from anyone who got in their way.

[Manny]

These are FANTASTIC so far! We can't wait to read some more!

[Bendik the Great]

The mighty warrior thegn, Assgrim the Bellowing, happily went to visit his gods. It had been a great battle, and he had just witnessed his fourteenth son be torn from his mother’s womb – just as his sire too large in birth to allow the wench to live. This on the very battle field where the mangled corpses of three Earls now lay, slain by Assgrim himself. His usually stony and unrevealing face split in a rare grin, as he thought of how they would be picked clean by Odin’s Swans before long. One cleaved swiftly in half by his giant axe, Þorgnýr. The second crushed to a pulp with a swat of his bear paw hand. The third scared straight to Helheim by his trademark battle roar and a mere glance of his evil eye. What a glorious day it had been!

During his berserker rage he had not noticed the hail of throwing spears thudding into his broad back, but now they had finally claimed his life. No matter. The enemy was all but routed and his work done. He thrust the standard firmly far into the blood-soaked ground, and looked around to catch his liege’s eye, idly keeping the remaining attackers at bay with his axe.

- “Håkon!” He bellowed, calling him only by name, and deafening three nearby warriors for life. “I’ve done most of your work for you this day. Now I have a boon to ask.”
- “Speak it, and it is granted”, his liege replied, ducking from a stray arrow. He glanced grimly up at the myriad grievous wounds and various weapons protruding from Assgrim’s sturdy frame, wondering how the man could still be standing.
- “In the grove over there is my last son, soon to be an orphan. His mother is not yet cold, and the valkyries are drooling to collect my soul.” Assgrim paused to retrieve Þorgnýr from a particularly thick enemy scull, where the axe had lodged.
- “I’ll raise the boy as my own”, Håkon offered.
- “No,” Assgrim continued evenly, “that is not what I ask. You are a kind-hearted and generous ruler. You’ll spoil him rotten. I want him to grow up to be a true warrior as his forefathers before him. Take him to my brother on Iceland. That quarrelsome ******* will put the fear of the gods in him and make him a man, or kill him in the process.”
- “Nid-Egil the Mad? That’s who you would put in the boy’s path?” Håkon asked in disbelief. Seeing Assgrim was serious, he nodded. “Very well. So be it. Have you a name for your son?”

Assgrim furrowed his brows in thought. His steel grey eyes were starting to cloud over, but suddenly they gleamed with their old mischief. He had spotted a priest on the other side, administering to the enemy wounded (and no doubt picking them clean of valuables in the process). So he yelled over the dwindling battle din to catch the priest’s attention:
- “O robed one! Crossbearer! What is your name, you dress-wearing excuse for a man?”
- “Ehrm, my name is Bendik, warrior. It means “the blessed one” in the Chruch tounge.” the shocked priest called back, looking with horror on the Norse apparition looming in the distance.
- “Hah! Perfect.” chuckled Assgrim, and muttered to himself: “That’ll put some gravel in the boy’s gut and make him remember his father, though none too fondly, I’m sure.”

Turning back to Håkon, he stated gravely:
- “You have a name and a mission, and I have no more business here in Midgard. I shall see you again in Valhall.”

With that he waded back into the fray and through the enemy ranks as through a field of spelt, killing and maiming left and right in a last outburst of massive force. His onslaught punched straight through the crumbling shield wall opposing him. Then he was surrounded and pierced from all sides by spears and swords alike until he could move no further. Laughing, he threw off his helmet and tilted his face to the sky for a final roar:

- “Odin! Count the dead, and make room at your table! Let all of Asgard know I’m coming, and let word of my deeds echo forever!”

- “Oh yeah, and hide your mead and women!” he added as an afterthought.

Closing his eyes, he let himself drift away and fell like a thundering avalanche, crushing eleven of his surviving assailants as he went down. The crows who had gathered in the nearby tree tops took to the air, scared by the earth-shattering crash. Then the enemy warriors bowed their heads in respect and threw down their arms, and a hushed silence spread across the battle field.

Assgrim lay dead in the Outlands.

A warrior close to Håkon was the first to break the silence.
- “By the gods.” he said. “We’ll never see another one like him. Probably a good thing too.”
- “Yeah”, grunted Håkon, starting towards the grove. “I wouldn’t be too certain about that. Only the Norns know the future, but I’ll sure as Hel do my part to follow their threads.”

So begins the tale of Bendik the Great, a long and harsh ordeal indeed, but perhaps one that will make him even greater. In time.

[Bjarni]

bjarni was 16 year old, and his father was the leeder of a little place in Iceland, Bjarni was not as big and strong like the other children. His father didnt think much of him.

Bjarni and his brother go hunting two times a week. But now it was winter and all the deers where heading North, so they where going to hunt alot.
And so they started walking, and they walked for hours and hours and found nothing, it was getting dark and they thought it was very strange. But finally they saw something move, they took out they're Bows and as they where doing that a dragon attack them and nearly killed Bjarni's brother, Bjarni was so mad that he swong him self from a branch on the dragon, then he ripped the skin and saw the dragon heart beating, he puts his hands around the heart and rippes it out of him,bites it, holds it over his head and then he screams while the blood drops are dribbing on his face.

In the morning he came back home with his brother in his hands and the dragons heart on top of his brother. Bjarni's father saw him with his brother in his hands and ran to them to check if they where okey, his brother was only knocked out. After that he told his dad the whole story and his dad knew that bjarni was now not only a viking, he was born to be one.

[Thengill]

Some say Thengill is a bad man. Others say he in not evil by nature, that he just has a tendency to cause havoc and haywire with his mischief and carelessness. Whatever may be the case, trouble has followed Thengill where ever he goes, ever since he was a young child.

There are also whispers of a curse: There should be in Thengill's line no woman, and no man who was not of great repute. The rumors appear to be not entirely without substance, as Thengill has only sons (and no female grandchildren), and all of the clan's men are either of renowned status or infamous.

Thengill's ambitions of becoming a powerful member on Althingi, has lead to clashes with his fellow viking chiefs, his neighbors in Skalholt and even his own kin at Thengilstadir. A long time blood feud seems to be developing.

[Esja Dufþaksdóttir]

My name is Esja Dufþaksdóttir and I reside now at my homestead of Eccelfechin near Skálholt. I am eighty years old now and was daughter of an Irish man and a Norse woman. My story begins in Ireland in the year 980 AD when my father Dubthach was born, son of Donnchad Máel na mBó king of the Uí Cheinnselaig of the Leinster province in south-east of Ireland. My father was a great warrior and he was very young when he brazenly entered the Gallaib (‘Viking’) settlement near Waterford ready to do battle. Instead of being scewered, the vikings encamping there greeted the hot-headed lad and offered to teach him how to fight, not believing that he would learn much among the Irish. They did not stay near Waterford for long but made their way through Leinster up by the river Barrow towards Dublin.
In the year 997 AD when they reached Liamain, near Dublin, my father met my mother. Her name was Ingibjorg, daughter of a fierce Viking from the Norselands, who also had land in Ireland, the Orkneys and Iceland. The year after I was born in Liamain and loved my existence. Although there were continuous strife between the Irish and the Norse, I never suffered through it and never understood the seriousness of the situation, at least not fully. But then again I was only fifteen when the Battle of Clontarf occurred, and it was then that my world collapsed. My father was called upon by his cousin Máel Mórda mac Murchada, of the Uí Dúnlainge and king of Leinster to aid him in his fight against Brian Bórama. On the 23rd of April 1014, I lost my father, and my heart was heavy and all I could think of was a prayer I learned as a child:

A Chríst mo chride / cip ed dom-aire / a Flaith na n-uile / rop tú mo baile.

(Beloved Christ, / whatever befall me / O Ruler of all / be thou my vision).
Now it was just me and my mother who were left and she had no wish to stay any longer in the country that had robbed her of her husband. It was still a year until we were able to leave, but in the end my mother’s uncle came for us from Iceland and brought us to Skálholt. We stayed with him for the first few months, but my mother being as stubborn as she was wanted her own home. In the end my uncle relented and made preparation for a home to be built for us. It was a beautiful little thatched cottage with birch lining up the front entrance and because its shape reminded me of a small oratory of a monastery in Dublin I named it Eccelfechin (‘the speckled church’). This is where my mother and I found peace for a while. I soon found out that living amongst Vikings in a viking country is a lot different than living amongst them and Irish. But living around Skálholt has been a blessing, which has given me the option of pursuing further education and I have been able to share with eager minds the stories from Ireland and I was there when the first official school was opened there in 1056.
However, things weren’t always so simple since coming to Iceland. Although I had learned Norse from my mother I still had an Irish accent to contend with. It wore off though in the end and I became more Norse than Irish. My name changed as well; see my name wasn’t originally Esja, but Éis. It comes from the irish verb ‘to seek’, or ‘to survive’, my father knew that I would be curious and strong enough to survive anything life threw at me and so he chose this name for me. But Éis didn’t really fit into the Norse language and over the time it changed until I became known as Esja. The name change was possibly the easiest change to accept. Although I had changed country the situation was still similar and staying single wasn’t easy. Oh, I married in the end, I would a very nice man who wasn’t too battle-eager, but it didn’t mean that we didn’t have our difficulties with neighbours and we stood strong against any who tried to ride roughshod over us. We ended up having a very nice life together, except it had to end someday. I lost my husband last year but am proud of the life we led. I may be eighty years old but I still go out riding the land, to check the livestock and see what needs to be done. My holdings have grown, and although they are in the hands of my sons now, I refuse to sit by like an obsolete bag of bones. I may not have been born a Viking, but the land known to me as Innis Tíle as a child, became my home and by its wind and rain and grain I grew from a timid young irish ingen (‘girl’), to a strong Viking woman.