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Gunnar Eriksson

A young and belicose viking from Trøndelag.

0 · 408 views · located in Uppsala

a character in “On Icy Shores”, as played by LordTalbot

Description

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Full Name: Gunnar Eriksson
Title(Mr./Mrs./Lord/Lady/Sir/): Thegn
Nickname(s): Gunnar Fleetfoot

Sex: Male

Age(and how old they look): 17
Orientation/Sexual preference: Straight

Height: 6'1"
Weight: 12 st

Eye color(s): Brown


Body build(slim, muscular, etc.): Slim, but with some muscle.
Body abnormalities(Cleft lip etc.): None


Hair color(s): Reddish brown
Hair length: Shoulder length
Hair style: Loose and tangled


Complexion: Clear, which shows his youth and inexperience
Scars: None
Birthmarks(and what they are/were): None
Tattoos(what they are and where): None


Piercings(what they are and where): None
Dress: Gunnar wears a fur surcoat over a coat of maille and woollen jerkin. He wears reindeer hide trousers, and thick, fur-lined boots. He carries two swords, both of which are in perfect condition as well as the standard saexe.

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Personality: Gunnar is optimistic and bouncy (for want of a better word). He can very easily get on someone's nerves with his over-friendly attitude. However, he is very eager to prove himself as a warrior, and will pick fights he has no hope of winning just to add to his name. He is constantly on the look-out for personal advancement and glory. He is also a notorious womanizer.
Most prominent personality trait: His humour. Gunnar is always up for a laugh, and often plays tricks on the people around him. Due to most of these tricks receiving a violent response, he developed the ability to run away quickly, hence Gunnar 'fleetfoot'.
Best traits of their personality: He is very friendly, and very quick to trust.
Worst traits of their personality: For all his posturing and bellicose attitude, he is actually quite unready for real combat, and shies away from it.

Current faith(religion): Norse pagan
Current superstitions/quirks: None

Alignment(good, evil, etc.): He's mostly good.

Marital status(Single, married, dating, etc.): Betrothed to the daughter of the Jarl of Ostland


Special skills(Not meaning powers): Gunnar is very quick on his feet, and virtually dances around opponents. He is also a smooth talker, often talking his way into places he shouldn't be or talking himself out of trouble.


Gunnar is the son of the Jarl of Trøndelag, and acts like the spoiled teenager he is. From a young age he was trained in the arts of combat, and since then he has been out to prove himself, often picking fights he cannot win.

So begins...

Gunnar Eriksson's Story

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Brynjar Witch-Breaker Character Portrait: Vilhjalma Litsdottir Character Portrait: Lady Arlette Character Portrait: Lord Landry Character Portrait: Ekkhart Dumont Character Portrait: Gunnar Eriksson Character Portrait: Kotah Character Portrait: Aethelstan of Lincoln
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Stormy seas and frozen fields greet the start of our story. It is February, not long since the death of Charles the Great, and Europe lies in turmoil. The sons of the dead emperor tear at the spoils left behind, leaving the back door to their kingdoms unguarded. Saxon England, reeling from another summer of raids by the Vikings, turns upon itself, the rising power of Wessex challenging the older kingdoms of Mercia and Northumbria. Across the North Sea the Norsemen of Scandinavia winter their longships in triumph. Yet another successful year. However, power struggles at home leave the Vikings in need of yet more wealth.

It is in this time of chaos and violence that out story begins in two very different places; Winchester, the capital of the kingdom of Wessex, and Uppsala, the principal holy site of the Norse faith in Svithjod. Our characters are as of yet unawares of the great task they will be called upon to achieve. They will face danger, death, and the fickle nature of gods and creatures old and forgotten. What is their task? Who can say, but that whoever completes it first will change the course of history forever.

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Two moons have passed since the Yule festival, but the land still cowers in the grip of winter. Snow lies heavy on the ground, and icy winds whistle through the dense forests around Uppsala. A place where no man rules. A place where the gods alone reign. The skies are heavy with rolling clouds, threatening another heavy snowfall, even as the winter light fades quickly. Wolves prowl these forests, their howls echoing across the hills and hidden valleys. Only the strong survive here. This is a land of warriors, chosen by the gods for glory and conquest.

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A small settlement lies along the river Mälaren, smoke rising from a few crouching huts. The only sounds as the long dark approaches are the occasional bark of a dog, and the crunching snow as some of the people move about the buildings. The huts themselves are simple wooden affairs, aged and insulated with sod. One structure stands taller than the rest, a small hall, from which the sounds of singing can be heard. Though not as grand as some other halls, this one appears homely. Going down to the shoreline, a small dock pushes out into the icy waters of the Mälaren. A few fishing boats have been dragged up onto the bank, and two longships sit tied to the dock, their dragon-headed prows silent and imposing in the gathering dark. Just outside the main village, there is a ring of standing stones. Some of these stones are carved with intricate runes, telling tales of warriors long dead, and gods long distant from the realms of men. More stones lead away from the circle, and along a well-beaten track into the forest.

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High above the river and the settlement, sits the ancient temple of Uppsala. In all the world, no other place can bring someone closer to the gods. The forest around the temple is eerily quiet, and approaching the temple is in itself a task, as you always feel as if you are being watched by unseen eyes. Tokens, and offerings to the gods litter the trees, some as simple as wicker symbols, some forming small piles of bones. Even as the more grisly offerings are covered in a layer of snow, the empty sockets of skulls still bear an oppressive quality to any prospective worshiper. The temple itself is a tall, wooden structure, its eaves decorated with images of the gods. Small braziers flicker outside the doors, the flames flickering in the cold wind. Inside the temple the light is dim, the interior lit only with a multitude of candles. Statues of the gods loom out of the shadows, in places with solitary worshippers knelt in front of them. A woman, her flaxen hair in two long braids, kneels in front of a statue of Freyja, her belly showing the early signs of pregnancy even through her cloak and furs. An old man stands before a statue of Odin, his once strong hands shaking as he holds them raised to the heavens.

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High above the waters of the English channel, sits a great, stone-walled town. Above the wall can be seen the tower of a cathedral, and myriad rooftops made of everything from thatch to tiles. The ruins of some ancient Roman buildings are evident outside the wall, and the great stone roads leading to and from the gates are obviously from the same time. The guards on the walls huddle round braziers, as cruel winter winds whip along the ramparts. As night closes in the gates are sealed, great wooden cross-beams laid in place to hold them shut. But despite this the town is still lively. Many people go about the streets, and light spills onto the muddy streets from houses and taverns. The sounds of a busy town fill the air, but louder than most is the sound of blacksmiths’ hammers. Working hard into the night, the smiths labour to produce hundreds of swords, and the heads of spears. Wessex is preparing for war.

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Close to the center of town is the palace, home to the kings of Wessex. Once a Roman villa, the palace has been expended by generations of Saxon kings, though the hypocaust remains intact. The halls are richly decked out with tapestries and oak furniture, carpets and furs covering the stone floors. In the main hall, a throne sits on a raised dais, looking down across two long tables leading to the main door. A group of housecarls sits drinking at one of the tables, their conversation often interrupted with raucous laughter. Fires burn brightly in the fireplaces dotted around the palace, and servants scurry along the corridors. In a chapel, attached to the royal chambers, a richly dressed man kneels before an ornate altar. King Egbert prays for guidance. His recent wars against the Welsh have seen Wessex soar in prominence and wealth, but now he faces opposition from the king of Mercia, the largest landholder in England.

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Setting

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Character Portrait: Gunnar Eriksson
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Gunnar roared with laughter and slapped the back of the thick-set man sat next to him. The man was nursing a red cheek as he looked sullenly after a serving girl who was now pushing her way through the crowded hall back to the mead vat. "Don't worry Hemming. The night is young. You'll get another chance." Laughing again at the sour look on Hemming's face, Gunnar stood and raised his mead horn, shouting loud over the noise. "To love! And those of us lucky enough to have it!" As the men around him echoed the toast amidst raucous laughter, Gunnar sat down to glowers from Hemming.

"Always have to poke fun don't you Gunnar?" Hemming snarled. He was red in the face and clenching his fists, aware that a group of women sat at a near by table were glancing at him and giggling.

Gunnar raised an eyebrow, offering a quick smile to the girls. "Oh come on. It was your idea to come here. Uppsala is the arse end of nowhere." Stretching, he snatched another horn of mead from a passing serving girl. "Besides, I have plenty of girls back home." Looking around the small hall Gunnar scanned the crowd for anyone worth noticing. The hall was muggy with the heat from the fire, and the oak doors stood sealed against the winter night. The chief sat on a small dais at the far end of the hall, red faced and roaring with one of his huscarls. Filling the rest of the hall were men and women from all over Scandinavia, come to visit the temple. Gunnar smirked to himself and fingered the hilt of his sword. Maybe now was the time. He was tired of all this talk of gods anyway.

Quickly clambering onto the table Gunnar raised his horn. A few people around looked at him in quaint interest, wondering what the boy was up to. "A toast!" Gunnar roared above the noise, which noticeably dimmed as people turned to him. The chief looked up and scowled. "To our glorious host, to the gods, and a new summer!" Downing his horn of mead the hall remained silent, besides a few laughs at the precocious youth. Tossing down the empty horn, Gunnar smiled. "And to this hall of cowards, none of whom I bet will accept my challenge." A deathly silence filled the hall, then one of the warriors burst out laughing, almost keeling over. Soon the whole hall was in stitches ad Gunnar stood red faced.

Over the peals of laughter the chief shouted "you've got some nerve boy! You couldn't even fight the least of my men." At this the laughter renewed, a couple of people throwing hunks of bread at Gunnar.

"Hemming. I need a favour." Gunnar seethed through his teeth. Seeing Hemming nod Gunnar bunched his muscles and launched himself off the table and onto one of the closest warriors, whilst Hemming tipped the table up and over, spilling mead and food. Grappling the man he was on, Gunnar smashed his fist into his face, his legs flying and his eyes blazing. Hemming grabbed another warrior and, before he could react, headbutted him backwards into another group. In another moment the hall was filled with roars and shouts as vikings from different places laid into one another. The sounds of splintering furniture and the thumps of bodies filled the hall and spilled out into the night.

The setting changes from dark-age-europe to Uppsala

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Gunnar Eriksson Character Portrait: Einar Eldrson
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Having already made his offerings at the temple farther up the mountain, Einar was once again playing guest at the great hall that stood at the base. He was awaiting his new traveling companion. She had desired to prepare for her journey up the mount and wished to make her offering personally and in solitude, and Einar was never one to intrude upon another's personal relationship with the gods.
So, as Vilhjalma wandered up the winter trail and paid her respects to the Allfather, Einar was enjoying the pleasures that the local Jarl had the courtesy to provide to all pilgrims.

He was sat on a bench near the hearth in the center of the room, a lovely warrior maiden perched on his lap. The pair had crossed blades at a small competition earlier in the day and had retreated from the dark chill together. She kept up with him in mead horns and was as liberal in tracing her hands along his neck and tattoos as he was in caressing her back and thigh. The pair laughed in general merriment, caught up in the delights of song, drink, and tales, and boasts of battle as everyone else when a sudden silence drifted over the assembled group and a young man stood upon the table he was seated at and began to speak.

It was clear that the boy was not particularly well thought of, though Einar had no clue who he was. When his toast had concluded to the Chief, gods, and summer, Einar joined him in the toast, for he viewed it as bad luck not to join in on a toast to a host, and the gods especially.
He shook his head at the boy's challenge however, and as the hall erupted in laughter at the arrogant youth, the maiden stood and went to go refill their horns.
As she walked off, Einar's eye turned back towards the humiliated young man who, to Einar's complete surprise, was now hurtling across the table towards him as his fellow savagely headbutted another man. Einar was offended at both underhanded attacks, even as he was thrown backwards by the youth's weight and then punched.

He felt the sting of the blow in his cheek, but the boy was obviously not yet baptized in the fires of battle and the recklessness of the attack hadn't given him leverage for a proper swing.
Einar however, was a veteran of combat and well known for his strength, and devastating skill in battle, he and roared his fury at the little upstart that had launched himself across the table.

"Only Helheim awaits you boy, a coward will find no place in Odin's hall!", he bellowed in his rough, thunderous voice as he righted himself.

Standing with the agile ease of a seasoned warrior, Einar reached down and grabbed the little bastard and full bodily picking him up, he took two steps and threw him out of the nearest door into the cold darkness beyond.
As the boy flew, the handle of a walking stick was broken over Einar's shoulders. The man loosed a battle cry, as he turned and savagely backhanded his assailant before stepping forward and pulling a woman who had been pushed into the central fire from it's pyromantic embrace.

The brawl was quickly escalating as the intoxicated warriors vented their rage upon one another and Einar was no fool and knew that things needed to been ended quickly.

Setting

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Character Portrait: Gunnar Eriksson Character Portrait: Einar Eldrson
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The shock of the cold snow chilled Gunnar to his bones as he landed with a thump. The sounds of roars and splintering furniture echoed out into the night as he stood and brushed himself off. He shivered, the clouds parting to reveal the stars above. Scowling he threw himself back into the hall, looking for the warrior who had manhandled him. "Coward am I? I'll show that fucker." Hemming was nearby, bellowing loudly as he picked up a bench and launched it into a crowd of vikings, momentarily flattening them. Scanning the hall Gunnar was picked up again and slammed against a wall, the blow driving the air from his lungs. Recovering fast he saw a fist coming at him and twisted his head to the side, letting it go past him and crack into the wall. Gripping the arm he wrenched it two ways and felt a satisfying crack. Kicking his opponent out of the way he gave up on finding the warrior again and dove back into the melee.

Ducking under grappling warriors, Gunnar came across a shieldmaiden, shrieking as she was dumped in a barrel of mead by two burly Gotlanders. They roared with laughter, but before they could realise their mistake the shieldmaiden had lept up and latched her thighs around one of their necks. Twisting hard she flipped the man over and onto the barrel, which splintered and sent mead flying everywhere. Another roar of laughter split the air at that, and the shieldmaiden turned to face the man's angry friend, who swung a heavy fist at her. Dodging the blow she delivered a swift knee to the man's groin. His eyes went wide and he crumpled to the floor alongside his friend. Without pausing for breath the shieldmaiden grabbed the nearest warrior and kissed him forcefully, dropping him when she was done and shouting her battlecry at the top of her lungs.

Gunnar found himself back to back with Hemming, the older man sporting a bloody nose and a few loosened teeth. Around them were more than a few warriors from a rival village. "Still alive Gunnar you little shit?" Hemming spit a wad of blood to the floor. "I thought you'd buggered off and left me in this mess you started."

"Not on your life Hemming." Gunnar was thrilled with the exhileration. The men here were as keen for a friendly fight as any back home it seemed. "You always boast you can take care of yourself. I was just seeing if it was true." Hemming grunted in response.

"I doubt these bastards from Falthivr will let you escape without a broken limb or two. Your father won't be happy."

"Sod my father." Gunnar grinned and tackled the nearest man. Receiving a few kicks to the ribs whilst he was on the floor, Gunnar slithered between another's legs, slamming a fist into the man's groin as he did. Unluckily the man collapsed on top of Gunnar. Hemming, gripping one man by the throat and another held under his arm scowled and kicked the man on top of Gunnar over.

"Get up you slimy git." Hemming's words were cut short as the point of a dagger emerged from his side. Eyes wide in surprise he dropped the two men he was holding and turned as the dagger was withdrawn. Gunnar struggled to his feet as the man attacked again.

The setting changes from uppsala to Dark Age Europe

Setting

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Character Portrait: Gunnar Eriksson Character Portrait: Einar Eldrson
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Moments after Einar pulled the woman from the fire, he was pulled into the fray once more as another man rushed forth and slammed him into a support beam. Einar shook his head clear and brought his elbow down, driving it into the man's shoulder blade and causing him to buckle before simply throwing him aside. Laughter intermingled with cries and roars of pain, all overlaid by hearty battle songs that all blended together to create a strange sort of merriment to an otherwise dangerous and violent, if sportingly natured tussle.

That good natured atmosphere quickly died away for Einar as his mismatched eyes settled on a blade withdrawing from the Little Upstart's companion.
Einar was at a moment of disbelief, rarely would one draw a blade during a drunken brawl under another Jarl's roof. The audacity and disrespect were astounding. To his credit however, Einar quickly recovered and crossed the gap before the man could strike again. He grabbed the other man's wrist in his vice-like grip and was satisfied to feel the bones cracking beneath and causing him to drop the knife. With a twist, he raised the man's arm over his head and delivered a crushing stomp to his right knee, dropping him before slamming his fist into his jaw.

By this time he was hoping the Jarl would put an end to this so the loathsome underhanded man's crime could be punished properly.

Einar looked to the young man and his friend, saying, "Get him some aid boy, before he bleeds out!"

The setting changes from dark-age-europe to Uppsala

Setting

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Character Portrait: Gunnar Eriksson Character Portrait: Einar Eldrson
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Gunnar was on his feet and seething. This old bastard obviously had no idea of who he was. He took a step forwards but was stopped by an outstretched hand from Hemming. "Easy Gunnar. That's enough." Hemming was wincing as he moved, but the wound didn't look serious. Grimacing, he turned around to the warrior who had dealt with the knife-wielding viking. "You'll have to excuse Gunnar. Ever since his father sent him off to win his shield he's thrown himself headlong into every fight possible." Hemming smiled. "The trouble is, both the bastards have egos the size of Yggdrasil. Any insult is personal." Tearing off a strip from the bottom of his tunic, Hemming handed it to Gunnar, who stepped forwards and began tying it around the wound.

"Hold still you git." Gunnar seethed through his teeth as he pulled the make-shift bandage tight. He checked to see if it was holding back the bleeding, then turned to his own scrapes and bruises. One of his fingers was bent an odd way. He flinched as he touched it. Not broken thank Odin. Taking a deep breath Gunnar gripped the finger and popped it back into its socket, waving his hand after. Then he looked to the warrior, the one who had earlier thrown him out and then defeated Hemming's attacker. The man wasn't much to look at but had obviously seen some combat.

Under Hemming's watchful gaze, Gunnar decided that he could put honour aside for the sake of good humour, and pulled a couple of drinking horns off a nearby table. He thrust one towards the warrior and smiled. "Name's Gunnar. My father is the Jarl of Trondelag over in Norvegr. Hemming and I came to pay our respects here before heading off to visit the Danes. What brings you here?"

Setting

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Character Portrait: Gunnar Eriksson Character Portrait: Einar Eldrson Character Portrait: Konungr Erak Sigurdsson
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#, as written by Alator
The Tavern was a large, yet rather modest building. And in this winter night it looked even more appealing, with warm light coming out through small gaps between the wood. Erak opened the Tavern door, and with a gust of chilling wind he entered. Followed by his four Huscarls he looked around as he strode further in, in search of either an empty table or one where he could take a seat.

Drawn to a couple of men that looked like warriors, Erak judged the men closely with his gaze as he walked up to them, dismissing his Huscarls. They looked like they've had a rough day, signs of a fight was still evident on them. Although Everything had apparently calmed down, seeing as they were drinking and talking. "Did you lose an arguement with a bear or something?" Erak commented with a crooked smile as he walked in amongst them.