TOR2: The Tale of Ragnar, son of Gautarr
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silverfoxdmt73
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TOR2: The Tale of Ragnar, son of Gautarr
This is the story of Ragnar.
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Bohemond
- Level 12
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TOR2: The Tale of Ragnar
Name: Ragnarr, son of Gautarr
Culture: Barding
Calling: Captain
Culture: Barding
Calling: Captain
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Bohemond
- Level 12
- Posts: 1383
- User Class: Scout
Re: TOR2: The Tale of Ragnar, son of Gautarr
Ragnarr looked out the windows oh his wife’s bakery. “Stormclouds are coming. Looks like they couldn’t find enough Shirelings to dampen.”
“I’ll have to change the recipes so the afternoon batches don’t clump,” Ulfhild said before making her way to kitchen door. “Peony! Only put in half the leavening for the dough. My dolt of a husband has brought rain with him.”
“So I’m a dolt, but also a conjurer capable of summoning storms?” Ragnarr remarked.
“If anyone could find a way to be both…” the Barding woman said before her stern gaze melted into a smile. “How were your travels?”
“Quiet. I could have left my sword and brought a broomstick to fight with, Hild. The Greenway was silent, save for our caravan.” It was, of course, false, and the dings and nicks on the shield of Ragnarr’s father revealed it plainly. There had been two ambushes, and even the men in Tharbad whom the merchant was in business with had come close to attempting to rob the caravan. But, he had returned unscathed and with a pouch of coin. “There were many abandoned towers and citadels. I’m surprised no one has tried to rebuild any and resettle the area. But enough talk of my sightseeing. What news of the finest bakery in Bree?”
“The desserts are selling. I think I’m finally in the good graces of the hobbits. They’ve started making requests for cakes and trifles.”
“Aye,” Peony chimed in as she entered the room to grab some mixing bowls. “It’s not everyday we get a new type of treat for our parties. I put some of the remaining bread from the morning in the warming chamber for your husband. I presume he’ll be eating his lunch here before going to the Pony to find clients,” the hobbit said, clearly tickled pink at the romanticized image of a warrior from some far-flung land grabbing a meal then talking into the night with travelers and merchants.
“Well, I better wash up then. I don’t want to leave handprints on my wife’s apron and give the Breelanders any more gossip,” Ragnarr said as he stepped back into the mudroom to hang up his travel gear. “It’s good to be home.”
“And it’s good to have you back for as long as can I keep you from running off to kill goblins and robbers, Ragnarr, son of Gautarr,” Ulfhild said, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek.
Whatever dragon sits on top of a hoard or orc draws a blade against me better beware, the Barding thought. You stand between me and giving my love everything in the world.
“I’ll have to change the recipes so the afternoon batches don’t clump,” Ulfhild said before making her way to kitchen door. “Peony! Only put in half the leavening for the dough. My dolt of a husband has brought rain with him.”
“So I’m a dolt, but also a conjurer capable of summoning storms?” Ragnarr remarked.
“If anyone could find a way to be both…” the Barding woman said before her stern gaze melted into a smile. “How were your travels?”
“Quiet. I could have left my sword and brought a broomstick to fight with, Hild. The Greenway was silent, save for our caravan.” It was, of course, false, and the dings and nicks on the shield of Ragnarr’s father revealed it plainly. There had been two ambushes, and even the men in Tharbad whom the merchant was in business with had come close to attempting to rob the caravan. But, he had returned unscathed and with a pouch of coin. “There were many abandoned towers and citadels. I’m surprised no one has tried to rebuild any and resettle the area. But enough talk of my sightseeing. What news of the finest bakery in Bree?”
“The desserts are selling. I think I’m finally in the good graces of the hobbits. They’ve started making requests for cakes and trifles.”
“Aye,” Peony chimed in as she entered the room to grab some mixing bowls. “It’s not everyday we get a new type of treat for our parties. I put some of the remaining bread from the morning in the warming chamber for your husband. I presume he’ll be eating his lunch here before going to the Pony to find clients,” the hobbit said, clearly tickled pink at the romanticized image of a warrior from some far-flung land grabbing a meal then talking into the night with travelers and merchants.
“Well, I better wash up then. I don’t want to leave handprints on my wife’s apron and give the Breelanders any more gossip,” Ragnarr said as he stepped back into the mudroom to hang up his travel gear. “It’s good to be home.”
“And it’s good to have you back for as long as can I keep you from running off to kill goblins and robbers, Ragnarr, son of Gautarr,” Ulfhild said, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek.
Whatever dragon sits on top of a hoard or orc draws a blade against me better beware, the Barding thought. You stand between me and giving my love everything in the world.