Part II
In Which Erik Stor meets Gris,
Conlan and Stella,
and slays two Jötunn.

One fair morning, into Millbridge he went
For Erik’s coinage now had all been spent
Now looking for a place to rest his heels
A place to find fine drink, women and meals
Into the local pub he proudly strode
Preparing for the morn, to hit the road

A table on the side, with maids so fair
It looked to have a waiting, empty chair
As Erik sat and dropped his copper down
He spied the ruddy drunkard of the town
He grabbed a spilling tankard from a wench
And rudely gestured, pointing at the bench

As Olaf grabbed his ale and set to chug
Two foreigners sat down and grabbed a mug
The four of them downed gallons of the stuff
But Erik simply could not have enough
Poor Olaf fell to sleeping in his soup
As the others drank and formed a troop

As rumors in these towns to quickly spread
They heard of an old man, recently dead
A spirit haunts his house, a wench did say
And if you cleanse it, I surely will pay
So now the troop of Erik did depart
Two men named Gris and Conlan, and a tart

Arriving at the house, Gris broke the door
But as a chair flew out, he hit the floor
Backing into the sun, the troop did wait
To lure the spirit out to meet its fate
Now as the ghost charged out, with eyes of fire
It was pierced through with a fine arrow dire
With heavy hammer swinging in the sun
Erik slew all the spirits, one by one
Now once inside the house, the troop did find
A space under a stone, with money lined
As Erik and the troop rested and fed
The beautiful young Stella he did bed

As the sun rose the party ventured forth
To slay the horrid Jötunn of the North
For two long days they traveled by the path
To a small town besieged by Jötunn wrath
And from the town they set out to the east
To a near cave where they then found the beast

With vines, arrows and hammers they attacked
The tow’ring Jötunn still remained intact
Its claws swung down, to rend the troop apart
As brave young Erik smashed at its foul heart
As he was knocked aside by its blind rage
Conlan and Gris stepped forth to now engage

Another Jötunn from the cave did come
To combined strength the group nearly succumb’d
As arrows flew, and rocks were hurled once more
Vines from the very earth made Jötunn roar
In one last fateful charge, the troop did fight
Blood flew, and hammers smashed, it was a sight

When finally the Jötunn were no more
The party washed their bodies of the gore
Back to Millbridge they went, with heads in hand
To show themselves as saviors of the land
Into the pub Erik once again strode
And in the night three young women he rode


The Seventh Age of Disdain AshenHaze Cadwgan