Whispers of Darkness

Around the town of Osfjoll, there was a stirring discomfort.  Townsfolk had begun to speak of what travellers from nearby towns had told them, of strange markings in the forest, of missing people, and of a looming sense of danger that covered the land each night.

“Did you hear?” Erland said to another customer, as they handed him coin.  “Everyone from the North is saying that a curse has fallen.”

The customer raised one eyebrow.

“There are always rumours, Erland.  They pass the time for those who feed on hollow chatter” he said.

The smith chuckled. “You’re as joyless as ever, young Thorodsson.”

“And you’re as naive as ever, old friend” Bjarn shot back.  “I suppose we must each choose one or the other.”

“Or perhaps we could choose to be both” a soft voice suggested, approaching from behind Bjarn.  “Unlike my husband, I choose to believe that being open to myths and rumours doesn’t imply that we take them as truths.”

The woman moved up and beside her husband, greeting her friend with a nod.  Both men turned to face her.

“Ah Helga, as charming and beautiful as ever” said Erland.  “And still not afraid to put your husband in his place.”

Helga laughed, and patted the smith on his huge shoulder.  “Enough with the idle flattery.  I’m no beauty.”

Both men held their tongues, knowing that Helga had never been a fan of compliments.  Still, neither man could believe that she was unaware of her impressive beauty. Bjarn was silent mostly out of respect for her, and Erland out of respect for her husband.

Despite her humility, she was a gift from the gods.  Her form was thin and athletic, and looked strong and firm, yet the curves of her body gave it a powerful sense of feminine fertility.   Despite being average in size, the way in which her breasts defied gravity was apparent to even the passive observer.  Her light and supple skin was covered in the back by her long and flowing blonde hair, yet what her shirt left exposed looked soft to the touch.

Indeed, most men of the town had imagined her bare form.  To his shame, Erland no different than the rest; in private, he had imagined how it might feel to bury himself in the soft folds between her thighs, and he had lost count of the times he had spilled his seed to the thought of it pouring into her.

Erland shook his head, clearing the thought from his mind.

“And so what do they say, Erland?” Helga asked.

He cleared his throat.

“They say that there are dark things happening North from here.  They say that it’s a curse” Erland repeated.

Helga looked worried, and both men stared at her, as if to ask ‘what is it?’

Noticing, she looked at her husband and spoke.

“I heard whispers from Ulfr Hailagasson, that he was heading North with a group of warriors, at the request of his father...”

“And?” Erland asked, clearly confused.

Helga and Bjarn held their gaze.

“Bjarn’s sister, Sigrid, was among them...”