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[Heavy footsteps, squelching in the mud in the distance, can be heard
approaching slowly. Charles enters the firelight, in his usual
leather jacket, black trousers and shirt, caked in thick wet mud from
a long journey through flooded lands. He's carying a sword, as ever,
and some sort of firearm, concealed beneath his shirt, but obviously
bluging. Slung over his shoulder is a worn green backpack, tied and
bound, and crackling as it moves, indicating that whatever's in it is
wraped up in plastic bags. He looks vaugley distracted, and worn, as
he stops at the edge of the firelight for a moment. After surveying
faces, he walks to an empty log near to the heat, and settles
himself, amking sure the pack is on dry ground.]
Good Evening all.... it's nice to see faces like yours again. It's
been.... too long.
[He settles himself some more, and takes out the plastic tesco's bags
carefully from his pack. He clears a dry space on the floor with his
hands, and lays down the bags flat. He places over them, a horde of
papers and books, documents and writings or a variety of ages, from
scriptures to printouts]
I've been busy.
As you can well see.... I have been travelling across the globe,as I
said I would, last time I was here. I was trying to find.... a guide.
Trying to research the path to see the future. I'm sure some of you
can relate?
And I found much about us.
Whatever you feel about me, I don't care. But I want to share what
I've found with all of my blood, not just one sect. ecause these
tales are important, special, revealing.
[Charles looks at everyone, in the eyes]
If you won't stop me, I'll begin. Listen if you wish, ignore me if
you need to. But take what I say in, and learn for yourselves. Please?
[Charles takes a Victorian Book from the piles, leather bound and
thick with age. He opens it near to the middle, and scans a inger
down the page to find a paragraph]
I decided to look through everything I could find, to find referance
to us, to our past.
I found much, but listen to this tale....
[Looks to a Squirral]
If he's not far, bring him, lt him listen. Much he will know and be
able to elaborate on I believe.....
[He returns to the book]
From the Journal of Edgar von Frauud....
[Looks up]
He was a Victorian author and Explorer. He was obsessed with ancient
myths and legends. Died in Norway in his 70's, facing the winter
cold. But before then, he kept a journal of his discoveries....
[Looks down to the book]
"I am once again in the icy east of Norway, facing the spring cold,
and Arctic winds to follow a lead that my ally and companion Geffory
slipped my way back in England.
Apparently, the folk around here still talk about the Norse, and
continue their legends. He says they know of the tales, and tell them
still, of the first of their kind. Not the Gods legends, but the
tales of the ancient explorers. What a miracle of the Lord it would
be to find such a tale. To know a little more of the ancient Vikings."
[Charles looks up]
He wrote whenever he could, brokenly. So forgive me if it sounds odd,
I'm reading the bits that I need to tell you all. So if I suddenly
skip subject, it's simply because I'm reading what he's written
here...
[Returns to the book]
"I have a meeting today with Bjorun, the local towns bookskeeper, and
banker. He keeps many tales of his fathers, and their fathers before
them, in scrawled ledgers in his back room. This seems to be my final
link to the tales and poems of the Ancients.
--
"Bjorun had many, many tomes in his room, all hard bound and
beautifully written. He said that it was tradition for his people,
and he had placed the stories into books in his spare time. What a
joy to see these.
--
"I have copied many of the texts down into my books, and have lft to
England to study the tales as I travel. What a joy.
--
"My study has bought me many questions, not least of all, why did I
ever chose to take such a confounding proffesion?
The tales are bemusing, refering to those of the "First of the Blood"
who lived in Norway with the Norse and their predessesors. I shall
scrive the tale here, for any who read this in future times, once I
achieve my long overdue fame as an explorer, to ponder over.....
--
[Charles looks up and points with a finger to the passages of the
book]
And now, he wrote this poem, an ancient Norse talesong, of time
immemorial. It's about us. I swear to you. Of our old times, before
we were devided, before we fell to any leader.
[Charles looks to the book]
It's a translation, so it's broken, and this guy didn't know about
us, so his logic is off..... but here goes.....
--
As Freyr returns to Odin,
So does he return.
As Heimdall watches us,
So too do those of the First of the Blood.
Come father Odin,
Come father Blood.
For in times of the Gods,
So did the First ride amoungst us,
Their Children ever now.
Listen,
Son of Odin,
To those who tell the future.
Listen Son of the First,
For their tales last evermore.
Son of the First,
Your fathers speak of the Mimir,
The one who cannot die.
He tells your tale,
Though you have not lived it.
And Mimir forever,
Speaks,
The truth as one.
He tells of the First,
Of their sleep with Loki,
Of their dreams of fire.
He tells your Fathers of the Time beyond.
He tells us of the time of End.
The Ragnarok.
For so shall it come.
For so shall it be.
Forever more as these words are spoken.
For so shall it be.
The First of the Blood of Odin shall wander,
Where no foot may tread,
Across the cold,
Across the Everdark.
And beyond,
The Mimir everspeaking,
Tell your Fathers of the End.
Listen,
Child of the First of Odins Blood,
For it is this tale Mimir choses to tell now.
For a great cry will erupt,
Unlike any before,
But unheard,
Silent in voice,
Deafening in sight.
The cry will awaken the last of the First,
And the root of Yggdrasil shall burn,
And the sky will glow with her fire,
And the Blood of the First shall call.
So shall Mimir awaken,
And so shall Mimir see,
The last battle.
The cry of the horn of Heimdall shall ring true.
All of the Children of the First shall hear it,
And know the truth,
That their war was lost.
The Gods shall take their sides,
As Ragnarok approaches,
Hel and her get,
She of the dead,
Ammased before her,
Rising alongside Loki,
To battle Odin,
And those who stand by the table.
But those who stand shall fall,
And those who hide shall be found,
And those who run shall be caught.
For the table is that of Hel,
Born of her dreams,
Set of her desire,
Cast out by her evil.
So shall Ragnarok arise.
So shall all of the First be killed.
For all things must end,
And all things begin.
Hel will fall,
As will Odin.
As will you,
Oh Child of the First,
In the flames of Yggdrasil's ashes,
For your sight fails you to see,
That Hel lives amoungst those of the table,
And her armies surround you behind her veil.
First of the Odinblood,
Hear the tale of Mimir,
He of the Everseeing,
He who sees the tale of your beginning before him,
He who sees the tale of your end."
--
Interesting, no?
I have more.....
[Charles runs a hand across the papers]
Too much in these is true. Too much.
Stories of ancient wanderers of the night in the Jungles of Peru, and
in the Steppes.
Stories of ancient battles, and visions of the future.
Things that predict the Camarilla.
Things that predict it's failure.
Things that predict it's success.
Too many stories for me to tell.....
Do you, any of you, know anything like this? Not biased to sect.
Stuff about our history?
It's time, I think we sung the tales again, before Ragnarok, and saw
what was in store.....
What do you say First Blood of Odins brood?
[Charles smiles and runs a hand over his pile of books again]
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