Through the murky bog and howling tundra, the obscenities of a sweaty, soil-covered Furyborn echo out. With a heavy grunt, the giant of a man tossed the heavy logs onto a stack outside a great hall. This exchange took place in Skodje. “Drengr, I have FINALLY finished cutting down to size an ENTIRE WINTERS WORTH of logs for the fire. Will you finally share your knowledge?!” The older Skagger yawned, sitting on the front stairs of the lodge adjacent to an idol wood carving of Asbjorn and aside from him, Bard, drinking from his steaming coffee as he read through the notice. “That’s a good first step, Svend. But to master your craft, you must humble yourself as a warrior.” “Humility is best served from experience gained from the sweat and heat of battle. I fail to see how cutting down logs and carrying them for meters before cutting them into smaller logs will make me a greater foe in the pit, Drengr?” “Humility is used to contain ourselves, Svend. So we don’t overstep, so we don’t lash out unintended, so we don’t force the burden of our rage onto others. Values like that are taught while swinging an axe at the enemy, that is true, but they are also taught while swinging it down upon timber or, in your case, while mopping up last night's drool.” The old skagger gestured to a mop and bucket near the door as he had a hearty chuckle. “Knowing you, this will help temper your metal. By the way, consider what’s happening in your new home as embers to heat the forge, with the Purists and the like- You are not missing what you are gaining here.” “Wait… What do you mean what’s happening in my new home?”
