beraldathevalkyrie-blog

[beraldathevalkyrie-blog]

“Hell on Wings? Hells on Wings!” 

Hell on Wings for this wonderful ship to nowhere

[beraldathevalkyrie-blog]

Heading back; Snow.

“We made it lil’ one...” -Voice of Beralda

Within the where about of a cavern, the shadows lit upon wings overstretched the far reaches of the back where light were just barely shining from an oil lamp at the side. A Valkyrie it appeared out of her elements, sat cross legged by the fire with her newly acquired journal she had been given in her one day’s worth of travel. Silver accents upon her feathers from the wings were a lit with many small messages that glowered every so often in a lovely bluish color. A quill made from gryphon feather were brushed over pages, leathered in texture. Almost papyrus, but different style. 

“This place is surreal, almost another part of this Eorzea I’ve not yet experienced in quite sometime having the Garlean designs as intricate patterns here. I search in time for Bodvar and Aelfred. Aelfred mostly, nick named Stetson due for his favorite hat he adorns. He’s another half-breed I've come across in the few months I’ve been here. The others are Elezen’s mostly. Knife-ears as others call them. This writing a ‘journal’ theme seems to help soothe my mind, so. I will start off with. I am Lady Beralda, Valkyrie. Shield Maiden of the North, to the Clan of Wolf. 

My home is much North of here, within the ‘legend’ place apparently as I’ve been told, Halls of Valhalla. The Aesir are her people. ‘Her’ being the homelands of Asgard. I know, muchly known at the mythical place of others but here I am writing in a journal just to be away from this civilization of Eorzean citizens. Mostly Ul’dah. I stopped at this place call Camp Bluefog? Yes, odd name, but I’m here. With a small pup that followed me out from these caverns. I’ve yet to name him, but his spirit is strong. He is a young Wolf, that much I can see forth of his features and the way he carries his stride. A good traveling companion since I do not have my Gryphon. Bodvar. That is another...story itself.”

(Picture of Beralda and said Wolf pup right in the corner.)

The picture were placed within the journal taken a sketch of her as well the wolf pup earlier. The Valkyrie smiled, running her fingers over it before going back to her writings; 

“I’ve managed to talk to others here, about the where about of Aelfred. No signs of him this way, only through Ul’dah. Do I strive myself back there to the city-state to face the others yet? No. With or without my gryphon I will be heading North none the matter. There is a place called Camp Dragonhead I can go to, right outside of Ishgard. The home city to these knife-ears here. Some of them are kindly, I’ve met one actually that befriended quickly over Mead. Others...Not so much. The people here at the camp are to say the least...Colorful, if anything.

They strive to protect what they have here away from the Imperials. Little do they know, I once served on a vessel to get here for a long time. Learn the ways through them. That will be for another journal posting. Imperials that recruit Eorzeans into their ranks have little knowledge of what they were getting themselves into. I pity them, all of them. Including the footsoldiers of the Imperial Army. Everyone has a life. Everyone has a standard. My hatred for them is long gone after almost killing one that turned out to be a child no less. Barely in their summer years.

The Moon here rarely shines on the tavern here to which bunks to a Lalafell, two other patrons and a few more. They share beds or take turns through out the night to rest. A trust squadron. We did this back home when watching out for enemies through the raids we’ve done if I were not picking through Einherjar to bring forth to Odin. So many countless battles...

My sword and shield are still no where to be found, but this sword I have currently serves me proper. Given to me a by traveler that died on my first arrival here known as Coerthas Western Highlands. The gates were impeccable to go through, but once through is where I came upon this land. I am heading back there, to hunt and live perhaps for awhile. I don’t know yet, it’s my destination for the time being while in search of my gryphon and his current rider. Perhaps my sword and shield will pop up on the way North. I pray to the gods it does.

I wonder how my friends are foregoing in their nature after realizing some emotions that I’ve never had before. I need to clear my mind, my heart. Though I fear for them without me around, what am I to do? Asatolf, I’ve asked to watch over my good friend the Elder Monk Singing Ocean. While Rothgar I’ve packed my things from mostly and left in a hurry after assurance of leaving something behind at Yrsa’s. That woman of truth norse blood. Halone’s Priestess she is, as is she shall be. She is a Warrior, but a good woman, good heart. Means well. Rothgar? Well, he is a sweetheart of one, but some exchanged words made me realize that perhaps a friend were right. I am not meant for here. His wife as well himself share a housing that is much reminding me of Doman. It’s lovely.

Asatolf is a Baker as well a Monk. He has a wonderful home with a luxurious hot tub he spends most of his time within to clear his thoughts after a stressful day. He knows many friends, but at the same his heart is heavy as is his peace. He looks to me always with affection that I cannot give back due for oath. Of heart of gold, as well good manners. The Jotun is always welcomed in my book.

Yrsa is a woman of gratitude, beauty but stubborn. Comical in some ways, one of the first I’ve come to known in this land. A hot head like myself but welcomed me in her home first before any. I lived there with one other which I’m about to get to. She’s a long hall that is not visible really to those around, however seen clear as day if one knew where to look. Also a deputy with the Flames, which I were gracious of. She’s been a help more than any, if not one of my closest friends. A woman of home I can relate to.

Aelfred, or Stetson I like to call him for nickname really is a character. He brings out the best in folk that others cannot see with pestering them. A kindred that made me stop in tracks upon first walk in the Quicksands reminding me of someone. Though, that wasn’t ever the case. There’s a connection there I know of, but won’t write here. Perhaps it’s my mentality. He’s the one with my gryphon right now, however; after what Yrsa spoke to me, I’d rather a word with him to get my Bodvar back. I raised that feathered beast from an egg. I doubt he’d sell my gryphon but who knows?...He’s the half-breed I mentioned earlier also. The red haired one with open coat few have spoken to the last couple of days. I’ve gotten hints of his where about but he seems to frequent the city state when I’m not there. If one does see him, He’s always with cigar in hand, drinking Mead. Looks for Miqo’te tail to cut off wanting all the colors. As well tosses out Elezen out of the bar. There’s more here, but I’ll leave that for another section of journal entry.

Rothgar, helping in killer of the Siren, my dear friend. Or at least I thought. Perhaps he still is in a wonder of things if only wiser words were chosen. I get the fight stopping, but I were defending myself...Long story. Roth is a quiet man, calls himself old, but is a very good friend to others.  He would give the shirt off his back to others as well if it came to that. Currently, I’m still upset with him.

Jahl is the maker of happiness with others, gracious in his ways as well his husband. His heart is there but also shares another ‘open relationship’ type deal. Perhaps in time he will fondly help me capture Aelfred with Bodvar. When I mean fondly, I mean literally chasing him, soon. 

Siti, the Xaela that is another skin changer I call them. They make themselves known through other skins it seems. Miqo’te then back to Xaela. Quite odd for me to capture this in my mind but it has happened on several occasions. My heart calls out to mine friend of dark thoughts, he is young learning to protect others in his grace. I only which that his dance were the speak of his tongue as well. One day he’ll get it. He is still one never to be forgotten.

For now that is all I have to wish to write on this page, however I will continue so forth on my journey. This journal writing is something new as well interesting. Maybe one day my story will be shared when I am gone from this Eorzea or printed to share with others if I decide to stay here long term. That’s another saddening thing...Eorzean’s do not live as long as a Valkyrie. I found this out yesterday as well...”

The journal were closed while Beralda stowed it away into her satchel for another day worth of writing. She’s had plenty of time upon her hands recent with all going on after leaving the city-state. Her where about will be shared with friends alike through letters to send through the Moogles. Another creature she finds yet interesting, but curious. Within the light of the caverns now darkened from the oil lamp being turned down. Her wings were the only bluish light to now reckon the icy walls of the cave. Shadows danced from the small flames now dying off within the once campfire that lingered upon logs. 

The wolf pup yipped happily beside the Valkyrie when she made herself a bed out of straw to lay upon. With the pup jumping up within arms to be held for the night, the dreams came upon her quickly of prior wars. Good dreams then a nightmare she’d soon never forget.