#gisli

[nerevar-quote-and-star]

Gisli, to Elisif: Sorry we're late, Erikur had an accident.

Gisli: He was born.

[lakeviewcellar]

My dinner with Gisli

[paganimagevault]

The Sword Graysteel ("Grásíða") by C.E. St. John-Mildmay 1866. From 'The Story of Gisli the Outlaw', trans. Sir G. W. Dasent (Edinburgh, 1866).

"...but the sword fell on Kors head, and did not bite; but still the blow was so stoutly dealt that the skull was shattered and the sword broke asunder. Then Kol said: "It had been better now that I had got back my sword when I asked for it; and yet this is but the beginning of the ill-luck which it will bring on thy kith and kin." Thus both of them lost their lives." -Gísli Saga, Ch.1

https://paganimagevault.blogspot.com/2020/04/the-sword-graysteel-grasia_28.html

[dovahgriin-archive]

Betrayal

Iveria comes home, injured and covered in blood. Gisli isn't sure if it's hers, or... someone else's. Pairing: Iveria/Gisli Character(s): Iveria Loriusa, Gisli, Gaius Maro (mentioned), Astrid (mentioned) Warnings: Blood, graphic descriptions of injury

         Gisli looks up from her book as the front door of Proudspire clicks open and closed. If Iveria comes back drunk one more time… She shuts the sixth volume of A Dance in Fire with a sigh, then stands and goes to go and greet her wife.

         The sight that greets her in the foyer takes her breath away, and not in a good way. Iveria is crumpled on the floor, bruised and bloodied, strange black armor damaged beyond repair. Blood seeps into the porous stone of the floor.

         “What in Oblivion happened to you?!” Gisli strides over to Iveria, kneeling at her side as her hands hover over her wife’s prone form. Iveria looks up and smiles at Gisli. It is a terrible sight to behold, blood staining her teeth crimson and dripping down from her broken nose.

         “I was betrayed,” she rasps, breath coming in short gasps. “Astrid… Astrid told Gaius Maro, well… It doesn’t matter. The plan didn’t work, and now…” Blood bubbles on her lips as she wheezes.

         “Where are you injured?” Gisli doesn’t know much restoration magics, but she can stop the bleeding long enough so that she can run for healing poultices from Angela. Iveria chokes out a laugh.

         “Where am I not injured?” She raises a shaky hand to wipe the blood from her lip; all it does is smear it in a macabre imitation of lip rouge. “I was stabbed in the back. Might’ve, uh, might’ve pierced a lung. It was poisoned. My magicka is drained.”

         Gisli rolls Iveria onto her belly as she whimpers, exposing the ugly wound on her upper back. The edges are ragged and turning black. Gisli sucks in a sharp breath. Blood bubbles out of it as the injured woman breathes.

         “By Talos… They really did poison you.” Gisli’s muttered oath to the Man-God goes unnoticed as she lays a hand over the injury. “This will hurt, I think,” she tells her wife, gathering the soft golden healing magic in her hands and running them over the wound. Iveria tenses and bites down on her glove, muffling a scream.

         Gisli gags at the feeling of flesh knitting itself back together beneath her hand, bile rising sour in her throat. She does this again, and again, and again, unwilling to do a half-assed job. When she is certain that she has healed the wound in Iveria’s back, she pulls back, wiping her hands on the fine fabric of her skirt. It leaves behind a stain in the shape of her hand. Iveria breathes a little more normally, and, satisfied with her handiwork, Gisli jogs to the alchemy station in the storeroom on the lower floor.

         She rummages through the chest next to the alchemy table, pushing aside potions and poisons — I should organize this mess later on, Gisli thinks idly — labeled in careful calligraphy until she wraps her fingers around the bottle that she was looking for. The reddish liquid sloshes in the phial, reminding a slightly-queasy Gisli of the blood dripping from Iveria’s wounds and staining her hands copper. She hurries back upstairs.

         While Gisli was gone, Iveria has pulled herself into a sitting position against a basalt pillar, arms sitting limply by her sides. Her sun-bronzed skin is pale from blood loss and her eyes are hazy with pain. Blood is congealing along her hairline, clumping Iveria’s sweaty hair together. Gisli tsk’s at Iveria, stifling the panic at seeing her wife — her wife — lain so low. It is… unnerving for her.

         “Drink this,” she says, uncorking the phial of potion with her teeth and holding it up to Iveria’s swollen lips. Her wife opens her mouth just enough for Gisli to tilt the contents of the mixture into Iveria’s mouth. It must be bitter – although she keeps drinking it, Iveria’s face scrunches in distaste.

         “Ugh,” she says after pulling back. “Remind me to add honey to the recipe. That tasted like shit.”

         Color begins to return to Iveria’s face after her announcement and Gisli giggles in relief. Iveria smiles up at her, Nordic blue eyes sparkling. “How did you know that this potion was in the chest?”

         “I… I didn’t,” Gisli admits. Iveria raises an eyebrow in silent surprise. “You spend so much time experimenting down there that I thought… I’d hoped… and was proven correct. I can still run to Angela’s, though, if that wasn’t enough.”

         “No, no, you did well.” Gisli flushes at her wife’s praise. “But now that I’m not on the edge of death…” Iveria snaps her fingers and a spark of electricity sizzles between them. “... I need to go.”

         “Wait, what?” Gisli scrambles to stand as Iveria struggles to get her feet underneath herself. “You can’t go! You have to —”

         “I don’t have to do anything,” Iveria snaps, voice cold. “But I need to go. My family… My family is in danger.”

         There’s a dangerous, frantic glint in her eyes; they flash red-gold briefly as she rises to her full height — she is still shorter than Gisli, but the energy surrounding her makes the Nordic woman suddenly feel very, very small — and looks at Gisli, determined. Gisli swallows against the misgivings building in her chest, throat aching with words that she can’t put voice to.

         “I thought I was your family.” Unbidden, unwanted tears well in Gisli’s eyes and she scrubs at them with the back of her hand, suddenly furious with herself for letting her emotions get the better of her. Iveria softens, eyes returning to their usual warm blue.

         “You are. But I have other people who rely on me, too.” She reaches out, like she might brush Gisli’s cheek with her fingertips, but then pulls back, uncertainty dancing in her eyes. Iveria clears her throat, and the moment is broken. “Stay inside, Gisli. Stay safe.”

         Iveria turns invisible with a wave of her hand, and Gisli hears first her footsteps and then the sound of the storeroom door opening and closing before silence falls upon the house again. Sighing, Gisli turns to the puddle of blood on the floor. “Damn her, now I have this mess to clean up…”

[raythecomputerart]

So I just realized that I never posted Orion my sweet blind child made of pure sunshine and I don’t know why I didn’t but now I have fixed this!

[paganimagevault]

They played knattleikur at Seftjorn pond - Unknown date/artist

"Now they began the game, and Thorgrim could not hold his own. Gisli threw him and bore away the ball. Again Gisli wished to catch the ball, but Thorgrim runs and holds him and will not let him get near it. Then Gisli turned and threw Thorgrim such a fall on the slippery ice that he could scarce rise. The skin came off his knuckles, and the flesh off his knees, and blood gushed from his nostrils. Thorgrim was very slow in rising. As he did so he looked towards Vestein's howe, and chaunted: "Right through his ribs, My spear-point went crashing; Why should I worry? ’Twas well worth this thrashing." -Gísli Saga, Ch.8

https://paganimagevault.blogspot.com/2020/04/they-played-knattleikur-at-seftjorn-pond.html

[paganimagevault]

The Dream Wife by C.E. St. John-Mildmay 1866. From 'The Story of Gisli the Outlaw', trans. Sir G. W. Dasent (Edinburgh, 1866).

"Spoke the Valkyr, stern beholding--   'Ne'er shall ye twain woo and kiss, Day by day your love unfolding,   All the Gods forbid your bliss. Woden, lord of worlds and ages,   Me hath sent to speak his will, Far from where the battle rages,   Lo! his bidding I fulfil.' "She, methought, her face all flushing,   Bathed my locks in reddest blood, Flames of light so rosy blushing,   Woden's balm so bright and good Still I see her fingers glowing,   Bright with gems and blazing rings, Steeped in blood so freely flowing,   Welling from the wounds of kings. "Yes! that lady, dark as raven,   Bound my brow with gory hood; All my hair was shorn and shaven--   Sad the plight in which I stood: Still her hands were gore-bedabbled,   Still her fingers dropped with blood; Something in my ear she babbled,   Then I woke--to find thee good."   Bold my heart with peril played Not a man of them came nigh me,   Blithely sang my tuneful blade: Till at last my doom was spoken,   Ten to one beat down my shield Well my death was then ywroken,   Loud clashed swords on fated field. "Thick I spread the ravens' table,   One I swept like wind away, Ere those bitter foes were able   Once to wound me in the fray Nay! my sword with temper eager   Shore a leg from off a wight; Off he limped, so wan and meagre,   Mine the pledge he lost in fight." "Methought, O wife, the blood was flowing   Down my sides in crimson rill; ’Tis but the debt of suffering owing, The toilsome task I must fulfil.   Fairly won my wounds, no snarling, Others' wives for me must weep;--   Such my visions, Auda darling, When my eyelids close in sleep. "Methought, O wife, with weapons bloody   Both my close-set lips were scored; Those twin-sisters fair and ruddy   Deeper blushed at kiss of sword. Still fond hope was ever smiling,   Blooming like the fairest flower; 'Thou shalt ’scape'--such words beguiling   Cheered me in that darksome hour. "Methought my foemen, axes wielding   Both my arms at once lopped off; Wound on wound, no buckler shielding,   Woe on woe, and bitter scoff. Worse I dreamt--my forehead splitting,   Cleft in twain by force of hand, O'er my brow, like goblin flitting,   Gaped and grinned the grisly brand. "Methought that lady wise and witty,   Wearing crown of silver sheen; O'er me bowed her head in pity,   Fast the pearls fell from her een. Mistress she of hoards unbroken,   Bound my wounds with gentle skill; What, my love, doth this betoken?--   Bodes it good or bodes it ill?" -Gísli Saga, Ch.18

https://paganimagevault.blogspot.com/2020/04/spoke-valkyr-stern-beholding-neer-shall.html

[paganimagevault]

The Forging of the Spear by C.E. St. John-Mildmay 1866. From 'The Story of Gisli the Outlaw', trans. Sir G. W. Dasent (Edinburgh, 1866).

"Well, they all thought that good counsel; and after that they went out of their booth to the point of the"ere," and there cut up a sod of turf in such wise that both its ends were still fast to the earth, and propped it up by a spear scored with runes, so tall that a man might lay his hand on the socket of the spear-head. Under this yoke they were all four to pass--Thorgrim, Gisli, Thorkel, and Vestein. Now they breathe each a vein, and let their blood fall together on the mould whence the turf had been cutup, and all touch it; and afterwards they all fall on their knees and were to take hands, and swear to avenge each the other as though he were his brother, and to call all the Gods to witness." But now, just as they were going to take hands, Thorgrim said: "I shall have quite enough on my hands if I do this towards Thorkel and Gisli, my brothers-in-law; but towards Vestein I have no tie to bind me to so great a charge." As he said this he drew back his hand. "Then more will do the like," says Gisli, and drew back his hand. "I will be bound by no tie to the man who will not be bound by the same tie to my brother-in-law Vestein. "Now men began to think there was some weight in Gest’s spaedom. But Gisli said to Thorkel: "All this happened as I foreboded, and this which we have done is of no good, for I guess that fate rules in this too." -Gísli Saga, Ch.4

https://paganimagevault.blogspot.com/2020/04/the-forging-of-spear_28.html