Horrindyr Vanbrog the Champion of the Virtues, Avowed of Azorinne, Cardinal of the Golden Sun

Title History

Role

Chapter 3

The shadowy shapes slowly started to become clearer. Three astride, they
pulled another one between them. She felt the gripping fear, all the heat of
her body left her and went into the dark sea. She swam, frantically, with a
knot in her throat that would not go away.

"Boys, stay close," she shouted through the constricting throat and swam.

He seemed much older than she knew him. Gray in his beautiful seaweed colored
hair. A middle aged man, not the youth that he was. But she would always
recognize those strong gentle hands, that noble face, those lips that always
had a smile for her. Cold. He was cold.

"Tordiir! God's blood, save him!" she pleaded with one of the men. "Please,
Tordiir, save him!"

The giant closest to her stood like a stone. His head bowed, weeping.

"There is nothing I can do, Silgyra... He was in the mist too long... He is
dead."

She hugged her sons, those young giants that looked so much like their father,
and wept. The other giants joining them in their embrace.

They took Horrindyr's body toward the Eye of the Storm that same night. As she
swam she kept close to her sons, but she was not alone, the whole village was
with them, singing a mournful dirge. She had so many questions unanswered of
what had happened, and she felt the grief would just split her in two. As they
neared the storm the God's blood fell all around them and kissed the sea with
a golden radiance. She knew that light. Whenever she would be insecure and
fret over their future, those strong arms would embrace her, and that light
would burn in those emerald eyes as he told her: "It will be alright." And she
always believed him.

Role

Chapter 2

Horrindyr swam slowly toward the eye of the storm, ever so often breaching the
surface. Not out of necessity but out of a need to see the turmoil overhead.
He could see the shapes of others of his kind, mostly young ones, doing the
same in the distance. Each of them a storm giant on a holy pilgrimage that
gave the name to their race. He had done this pilgrimage before, but he felt
he needed to see it once again.

He found himself within the eye of perfect calm, all around him and in the
distance multitudes of streaking God's blood (lightning) were constantly
falling from the dark clouds and into the sea. All of that light made him
think of the Holy Mother, she was so much alike. A multitude of tempestuous
lights, woven together into a single being of nurturing harmony, kindness and
Light. She is everywhere and her wisdom is in all things, Horrindyr thought to
himself. She is the blazing sun and the light of the far of star that won't be
impeded by the darkness of the void between you and her. The light will always
find you if you but look.

His hand reached for the kelp rope at his waist. In spite of our separation
and distance we are still entwined, he thought, in perpetuity. Even with the
rope in his hands, they felt empty. He felt that there should be two other
hands, smaller and much like his own, clasping his palms. He gripped that
emptiness with both hands, closed his eyes, and prayed to the Holy Mother and
the Light. Mercy.

Role

Chapter 1

Horrindyr comes from a very small enclave of storm giants that live in the Sea
of Despair. As kelp farmers they tend to lead secluded lives, far from war and
conflict. The society there follows old storm giant traditions, they are
thought to seek out the eye of the storm and pray for revelation and guidance
from what they call the Uller's or God's Blood (lightning). Horrindyr married
young and was blessed with two strong and curious boys. He could never imagine
life being so kind to him, but it wasn't to last. He would take his young boys
with him as he worked the kelp fields. While he toiled on the sea floor, his
sons would play above him on the surface, breaching the waves. One day, he
looked up and they were gone. He swam in search of them for as long as his
muscles would heed him, when even the dread spawned adrenaline in his body
couldn't make them work he found himself in front of the northern mists of the
sea. He knew those mists, and he knew he had to go in them to find his sons.
He also knew that no one ever found anything in those mists but loss. A sober
man would know nothing could be salvaged from that place. But could a father
afford to abandon even a fool's hope?

Horrindyr often dreams nightmares of the untold time he spent in those mists.
Only despair can be found in that void. And it always comes with that taunting
chant "Blessed are the Lost." Blinded and deafened by the roiling mists, he
would trudge on in them, directionless, hoping fate would be kind and merciful
and finally lead him to his boys. Fate didn't have that in store for him. At
one point, the mists just parted and he found himself in the angry waves of
the Sea of Despair. The swirling mass behind him retreated and disappeared.

Horrindyr is a broken man in many ways. He doesn't know for how long he had
been within the Mists. Maybe a day, maybe a year, maybe a millennia. He never
searched for his home. Having lost what was most precious and irreplaceable,
how could he ever face his wife? With the shame buried deep, he set out to
find mercy, for his sons, for his wife, and finally for himself as well. Only
the Gods can heal the deep pain that is within him if he is worthy.

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