Frigg

She is Frigg ~ Daughter of Gunter and Vivolde Of Skerry of Var ~

She came from a long line of musicians in the Northern Lands.
Her mother and father met while traveling to play for the Ubar and Ubara of Torvaldsberg.
They made merry wherever they went and whatever they played. Always with a laughing heart and a quick jest....Until they didn't, that is. That's when all hell broke loose and Frigg tried to stay out of the way, sometimes ducking flying objects her mother threw.
Even still, they all loved music as much as they loved each other and were known throughout the North for bringing, much needed, happiness and joy along with their music to any event be it large or small.
You could say, she was born to be a musician, just like them as, her mother carried Frigg within her belly whilst they traveled and played, eventually, giving birth to her behind an event staging; after, of course, having played the entire night whilst in labour. She never stopped playing or singing and Frigg's father didn't even know until she stumbled off the back and fell to the ground begging he for a physician or midwife as "The babe! The babe comes NOW! Don't just stand there, you idiot of a man, fetch someone now for the love of three moons above! DAMNIT man!!". Her father stayed by her mother's side the entire birthing.
Frigg was happy to know that she saw both of their faces when she first came into the world, cold and harsh as it was. They taught her well and she played music with them from the start of her life until they were besieged by warriors, on the way to play at a ceremonial event.
Her mother fought a valiant fight but then looked at Frigg and screamed for her to run and "DO NAE LOOK BACK CHILD!!!!"
She ran into the forest, as tears rolled down her face realising, as she heard her mother's screams and no longer her father's, that she would never see them again....

"...it might be mentioned, thinking it is of some interest, musicians on Gor are never enslaved; they may, of course, be exiled, tortured, slain and such; it is said, perhaps truly, that he who who makes music must, like the tarn and the Vosk gull, be free."
Nomads of Gor ~ Book 4 ~ Pages 153 - 154












✘ I love huge, throbbing vocabularies.
✘ I crave clean, tight grammar.
✘ So please, slap me with your diction...That being said...