Notes from Eivor's travels

This page will be designed to be like Egyptian Notes, for notes found in AC: Valhalla that aren't tied to any specific memory but are in the game and often contain relevant information.

I have no idea how to name this though as they're not all in England (like Egyptian). I was thinking more along the lines of Floating conversations instead, Floating notes, but i'm not sure if that's correct either.

Some notes may turn out to be related to a mission so we can move those to the correct pages when needed.

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Throughout her travels across the 9th century England, Norway and Vinland and through dreams in Asgard and Jötunheimr, Viking shieldmaiden Eivor Varinsdottir came across notes and inscriptions that contained information on people, businesses, and events. These included messages written on paper and walls. Most of these texts were found in military and bandit camps, cities, and other places of interest.

England

Ravensthorpe

Seer's Hut

Valka's Notes on Eivor's JourneyScattered Ingredients from Valka

Eivor Speaks of journeys into the lives of gods and gazing out through the eyes of Odin. Of all those I have helped to see the worlds beyond, the Wolf-Kissed's visions are the clearest, the most precise.

When I call out to the gods, they answer in riddles. A breeze through the meadow gras. The call of a crake. But no matter the infusion or the herb, they do not speak in the words and pictures that Eivor hears and sees.

In my weakest moments, I fear I do not have their favor. But I must be steadfast in my belief. They will show me what I need to see when I am ready. Always.

Juniper Berries

Gills of a perch

Talons of a white pidgeon

Red clay

Stable and aviary

Tall and Proud, a poem by RowanRowan's first-week observations

Is there a better companion

A more loyal friend?

Four legs and all heart

That beats 'til the end.

Whether plowing a field

Or crossing great lands,

Their manes flow so freely,

Their dignity stands.

The Ragnarssons were one thing, but largely I thought them the exception and not the rule, as far as the Norse go. Yet these people, Sigurd and Eivor and Dag and Randvi and the others, they strike me as trustworthy. Perhaps I am simply tired of traveling, or perhaps Yanli's enthusiasm has won me over, but I think I may remain here.

Alvis & Holger's House

A Half-Finished FlytNote to an Unknown Flyter'Twas Not I: A Poem by HolgerSecret Flyting Notes

Let me warn you, dear flyter

I'm more than I seem

A wordsmith's worst nightmare

Make bad poets scream (?)

Try ... Though I look like a dream (?)

Or ... But look like a dream (?)

Steam
Deem
Gleam

Your flyting has much improved since last we dueled, but I wish to give a small note. You use many lines akin to this:

"And this fight I will win"

"And your face I do scorn"

I have made it my own rule never to use this construction, as it places the emphasis quite in the weaker place an feels quite twisted around. This may work elegantly in a poem, but in flyting, it makes you sound desparate, and a flyter must NEVER SOUND DESPERATE. The words must flow as water, and not like water your words must flow.

How could I be I?

I who seeks beauty as a value above all!

It is a crime to live? I say to live is to paint!

And to borrow a token that bothers no one?

Injstice, I say! And I am colored as foul!

Telka - She's a smile like a horse, and her hair looks like straw // Throw some mead down her gullet, and meat in her maw

Gunnar - A missshapen old fool stuck bent over his forge // Just to look on that face always raises my gorge // (a bit weak?)

Randvi - Sigurd's wife? Ha! The woman's in love with a table. // She'd make love to the pawns and her maps were she able.

Holger - Too easy.

Museum

Letter from Octavian's Very Real Lover

To my sweet-scented little hyssop,

My darling Octavian, I was shocked to read your letter! Your new friends do not believe that I exist? Do they think that you make it your business to invent faraway lovers, when you have so many nobler and more compelling pursuits? Well, I say let them think whatever they like. I am as real as you are handsome, and I cannot wait to finally arrive in the settlement and show them all how genuine and corporeal I am. In the meantime, continue adding to the finest collection of all things Roman in the land, and keep being as wonderful as you always are. I will see you as soon as I am able to make my way over!

Julia

(the handwriting is very similar to Octavian's.)

Fowl Farm

Unsent letter from MaydaLetter from Bertham

Curse you! I'm constantly distracted and it is all thanks to you! It's very hard to think of my responsibilities when I keep pondering the shape of your nose and the smell of your neck.

I don't want to wait to see you! Meet me tomorrow in the clearing near the trout creek around midday. Or perhaps I shouldn't give awya our meeting spot. To anyone reading this, I don't know what you're talking about. Who is Bertham?

I've never met him!

Mind your own business!

Dear Mayda,

I started writing about seven other letters to you, all of them terrible.

I don't really know what to say expect that you are always on my mind. And every time I see you in town, it feels like there are frogs swimming around in my stomach, but in a good way.

I'll be dreaming of you tonight.

Yours,
Bertham

Brewery

Telka's Recipe for a Winter BrewNote for Tekla: "My sweet Valkyrie"

In a cauldron, take last year's barley that's grown some colorful friends, roast it over a low fire until the stink is replaced with the smell of burned syrup

Take equel parts new wheat, soak it in clear ice water for two days, and add to the cauldron with enough water to fill to the top

Boil it over a hot fire for a morning, strain into a tub and re-boil the grains one more time
Add to a cooled broth five apples, a bush of lavender, one medium plant of sage, and a fist-sized ball of pine tar

Cover your tub and forget about your brew for twenty nights

Store in a barrel and keep for cold eves that need a bit of warming

Dearest Tekla,

Your hair is the color of autumn wheat,

Your voice flows like a spring thaw.

I long to warm your bed in the cold night,

And watch your breast heave gently as you dream.

Bakery

Unfinished letter to WilfTarben's JournalVery Old Letter

Wilf,

I can scarcely say how many times I have sat down with the intention to write this letter.

It has at times begun with an apology for having abandoned you and our gang.

It has at other times begun with a condemnation of all that you have done to me and others that you call your dearest.

Today, it begins with a word: goodbye. As long as

(letter ends here with a scribble)

Eivor reassures me that this was my decision, and that I have earned my own freedom, but this is modesty. Without Eivor, I would still be hiding behind a name, still be in bondage to the family. Still stealing, still hurting, still killing. It was the encouragement and support I needed to finally take this step on the path to my new life.

I will give this new liberty a few days to sink in. But I must confess, that as the chains fall away, my heart is beaking a little quicker. Perhaps it is only circumstance and the euphoria of my new existence, but something in me was stirred, beyond simple admiration. If things continue this way, I may have to speak more candidly of my feelings, but until then, I will rest easy, bake bread, and look, smiling, toward the future.

Tarben,

I pray this finds you safe.

There is little time left for me now, though the fever comes and goes.

An infection. In a life of violence and battle, I am taken by an infection?

Perhaps it is the way of things.

Perhaps the quickness of the deaths I have visited upon the weak has numbed me to the slow ones.

The ones that give you time to consider.

I will not drag this letter out, as I am being dragged out.

The thirst for blood was instilled in you by me. It was not how you were made.

You were born kind, sweet, loving. Soft and healing.

Your strength is in that, despite your size.

I should have understood this, and let you be the pacifist.

So instead, while you still live, know that you can be.

Know you can stop fighting, stop killing. Stop seeking glory there. Instead, love. Heal. Embrace. Bake. Be the you I did not let you become. And when they remember me as "The Merciless", do not let it be with praise.
There is no glory in the power I wielded.
And in the next life, I will do better.

I love you.
Your Mother

Barracks

Note to Raiders from Eydis

We are never safe. Constant vigilance. Keep your eyes and ears sharp. Keep your bodies strong. And keep your heads in the battle, even in moments of peace. Never let your guard down, for that is when they strike. And whoever keeps leaving their sweat-soaked wraps in the box with the clean ones, I will find you, and I will send you to Hel myself.

Fishing Hut

Merton Journal OneMerton Journal TwoMerton Journal Three

My daughter and her husband did not exggerate: Arth truly is a soft little fellow. I can see why they sent him to me. If he wields an axe like he wields a fishing rope, though, I doubt I should let him near even the firewood! Not if I want him to keep all his toes. Seems my work is cut out for me, whether I teach him fighting or fishery. So much for retirement.

Perhaps I judged too quickly! Arth is proving himself to be quite the capable little fisher. He used a knot today I'Ve never seen before, and when I asked him about it, he said he did it in a dream! And sometimes he seems to know what the fish will do before they do! Maybe I'll give him a little more to do. Can't be too easy on him though, he may get lazy!

Had a wonderful conversation with Telka! It's been so long since I had the opportunity to discuss alchemical philosophy with anyone. Her thoughts on dreams as mirror realms reminded me of my berserker visions. I hope we have the opportunity to converse again soon. Such a bright mind. Perhaps I'll have her help teach Arth.

Blacksmith

Love Letter to Gunnar

(The handwriting is far too difficult to read.)

Shipyard

Secret Message Not from KnudNote from Gudmund to GudrunNote from Gudrun to Gudmund

You smell like horse butt

You know that I adore you. But I must say, my sweet pea, that recently your boat-building plans have been very efficient and perfectly admirable but lacking in a certain ... flair? I would only genlty and lovingly suggest that next time you are drawing up new designs, you consider making the boats as beautiful as you are. Instead of just boring and functional.

I love you so much. I would very much like you to remember, my beloved, that boat-building is the work of a craftswoman and not an artist. Flair and beauty are all well and good for those soft-hearted builders who have the time for fanciful designs, but perhaps I would lovingly suggest that if you want to build a boat, you consider making it effective instead of finding new ways to pretty it up.