Daily life

It was a dry summer evening when Cjärl was sitting near the campfire. The sun was already down and the moon was rising up to its highest point. In the distant, Cjärl could hear how a young mother gently sung a lullaby to her baby. He recognized the song as the same one that his own mother sang when he was just a little boy. Cjärl felt how his sweat dripped from his bearded face and bare chest. Slowly, his hand reached for his drinking horn and he emptied it in one draught. It had been a good day. When he was hunting a few hours earlier he managed to catch a ferocious, wild boar. He still felt the burning pain in his left leg from the wound he sustained during the chase. He didn't moan about it for he was a member of the Black Bear Tribe.

"Well, well Cjärl, I heard about your catch today. I heard you killed a boar. I want to exchange a few of my own chickens for it," Cjärl who was deep in thought, startled when someone spoke up behind him. In a flash he had his self-made dagger in hand and was ready to strike. When he recognized the man behind him as Balder he became calm again: "Balder, you fool, I almost stabbed you with my dagger." The bald warrior who was dressed in bearskin bursted out laughing. "Wel ,kiddo, There would be a dozen of you to take me down … You have to survive a few more winters to get as skilled as I am," Without waiting for Cjärl's response the elder warrior took a seat next to the hunter. "Well, what do you think? I'll give you 10 chickens for your boar?" Cjärl stared astounded to Balder. "Do you think that the sky has fallen on my head? I know my boar is worth much more. You have to come with a better offer my friend. It was clear that Balder didn't like the answer and his reddened with rage. Cjärl knew about Balder's bad temper and he was ready to counter a strike from his short-tempered friend.

The strike didn't come and a moment later the bald warrior burst out laughing again. "You are no fool Cjärl, but I cannot give you more than 10 chickens. But I challenge you for a play with the dice. The winner will win the stakes. If I win your boar is mine but in the case you win, you will get my chickens." Cjärl was silent for a few seconds, taking the challenge in consideration. "Balder, son of Olaf, I accept your challenge," Answered the hunter with a self-confident voice. "*hick* You guys are not playing without me, Gurth, son of Skeggi orcslayer *hick*," sounded from a short distance. It was Gurth, one of the few tribesmen who is addicted to gambling. "Go home, Gurth. You looked to deep in the ale, go pamper your wife if you're still fit to do that," yelled Balder. Gurth, who was obviously roaring drunken, gave the bald warrior an ugly look. "There is no game with.. without Gurrrthh," he protested, "I bet the one barrel of ale I have from our last raid in Calam's teriti …teriiii .. teritory. *burps*." Balder and Cjärl looked at each other and decided to accept Gurth's offer.

The drunken, red-haired man took a few cups and dice out of his satchel and gave them to the others and the game started. "We play one match and the winner takes it all, does everyone accept these therms?" Balder asked. No one complained about it and the gambling started. The three Firar rattled their cups and looked to the dice they had. A small smile appeared on the face of the young hunter when he saw his dice. He had four six' and one five. Because Balder was the challenger he had the right to start the game. "Five times a three he said, believe it or not." The drunkard looked at his dice. "Five times a four" With a poker face Cjärl said: "Six times a six." Balder's face grew pale and he stuttered: "se … sev … seven times a six. Gurth yelled it out: "You are a liar Balder !! Hand *hick* over your chickens*." Balder showed the dice under his cup. In total there were exactly seven dice with a six on it. The red-heared drunkard spat a curse out when he realized that he had lost the game. "It is you against me now, kiddo," the bald warrior guffawed when he rattled his cup again. This time it was Cjärl who was the first to go. "Four times a on," he said with a poker face. The short- tempered warrior didn't trust the whole situation and decided to play it safe. "Three times a four," Cjärl rattled his cup again and took a look at his dice and waited a few seconds. "Four times a four". Balder looked in the hunter his eyes, irritated, and tried it again. "Three times a six." The young hunter watched his opponent very closely and the short hesitation in Balder's voice didn't escape his notice. "You are lying Balder … There are no three six' under your cup." Both participants showed their dice and indeed there here only two dices with a six under Balder's cup. Cjärl not only won 10 chickens but also a barrel of ale from Gurth. Balder sat next to Cjärl the face of a surly child. He knew that he was beaten and that the spirits favored Cjärl. It would be unwise to question the wisdom of the spirits after all.