The sun shines dully through thick morning fog mist as a group of mounted figures advance up the final hill before their fated destination.
The four figures summit the final hill; a rare blast of frozen air memoentarily dispels the fog, and their destination is outlined on the cleft below them.
The Dawnfort; both pig farm and noble defender of the civilized part of the Upper Valley's northern border. Amid a maze of stone barracks and storerooms, armored and armored men train, guard and tramp through mud, s%!@ and grass. You can see the tall neighbouring palisade, sharpened stakes a spiny lune cut through the once-open country, dividing the valley in a way thought before only done by the cairn line left by the twelve heroes.
Atop the hill, each mounted figure regards the land below.
Atop the hill, each mounted figure recalls and ponders the act that brought them there.
Atop the hill, each mounted figure remembers their instructions. The Houses of the Heroes and the Council call you to service. Travel to the Dawnfort, speak with Commander Wrongir, and reclaim and rebuild Gisli's taken land. If you can accomplish this deed, your names will be lauded up and down the valley, and glory, gold and respect will shower upon you
Mother Perrish clings uncomfortably to the horse beneath her. More of a pony really, as it was easier for her to mount and dismount. She looks down upon the fort, an improvised reflection of glories long passed. In a valley that abandon the ways of its founders in search of peace, here men returned to blades and steel jackets in a desperate bid to regain that which was buried with the heroes of old: the warlike traditions of the people who came down from the mountains.
Svana herself had chosen Mother Perrish for the assignment, after she volunteered of course. The artifacts from the monsters had brought much discussion and insight, but with it came the burden of research. Ketil would need resources to speed up the work, and nobody would suspect Perrish was there to liberate what great treasures may remain in Gisli lands. But more than that, as a curator of the dead, she was known to have some mastery of wards that the great fighters might need. But most importantly, the mysterious Moonlit Altar might well hold the key to fighting back the Winter's monsters, at least in Perrish's mind.
She frowned smugly at the palisades and farmers playing soldier; they'd have been wise to remember their heroes and train in sword and magic. But at least they'd finally begun to see the importance of such things, and perhaps were finally willing to make the kind of sacrifices necessary to ensure the safety of the valley. With a squint and a shudder she spurred on her mount to descend towards the fortified farm.
Pike looked upon the Fort as he crested the hill, riding a few lengths ahead of the others, and sitting high in his saddle- both to get a better look and to appear just a bit less-short compared to his companions.
He nodded half-approvingly seeing the warriors-in-training, then looked up at the mounted sentinels patrolling the palisade. He'd need a look at their perches sooner rather than later. There were many of them watching, sure, but trusting the security of the entire fort to another unit without being familiar with it himself was not something he was particularly comfortable with.
'Are all their sight lines even covered? Ugh.' he thought as he watched a guard turn around and head back in the direction he'd come. Pike knew he wouldn't be able to sleep until he had at least reviewed their operation, so he made a mental note to get it done before they headed out. He'd spotted a number of approaching enemies in his day-- which probably factored into why he was here in the first place. Getting the jump on the enemy forces could turn the tide in an otherwise un-winnable situation and greatly limit loss of life. Hopefully he'd have enough time to impress the importance of their role to the sentinels before he and the others got started on their own mission.
'On the other hand, haven't been surprised in a while, could be interesting...' He forced himself to stop that line of thought, remembering his responsibilities and shaking off the desire to really push himself to his limits. They were sure to have a challenging mission ahead- no sense looking for more trouble than necessary.
"Yah!" he said, encouraging his horse on towards the fort.
With a predatory gaze Aerik looks down at the Dawnfort and is filled with pride at his people's success at protecting their lands. With a weary sigh he whispers into his horses ear, "We're home girl." At least for a little while, he reminds himself.
As they continue toward the fort he can't help but remember Ingmar and Ingrid's parting words to him, Aerik, we put our people's trust in you. You are a warrior and Hunter of great renown, now we task you with hunting the enemies of the Valley people. May the spirit Rurik guide you and strengthen your arm.
With a grim smile he makes his way forward with his new found companions.
The journey had been long and difficult. Seeing the fortification filled Torag with both pride and longing! Such a place should have been built by his people….but the pride of his people was their downfall, so perhaps the pig farm turned fortress was a statement he should take to heart.
Travelling from the lands of the Erlend had been long and difficult. His once magnificent armor was now dented and scored from the many trials. The great sigil of Orm still showed proudly upon his breastplate, but even it was scored and tarnished. Fighting his way through the smoking remains of House Elrik had been bad. Several times he had to call upon the spirit of Orm to clear his way through the miasma of sulfur and other noxious gasses. It was while he rested from this journey that he met the others and now stood, with them, on the hilltop overlooking the pig farm.
Thinking back to the journey he cannot help but remember his meeting with Gudmund, the leader of his displaced people.
”Help them, reclaim the lands lost, and champion our people. Return with an army and free our lands from it’s watery grave!”
A lofty goal for a simple warrior and smith, but one he was willing to attempt. His people, while thankful for the hospitality of House Erlend, needed to regain their own lands. Pressure was growing for them to forget their past and join House Erlend, giving over all their secrets of building and shipcraft. Gudmund would have none of it, and it was rumored he was even contemplating leaving the valley if the pressure became too much.
He had to succeed….his people’s future depended upon it.
In reflective rectitude, the party makes its way down the hill, entering the Dawnfort proper; a few curious glances arise, but most are busy with their drills, rest and practicing. Stableboys emerge to take your mounts, allowing you to drop into the cluttered mud and dirt of the fort's ground. One of them helps Mother Perrish to the ground.
A young woman with blonde hair and soldiers' armor emerges from the gaggle of buildings and fortifications towards you; she comes to attention, the valley's closest gesture to a salute. "Welcome to the Dawnfort, sirs, ma'am. My name is Alfhild; I'll take you to the commander"
Following her through a maze of quarters, quartermasters, cooking stations and bare storage spaces, you eventually find yourselves in a large room, stone fresh from new construction, its walls ringed with desks and tables piled with parchment and ink, all focused around a circular altar in the center of the room topped with a well-made map of the Valley and its environs.
A tall man with greying hair and wrinkled, high cheek bones turns and his face breaks into a smile; you see him dressed in Svein's colors, black and silver, as he approaches to take your hands in turn. "Ah, our esteemed visitors from the council; welcome. My name is Wrongir, I... well, command this fort, I suppose." He gives a small helpless shrug. "It's my pleasure to greet you, and it will be my pleasure to help you on the noble path you have ahead of you."
"May I ask how briefed you have been on your roles and responsibilities?"
"Well met, Commander," Pike replies, earnestly.
"How have we been briefed? Certainly not enough, sir. Anything you can tell us will be valuable: recent skirmishes, the lay of the land, anything you've learned or tried so far. It's better to be briefed twice than not at all, in my experience."
Mother Perrish gives a wrinkled smile. "Oh child, I'm afraid my memory isn't what it used to be. Remind old Mother Perrish of the details?" In sharp contrast to her behavior on the trip, she appears to be ingratiating herself to the commander.
She looks around at the hewn stone walls and takes on a more neutral tone. "Homey."
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"Well... Pike Erlendson, I believe? I can offer much on that; this border is my duty, and I keep to it well."
He looks around with some chagrin. "Ah... yes. We had some visitors from the other houses, during the gathering; a dignitary or two. Some... insisted on the presence of their house's sigil and colors, within our planning room. After much arguing, the council ordered that this room remain rather... bare." He smiles. "My men and women have no such orders regarding their rooms, or the temporary quarters I've arranged for you. You'll find them homely enough."
"Now... let me see what I can tell you." Muttering a word to Alfhild, she brings him a scroll as he walks over to the map of the valley on the central table. "I can tell you that the four of you are now the law within the cairns beyond the palisade; I have no command there. You can conscript survivors, distribute punishment as Svein did on his law-seat."
"You are in command of a force of fifty men and women, from all houses but mostly Svein and Rurik, including Alfhild here." She nods, a grim expression on her face. "I believe... fourteen? Yes, fourteen of your soldiers are already here; the rest will arrive over the next fortnight."
"As for the task ahead, well..." he begins pointing to specific points on the map. "As I am told, you are charged with rebuilding Gisli's hall. There are a... few... problems, in your wake." His face turns grim. "I can offer my own advice as to how you should proceed, but well... let me outline your threats."
"Firstly; the freed." He points at a named dot at the end of the river. "The Shipyard; run by a woman named Sabrina, before the winter. After it came, and Gisli and Gest fell, many stayed at the Shipyard. All order collapsed, they turned their back on their heroes. They call themselves 'the freed' now. Worse than bandits, for at least bandits steal to feed a family, often. The freed constantly raid and harass this land, and do Svein knows not to the rest of Gisli and Gest."
"Next... the Lighthouse." His expression grows pensive. "An... odd threat. Apparently it used to be a sawmill. Now, every scout and traveler who goes by and returns reports it guarded by survivors uttering crazed threats and warning off all others."
His face grows grim as he points to a northern edge of the valley. "And... Troll Mountain. With the winter came new snow on the northern mountains; a great avalanche revealed a huge trow burrow built right into the edge of a cliff, cutting it in two. A veritable army of trolls have moved in, lead by one we've named 'Stormhand'- I've had reliable reports of his great black figure, flinging lightning bolts into the skies and lands below."
He stands, arms crossed behind his back. "There... are a few other landmarks, trouble spots; Alfhild can provide you with scrolls on them, and further details on the threats I've named." Alfhild steps forward, holding a satchel of parchment.
"Pausing now then, i suppose I need ask; have you any questions?"
"I need a forge and the arms and armor of those men and women who will be accompanying us. I can work runes into their armor to help lighten their load. I also know a rune that will return a weapon to the wielder's hand...much like the one upon my hammer here. If time permits, I may be able to enchant the arms and armor with more potent charms, but we will have to see what supplies you have."
The gruff smith looks over the rest of the party waiting for the others to make their requests of this commander.
"What might you tell us if the rumored Moonlit Altar? I've heard the most interesting tales, but no first-hand accounts." Perrish says with a charming smile.
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"The altar? Hmm." Wrongir speaks quietly with a few others, then returns. "Well; it is one of a handful of relics strewn throughout the valley left over by those who lived here millenia ago. The High Stones are another example. From what we've been able to gather, it's been known to shine bright but messily with blue light, usually around the night of a new moon. Apparently it is a rare safe space from attacks by monsters."
"Now... if you don't object, I can outline a rough suggestion for how you might accomplish your goals." Wrongir gestures to more points. "Firstly, scout the region as to your liking. Then, retake the Shipyard, and then the Lighthouse. Then begin fortifying Gisli's Hall, before finally taking Troll Mountain."
"There are other rumors and points of interest throughout the land, which can be done freely, as per your preference."
Mother Perrish nods politely. "Will there be riders to go back and forth, delivering messages and supplies and such?"
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Wrongir hesitates. "To... a degree."
"I wish to support your mission as much as I can. However, your authority ends at my palisade; while I will be able to provide you with supplies for some time, eventually I will need to cease the supply to keep my men fed and the valley hale. Messages will be carried."
"That's quite alright, child. Mother Perrish will take good care of your soldiers and bring them back safely." She says with a friendly pat on his hand.
"Now where is your kitchen? It's been a long and hungry trip, and in poor company..." She says, trailing off at the end and avoiding eye contact with her party as her smile vanishes.
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Moving forward, Pike examines the maps.
'Not ideal but it could be worse, I suppose...' he thinks, as the Commander speaks about cutting off supplies. 'Probably better off with this small regimen after all. Fewer to feed...'
"A good plan, Commander," Pike replies.
"If we clear what's in front of us, pushing west, we'll never have to worry about what's behind us. Should take some pressure off your palisade as well. And I'd bet Torag here would do well by a shipyard. Something like that probably takes a while to be useful- best to get it started working early, I say."
"Oh yes, Torag; I am afraid we have no forge here in the Dawnfort. Most of our weapons and armor and sent here from houses Svein and Rurik."
"Of course, mother." Wrongir inclines his head. "I'll have Alfhild here take you for a meal with your companions when concluded here."
He nods in agreement at Pike. "My thinking exactly. The Shipyard should be well stocked with tools in material; indeed, the common uniform for the freed is draped with tools. Hammers, chisels, nails, all sorts."
Aerik listens to the commanders advice in silence and nods his head in agreement. "tis a good plan and well thought out," He finally agrees.
Wrongir nods. "Thank you."
He claps his hands, and smiles. "Anyway; you've traveled far, you need your rest; let us meet on the morrow, new friends. Alfhild, if you would, take them to the mess, then their quarters." She nods, and moves off with you.
Crossing back into the maze, you eventually find yourself in a crudely converted dining room; an old children's bedroom, walls lightly strewn with drawings and markings. Alfhild heads for the kitchen with Mother Perrish, returning with stew bowls and clean water.
While Alfhid and Mother Perrish head for the kitchen Aerik hurriedly washes the grime of the road off his body. Refreshed he takes a seat and begins to enjoy the steaming stew. In between bites he tries to make small talk, "Torag, do you think you could put some of those runes you spoke about on my weapons?"
"Show them to me Aerik and I will see. The lesser runes take a little time to etch and power, but my limited knowledge allows me only two choices...either making armor lighter for the wearer, or allowing a weapon to return to the owners hand once thrown. Now lets see what you have here.."
In between mouthfuls of stew Aerik points to a plain spear leaning against the wall, in the corner. "That be me spear nothing special about it, except in the right hands it kill things, just like every other spear I've come across."
"Well right away I can see many improvements I can make upon it before I even attach a rune to it. The knowledge of Orm allows me to take such mundane items and make them a higher quality."
Taking a few moments to get the correct formula in his head, Torag handles the spear, and as he does so, the rough utilitarian nature of the weapon transforms in his hands to that of a master-crafted item. It takes about an hour for this transformation to be complete, and the craftsman uses many expensive oils, incense and metals to complete the transformation. When complete, on the metal socket of the spearhead, the symbol of Orm now sits, etched deep into the weapon.
"There you are. Now you have a weapon worthy your skill."
"Well right away I can see many improvements I can make upon it before I even attach a rune to it. The knowledge of Orm allows me to take such mundane items and make them a higher quality."
Taking a few moments to get the correct formula in his head, Torag handles the spear, and as he does so, the rough utilitarian nature of the weapon transforms in his hands to that of a master-crafted item. It takes about an hour for this transformation to be complete, and the craftsman uses many expensive oils, incense and metals to complete the transformation. When complete, on the metal socket of the spearhead, the symbol of Orm now sits, etched deep into the weapon.
"There you are. Now you have a weapon worthy your skill."
Aerik examines the weapon surprised at the noticeable difference. He hefts it and checks its balance and thinks, Perfect.
"Many thanks, Orm's blood runs strong in your veins."
Mother Perrish smiles at the prospect of stew and eats quite contentedly, albeit slowly, as she tells Alfhild all about times she's spent on farms, old family stew recipes, and really anything that crosses her mind. Not one to notice when someone has better things to do, she continues to chatter until Alfhild excuses herself. Then she frowns. "When I was a young girl, we were taught to respect our elders. Taught with a green sapling branch. Disrespectful generation doesn't appreciate all we did for them." She continues to grumble through the remainder of her stew.
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Alfhild nods and asks questions when appropriate, but keeps grimly to herself otherwise.
Pike tries to respectfully take in dinner, even while Torag and Aerik work on the spear. He eats quietly and efficiently, not only so the easily-disturbed Perrish doesn't focus her ire on him, but so that he can make a trip round the palisade before bed, as he he'd planned. Still, Torag's efforts at enchanting the spear stick in his mind.
'Impressive. I knew there was more here than first glance implied. Maybe our odds aren't so bad after all. And maybe I should take the time to get to know these folks a bit more...'
Finishing his meal a few minutes later, he cleaned up best he could, then stood.
"I think I'll be taking a quick tour of the fort before bed, checking the watches and all, if anyone cares to join me?" he offers, casually, to the others.
"I will join you on your rounds Pike Erlendson."
Torag gathers his tools and equipment and makes sure they are stored safely, before taking up his shield and hammer to join Pike on his walk.
Before turning in for the evening, Perrish places a small charm in the center of her room and sprinkles the ashes of a creamated guard upon it. "Wake me if anyone comes in." she speaks to it, and a small whirl of dust answers.
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"I think I'll be taking a quick tour of the fort before bed, checking the watches and all, if anyone cares to join me?" he offers, casually, to the others.
"Not for me, I think I'll just get some rest,"Aerik responds.
Patrolling around the Dawnfort, you find an atmosphere of stressed professionalism; palisade defenders going about their nightly duties and preparations.
The night passes fitfully or peacefully, depending on how you feel about sleeping surrounded by hundreds of people, a rare feeling in the valley.
The morning is bright and sunny, though still with a harsh chill in the air. Alfhild knocks. "Commander Wrongir would like to see you come the afternoon."
Pike strides over to the door and opens it to let Alfhild in. Having woken with the sun per usual, he's fully dressed and ready to move out.
"Afternoon? And did the Commander have any suggestion as to how we should fill the day until the meeting starts?"
Remembering his companions, and he turns to the rest of the room.
"Or did anyone have anything they needed to do today? Restocking, maybe?"
"I could assemble your troops for inspection." She comes to attention, tucking a stray lock of blonde hair behind her ear.
Mother Perrish answers the door, still groggy.
"What?" She inquires harshly.
Upon receiving the commander's request, she scoffs, but nods. "Yes yes, of course."
She spends the morning braiding straw and carving beads for her baubles and charms. While no one is around, she closes her eyes and speaks to the air. "Braid this for me, dear." Unseen hands begin to weave the straw and lay it out on the floor. A tiny smile creeps across the old woman's face.
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"Troop inspection, excellent. We'll be waiting down in the training grounds Alfhild, as soon as you can. Thank you."
Turning to the others, he continues,
"Wise to know the warriors we'll be commanding, in my experience anyway. Anyone care to join me?"
"Troop inspection, excellent. We'll be waiting down in the training grounds Alfhild, as soon as you can. Thank you."
Turning to the others, he continues,
"Wise to know the warriors we'll be commanding, in my experience anyway. Anyone care to join me?"
"Might as well,"Aerik agrees.
Those who choose to go follow Alfhild out into the dawnfort; she crosses outside of it, to a muddy paddock with a few sheep. Bending over, she whispers a word to a harshly-bearded herder, who unlocks a gate and slowly files the sheep out as Alfhild stands awkwardly.
Once clear, she lets out a cry. "Reclaimers, fall in!"
They come from each corner of the dawnfort; palisade-guards, midden-diggers, a priest; twenty in all. They stand in the paddock, their clothing a motley assemblage to match themselves, with old and new armor, heavy axes and thin blades and the sigils of six different houses attached with varying degrees of care and dedication to their clothes.
Alfhild marches in front of them. "Reclaimers presented for inspection."
Torag will examine the soldiers equipment most carefully...pointing out any defects or repairs that might be needed.
While Torag inspects the gear and equipment of their soldiers, the ones who've arrived already anyway, Pike inspects the men and women themselves.
Flickering in and out of existence, he teleported around the group, appearing in front of each in turn for a just a few seconds -- exchanging stoic glares -- before moving on to the next in a random order, so as to keep the warriors on their toes.
Pike made a mental note of each soldier's reactions, particularly those from his own house.
Aerik Moved among the warriors during the inspection. He takes time to talk to them and find out their concerns.
Most of the weapons are fresh-forged, and some the worse for that; Torag spots some poor craftsmanship, and also a few who are using a whetstone incorrectly, harming the integrity of the blade.
Pike's movement sends up a decent amount of surprise before they return to attention. He spots no one from his own house.
"Thirty more will be here come the fortnight" comments Alfhild.
"And perhaps by the time they get here, we'll have you all in fighting shape!" Pike calls, looking to both motivate and chastise the group.
He turns around and says quietly under his breath to just Torag and Aerik, "This might be harder than we thought...Sparring and drills for the rest of the morning, or have we other business to see to?"
"Those weapons and armor need some work as well. I have the tools and can setup a makeshift forge to help repair their equipment. I will need a more permanent place with supplies before I can do much else, however. We should look at moving against the Shipyard sooner than later."
Further discussion is interrupted by a cry going up; a young shirtless boy on horseback, approaching from the north as fast as his weary nag can take him. A few soldiers go out to meet him as he near falls amidst them. After a few minutes, Wrongir comes out; there's a great deal of gesturing.
Aerik looked to his companions and said, "Looks like trouble." He begins heading in Wrongir's direction.
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Whoever walks over finds Wrongir quick to look up to meet them. "We've had word. Freed raided the Gready farm, north of here; made of with what few cattle they have. Left slowly, given their steers. Headed over the cairns." He hesitates, then asks "Can I ask you to go check on the farm, to deal with the freed?"
Mother Perrish hurriedly shuffles from her room to find the source of the commotion. When she arrives, she looks quite displeased. "Are we shepherds now? So much nonsense of late. Do you folk even appreciate the importance of the work we're here for? Hmph!" she paces for a bit, but appears to be waiting for the others to give their answer.
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