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And it came to pass in those days, when the world was not as it is today, that the Black Witch took the shape of raven and flew from the land of her mothers. Her shadow lay heavily on the land and weighed down the hearts of Ulfen. They sharpened their swords and waited, not knowing what will come from the land of witches and how many lives will it take before it is sated.
(From The Iron Chronicle. Author unknown.
A wind is born above the glacier peeks of the Crown of the World. A wind as cold as the soul of the Witch Queen. This wind blows across the ice-blue sky and into a land called Irrisen. The wind gathers to itself the howls of winter wolfs, the grunts of trolls and cries of mothers that have lost their children, and then continues to the patchwork of countries, called the Lands of Linnorm Kings, to unburden the gathered sorrows on their grim inhabitants.
Flock of ravens fly on that wind, looking for places of battle, or old kills frozen in the eternal snows of the mountains.
From the mountaintops, ravens continue their flight over cold, desolate tundra that is Kingdom of Hagreach. They flock above huge building that stands overlooking the river called Rimeflow. The building is a huge fort, built on an ancient pyramid, its origins lost to men of this age, standing in the middle of series of moats and spike-filled ditches.
Beside small road that leads up to the citadel a man sits beside the fire, as if waiting for someone, and whittles something from apiece of wood. He is old, with hair and beard as grey as iron, but his shoulders are squared and his spine is straight beneath a bearskin cloak, and his large hands seem to hold the knife with strong grip. From time to time, he raises his head as if expecting strangers to come to his fire...
Wearily walking up the road is a young Ulfen maiden leading a shaggy pack mule. Chilled by the glacial wind despite her thick layers of clothing, she gives a little sigh of relief when she spies the fire and anticipates its warmth. Walking slowly towards the old man she asks; "Excuse me sir, but would you mind some company at your fire? I'd appreciate a chance to get thawed out before I continue on."
Huddled beneath a wolfskin cloak, the jaws and snout of the beast resting upon his head, a large figure peers up the road at the flickering flames. [I] Strange place for a camp...and yet as the Iron Lord wills...[I]
Reaching back with an almost unconscious gesture, the man loosens the greatsword strapped to his back and strides towards the fire. He stops just at the edge of the light. Good day to you sir. Would you share the warmth of your fire? His voice is rough and a bit gravelly as if getting over a cold.
Kari's first indication of the presence of others is Bjørn's low grow, and the subtle change in his breathing, indicated by the amount of vapor escaping from his muzzle. Well trained, the bear cub simply stops, and looks to his Mistress, snorting and lifting himself on his back feet to stand. Kari, her warm breath stifled by the rough spun scarf piled around her neck and obscuring the lower half of her face, reaches out and lets her gloved fingertips dance across Bjørn's neck. Her companion sighs and drops on his front paws again. He has no love for any touch other than his mistress's, for all intents and purposes his mother, or the smells that the gloves have collected over the years. Kari inclines her head in a nod, and gives the bear a command in a language that evokes visions of a crisp autumn morning, and the bear splits from her, circling around the crude camp at a considerable distance.
Kari approaches the fire cautiously, the snow crunching beneath her boots heralding her arrival long before any gathered at the fire can see her. The bulk of her clothing leaves for no real distinguishing characteristic as male or female, and neither does what little can be seen of her face. Three adorned plaits of hair stand out from beneath her fur cap, its color the fine white of spider webs, wrapped about a thick tendril of rose gold, a leather throng knotted with claws and fangs, and finally, closest to her neck, the brilliant feathers of several species of birds.
"Curious position for a camp, sir," she says to the elder man, her voice a clear alto, and looks to the others assembled. "Are these your kin?"
A stocky man of average height trudges up to the fire, next to the other strangers. A sword at his belt, a bow and a shield on his back, his trade is plain to see.
He looks between the two men and two women and the mule. Nods. Then speaks to the old man whittling by the fire.
"Whuhd yuh muhkuhn duh?", he says.
Wrapped in furs from head to two, Shou Zhen stills try to draw more heat into himself by pulling his arms closer to his body in a futile attempt to shut out the wind, as he walks. "21 years in these lands, the only home I've ever known and I still can't get used to the winters here," he thinks. "Which is unfortunate, because the winters here tend to last 9 months!"
Uncle Bao would say a monk doesn't fear weather he embraces it, but I think my Ulfen friends (what few there are) are right when they say, Uncle Bao is full of what falls out of a horse's backside." With that disrespectful thought Shou Zhen takes his eyes off the trail long enough to give his surroundings a quick guilty glance, as if someone was close enough to overhear his thoughts. To an observer it would appear as if the gesture was reflexive on his part.
It is this glance which causes him to see the smoke from the fire, eager to experience some warmth he quickens his pace, only to slow it upon seeing the group gathered around the flames. "A warrior with a greatsword, an old man with a knife in a country where old age is a badge of honor, and a small beautiful woman. Uncle Bao would say she is the most dangerous, best to be polite." Approaching the fire, Shou Zhen puts his palms together in front of him and bows to the group without taking his eyes off them. Greetings, he says in fluent if oddly accented Skald, is there room at your fire for one more?
Karl made his way up the road toward the citadel. His sharp eyes spyed the thin wisp of smoke from a ways off. Perhaps a bit of warmth and some news before I once again subject myself to the rigors of civilization he thought with an inward chuckle.
As he nears the group, he becomes wary and checks to make sure his ears are tucked under his hood and not blatantly obvious, then scolds himself inwardly. They're bound to come out eventually. Better to be bold than try to hide who you are.
Finally, he makes his way up to the gathered people. Greetings, travellers. I hope we are well met on this cold morning. May I warm my hands at this fire?
He takes stock of those gathered around the fire as he finds a spot and squats easily, despite the heavy load on his back. He does his best not to show suprise at the honey-colored skin and exotic eyes of the Tien man. He then ventures a smile at the small woman, but then quickly turns away, somewhat flustered. His gaze returns to her though, her strange hair and eye color a bit unsettling despite an odd feeling of kinship.
Spooked by the scent of a nearby bear, Alfdis slowly creeps up behind his mistress and crouches by her heels. Though wary of all the strangers, the little arctic fox is more worried about the bear.
Briefly reaching down to give Alfdis a reassuring pat, Dagmar straightens back up and brushes her hood away, baring her face and pale blond hair so that she might get an unobstructed view of those around her. I believe this is the most people I have seen all week. What an odd assortment of people as well.
A bit shyly, she speaks: "Greeting fellow travelers, my name is Dagmar."
The stocky man with the red beard nods before pointing a thumb to his armored chest. He speaks slowly, making his lips' movements a bit more pronounced as he speaks again, the sounds he makes not matching his lips.
"Ruhgnuhr. Stuhlln-Vuhzz."
He coughs into a fist. Letting the silence stretch.
"Thuhtz uh nuhzz duhnkuh.", he says, nodding his chin to Dagmar's pack mule.
Karl looks up at the speech of Dagmar and Ragnar. Ah, I'm Karl. He waves his hand in greeting from across the fire. That's a nice fox you have there.
He looks to Ragnar. Rugnur? I'm Karl. He tentatively extends his hand to the warrior.
Walking down the road from town towards the citadel like many times before I notice a small fire and a group of people around it. Might be nice to get some warmth and company as I decidedly approach the group carrying my axe on the side, shield and bow on the back, as my scale mail does its natural noise somewhat muffled over some winter clothing.
In Skald God kveld!! Jeg heter Caelin, er det plass til en mer av ilden?
As I keep approaching the group and find a spot to sit down.
Jeg føre mjød til samling å dele, hva er ditt navn?
English for those that speak Skald
Svalk saw the fire ahead. The dreams and whispers had told him he had to travel to this location, but they hadn't told him why. He simply knew that the fire marked the place the ancestors wanted him to go to. He walked forward, straightening his back from the knowledge that he might find out why he was supposed to be here, and using the butt of his spear as a walking staff.
He was only mildly surprised to see the others at the campfire, as the spirits often showed him strange things, and had him meet strangers, for their own inscrutable reasons. As he entered the firelight, he cocked his head to the side, as if listening to a sound no others heard. "I have arrived" he spoke, looking at an empty point in space.
Svalk walked closer to the gathered group of travelers, "I am meant to join you it seems. I am Svalk Norrinson, may I share your fire?" The firelight revealed an almost blood red mark on his cheek, shaped roughly like a linnorm.
Velkirth pulls back on the reins, halting his horse at the edge of the firelight. Dismounting, the wind ruffled the thick furs draped over his frame as he led his mount closer to the fire's warmth. Hobbling it close enough to the heat, he moves forward towards the group of people. A most eclectic group, this.
The big man is the picture of an Ulfen bloodline, tall and broad shouldered with shoulder length brown hair held back from his face with a leather band. His face is handsome in a rugged sort of way, a man not afraid to get stuck in the thick of it when necessary. Wearing a thick bearskin to keep out the cold there is also a longsword strapped to his side and a brace of javelins sticking up over a shoulder.
He squats near the fire, resting on his heels as he puts his hands towards the flames' warmth. One of them is pitch black, those used to the area clearly able to see the advanced indications of previous frostbite although his hand doesn't seem the worse for it. Greetings friends. Tis a cold night to be out alone so I hope you don't mind me availing myself of your fire. My name is Velkirth Rimetongue. Are you travelling companions or simply lone souls like myself this evening?
"Curious position for a camp, sir," she says to the elder man, her voice a clear alto, and looks to the others assembled. "Are these your kin?"
Thorolf's piercing blue eyes glance up at the sound of the feminine voice and he grunts with amusement at the question. "Not kin that I am aware. Merely travellers on the road. Name is Thorolf." His eyes squint against the wind as he extends his hand to her, gazing intently as if trying to read her.
He introduces himself in kind as each person gathers, perking up a bit at Caelin's mention of mead. "Well I can't speak for these others, but as for me, you and your drink are most welcome. Anything that'll warm the belly against this blasted wind would do nicely!"
Karl looks up at the speech of Dagmar and Ragnar. Ah, I'm Karl. He waves his hand in greeting from across the fire. That's a nice fox you have there.
He looks to Ragnar. Rugnur? I'm Karl. He tentatively extends his hand to the warrior.
Ragnar shakes Karl's hand firmly, but shakes his head.
"RUHgnuhr, Kuhll.", he says, enunciating the "a" syllable with his mouth a bit more. "Uht suhndz luhk huh nuhm.", he motions to Dagmar.The man snaps his fingers like he has an idea, crouches in the snow and uses a finger to scrape out the name in Skald. Ragnar Stolen-Voice
Raising his eyebrows at the number of people who have mysteriously appeared around the fire Shou Zhen replies to Caelin's offer of mead, Most kind friend Caelin, I am Shou Zhen. he says this with another bow. Turning to the old man who was first sitting at the fire, he says Unfortunately, I haven't learned the name of our host yet. With another bow for him.
Kari takes Thorolf's hand, sliding hers over to grip his wrist, as she has learnt that warriors who are wary of each other's prowess are wont, or as much as she can fit in her considerably smaller hands. Her grip is far from weak, but does not last much longer than to impress that upon him.
"Kari," she answers. "And that which will warm your belly in these winds is a healthy amount of fat," she says concerning the mead. "Spirits thin the blood, and make the heart work harder simply to stay alive in this weather. Better to place your hands beneath your arms," Kari demonstrates by putting hers in her armpits, and then leans forward, "and keep your limbs as close to each other as possible. Or as close to the next person, if he or she will allow," she concludes with a faint smile.
Thorolf flashes Kari a brief smile. "True enough. Unfortunately the only fat I'm like to have this day is that which I already carry on me. I'll just have to settle for hugging myself until I find more, I suppose." He shoots another curious glance at the old man. And what of you, sir? Have you travelled far?
With a hearty laugh, drinking from my gallon of mead I pass it to Thorolf On your health then and that your sword strikes true and your spirit never broken
Well met Shou, have a drink of my mead let us share our food and tell your stories looking at the Tien man wary.
Woman! looking at Kari Unless you are warming me I will have my drink and get close to the fire and share stories, drink, food and company then turning my sight to our host Thank you old man, can I have your name so that I can thank you proper sharing mead and food
Karl looks up at the speech of Dagmar and Ragnar. Ah, I'm Karl. He waves his hand in greeting from across the fire. That's a nice fox you have there.
He looks to Ragnar. Rugnur? I'm Karl. He tentatively extends his hand to the warrior.
Ragnar shakes Karl's hand firmly, but shakes his head.
"RUHgnuhr, Kuhll.", he says, enunciating the "a" syllable with his mouth a bit more. "Uht suhndz luhk huh nuhm.", he motions to Dagmar.The man snaps his fingers like he has an idea, crouches in the snow and uses a finger to scrape out the name in Skald. Ragnar Stolen-Voice
Karl's eyes light up as understanding dawns on him. Ragnar! Well met then, Ragnar!
He nods along as he hears Kari's advice on staying warm. Very true, but with fire and shelter nearby, the mead should not prove too deadly... he adds mischievously.
He then nods to each of his fellow travelers, hoping they will not take it amiss that he does not address each individually before turning to the older man at the fire.
Thank you for the warmth of your fire. Will you favor us with your name?
Kari laughs at the warrior with the booming voice.
"Aye, Caelin, I might at that, provided your oaken rod could withstand the harsh winds," she hums.
Kari looks to the other female in the group, and her little companion, "And present company does not object," she adds, inclining her head in a show of respect.
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Old man is mostly silent. He simply nods to each new traveler and shows that there is a place by his fire for him or for her. Some time after the last of them comes, he clears his throat and speaks with rough and unused voice: "There are no coincidences, you know. What are the chances of nine travelers to come down this road, and to stop by this fire? Where are you headed, children?"
Ragnar glances around the fire, especially at the man who said he was told to stop there.
"Truhllhuhm.", he says guardedly,"Tuh fuhnd wuhk."
Karl fixes the old man with a scrutinizing look. I am not in the habit of telling my business to those who will not give their names when politely asked., he shrugs
I appreciate the warmth of your fire, but the white witches' spies are everywhere. I am no child, and where I go is no concern of yours. If that makes me unwelcome, I will take my leave.
"Grandfather, I was headed here, though I did not know 'here' was your fireside until I arrived. I agree that it is not coincidence or chance that led us here. I was guided here by my ancestors, but like most spiritual signs, they haven't given clear reasons. If this is your fire and campsite, then perhaps you know why fate has brought us together?"
Having decided that it's likely that he'll be spending the night at the fire, Svalk sets his pack down. Instead of resting at his feet however, it moves a spear length away before coming to rest.
To Trollheim I go, though my business there is mine own, and I will keep it so. As friend Karl has said, the road is home to many dangers, and unfriendly ears can be found in abundance. Though he says it with a smile, His gaze briefly travels over the group, hesitating ever so slightly as his eyes come to Dagmar; the pause so brief that any observer might doubt he had done so.
Velkirth chuckled to himself, slowly settling in before the fire. I too seek Trollheim but not for so mysterious a reason as these others. I simply haven't been there in some time.
His voice loses its mirth and his deep voice goes soft, his fists clenching until the knuckles crack. Although should one of the white witches' thralls be about, let them hear and come. They will be put down as should be done.
Hearing some of the statements his fireside companions make Shou Zhen, raises an eyebrow at some of their guarded and outright hostile replies to the old man's query. Then gives a shrug and replies, I have no business, I merely follow the road to see where it takes me, if it leads me to Trollheim, then to Trollheim I shall go. Once I get there, I shall see what Trollheim has to offer, then decide what to do and where to go from there.
Thorolf grins at Velkirth's challenge, the flickering firelight making his teeth gleam. "Well said sir. Well said."
Turning toward Shuo Zhen he asks, "Your accent is one I have not heard before. From where do you come, if I may ask?
With a slight blush, Dagmar responds to Kari: "No objections. I've no claim on any here so don't worry about offending me."
Turning to face the old man, Dagmar answers his question. "I too had planned to travel to Trollheim. No real reason why other than that I have never been there before and wanted to see what the city has to offer."
Dagmar continues looking around at the assembled group. I wonder if there is a reason why we have all met. I agree with the old man that there are no coincidences.
Ragnar crosses his arms.
"Duhd uht tuhll yuh whuht wuh wuhld fuhnd duh?"
With a hearty laugh No problems on my side answering Kari.
Old man, a little bird told you so!? What is there also? stocking the curiosity of the man being mad and for some fun.
Stolen-Voice nods, a half smile on his face.
"Th' Bluhckruhvnns huhv uh tuhzk fuh uz?"
This is no game Beorn with concern in my voice nor those little birds with complete interest and very serious What do the birds want?
Karl pointedly raises an eyebrow at the Svalk's moving backpack, but when he sees that it does not move further, he lets out a low chuckle.
Well, Beorn the Old, why didn't you say so in the first place?
He raises his head towards the citadel.
No true Ulfen would refuse a request from the Blackravens. Even a half-blood like me is in their debt.
He stands once more, and adjusts his pack, settling it comfortably back on his shoulders, then retrieves a javelin from the strap on his pack and checks the point before leaning it in the crook of his arm like a scepter.
Will you lead the way Beorn, or shall we make our way together
He looks around at the rest of the group.
Nine travelers met on the road. Perhaps it is an omen, but whether an omen for good or ill, we shall have to see.
You may, and your answer is Kalsgard.is Shou's answer to Thorolf's question. Peering up at the citadel, he muses aloud Blackraven Hall hmm, well I suppose it's as good a place to stop as any. Let us see, what it has to offer.
Dagmar looks up to the Citadel and shrugs. "I have no urgent business anywhere, so one destination is as good as any other. It will also be a nice change to travel in the company of others for a bit. Though comfortable in the wilderness, I must confess I was feeling a bit lonely."
"Well it seems company you shall have, and lots of it... at least until we reach the citadel." He smiles at her before turning to Beorn and peering at him sharply, And are you our little bird?
Kari has been idly listening to the conversation taking place about her, her eyes scanning the wilds to avoid the fire ruining her vision. When the old man mentions the Citadel, she looks to it, and considers what little she knows of the Blackravens. Professional killers they seemed, and like as not good enough business should she be allowed a stall for crafting.
"And what of your little one?" she asks Dagmar, nodding to the fox. "Like as not she is enjoying the warmth, hmm?"
In a challenging tone, "What manner to adopt with our host," she says to Thorolf, then looks to the elder man. "Sir, kindly excuse our impertinence. I will hear your wisdom."
Dagmar returns Thorolf's smile and then turns to Kari to answer her question. "Alfdis enjoys the warmth, though she is rather shy around strangers."
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"Of wisdom I am sadly lacking. And I am not a welcome sight among the Blackravens. I'm afraid I am partial to the white sort of ravens, and they are not welcome in these parts." The old man stands up and dusts his furs. "Now, I think I should go. You are welcome to this fire, if you want it - but you should thank the men who gathered the wood, you know."
Old man takes a step towards the road and his form suddenly blurs, his arms becoming wings and his feet talons. Where there was a man just a heartbeat ago - a great white eagle flies towards the sky.
Kari rises with the old man, and her lips are drawn into a smirk when he transforms into an animal. She looks to Dagmar and inclines her head in a show of respect.
"Apologies, my Lady. You may wish to keep your Alfdis near," she says, and then cups her hands around her mouth and issues a call.
Velkirth was only just able to hide his surprise at the old man's sudden transformation. Looking at the others he shrugged, I know of great epics that start much like this. Let us hope ours ends better than some of them. His tone already speaks to his acceptance of his new "companions".
"Oh my..." Dagmar watches with mouth open as the great white eagle takes flight.
At Kari's warning she seems to gather herself and bends down to pick up Alfdis. Not knowing who or what Bjorn is, Dagmar figures that in her arms is the best place for her little fox.
Ragnar stands with mouth agape for a moment. He frowns, looks around the campfire, then to Blackraven Hall. He sighs, making a disgruntled noise in the back of his throat before walking back to the road.
Svalk tracks the eagle as it flies off, "Thank you Beorn, while you might not claim wisdom, it is well known that birds are often messengers. Even when they don't speak, their very movements carry portents to those who can perceive them."
He turns to the others, "I don't think we should ignore Beorn's message, and should visit Blackraven Hall to see what has drawn us here. I look forward to your company...it's always nice to have actual men and women as companions, and not only spirit's whispers."
"What do you think Boern meant when he said we should thank the men who gathered the wood. I take it none of you did."
Shou blinks when Beorn turns into an eagle and flies away, What interesting people you meet out in the countryside.he murmurs to himself with a dazed look in his eyes, as he watches Beorn fly out of sight. Then shakes his head abruptly, as if to clear a fog and turns to answer Svalk's question. No or at least I didn't, the fire was here when I got here. Though Dagmar and Thorolf were here before me, perhaps if we wait here our woodcutters will show up.