"You'll need one of their heads. Intact, still," the old witch says. "Or intact as you can get it."
The usual faint note of mockery is absent from Grinmer's voice as the witch continues, as serious as Eysteinn has ever heard him: "There is needle and thread in there... of a sort. Listen well to me:
"First, you must give of your own blood: prick your finger with the needle of bone. Second, pray Odyn to assist you, for he's as close as you'll ever get to a patron for our art.... Freyja won't come to you or me, that's for certain."
"Then you must take the head, and sew the lips together. In doing this, you bind the spirit of the ork back to its flesh. Then, you take the blade that is in the bag, and slice the threads. In this, you free the mouth to speak."
Grinmer's sharp eyes watch Eysteinn like a hawk; possibly there is concern in that harsh gaze, but perhaps not. "I know you learned the ork tongue: that is well enough, for it may not speak ours. If you have done things correctly, then the ork's shade must answer three questions for you. Word them well! For there's no making them clearer once you've said them.
"And if you've not done things properly, or if Odyn isn't pleased..." Grinmer smiles bitterly. "Well, then, you'll have troubles worse than your father could arrange for you. Do you understand my words, Eysteinn of no family?"
This time, one claw finds its target-- raking a white-hot line of pain despite Tassidar's magical armor.
The cat seems only a bit singed by that, unfortunately.
Thrymr is resolute in his curling up with his hound, consigning the strangeness to be its own affair. Knute, watching, can still see the figure silhouetted against the cavern mouth-- there are more strange lights, streaking from the thin figure's hand into the blackness, and then an answering feline yowl and snarl.
Gifr is restless, but doesn't try to wriggle out of Thrymr's burly arms just yet, faithful to his master's wishes.
"Okay, this is going to get brutal now cat. I didn't want to do this, but I don't want to die either."
Tassidar throws lamp oil on the cat and keeps the torch up ready to set it alight.
"I do not think I will see this spring," Hilde sighs. "The years are catching up with me at last, as a young man overtakes a hale warrior... a day such as today ages you in the heart. And when the heart is too old, it does not matter if one has elf-blood or god-blood, I think. But this is of no concern to you, and why should it be...?
Halla shifts uncomfortably. She doesn't know how to respond to an old woman discussing her own death; worse, if Hilde indeed dies, she wonders how much more of the burden of running Old Palli's business and household might fall on her shoulders.
"Do you remember much of your mother? You were still young, that spring...."
She stiffens imperceptibly. "Not much, no," she answers, trying to keep her voice light. "Her work kept her busy, and..." -- she didn't like Maeve, she almost says but changes her trajectory lamely -- "I was a difficult child, with my 'moments.'" She watches the old woman, half-holding her breath, hoping her nostalgic mood will continue.
Halla
Hilde snorts. "You are yet difficult," the old woman says with the hint of a withered smile.
"You look much like her, though. I remember she also danced, as a girl. A strange dance, not Ulfen. Southern, I suppose. With a bit of bright scarf. ...I wonder what happened to that scarf?"
Hilde frowns at the fire a moment before shrugging her own question away. Her eyes resettle on Halla, sharp and intent.
"I scrubbed the blood off your body with the snow when the other women named you dead. I felt in my marrow that I should do so. Like there was a Norn-woven thread tying my fingers to your little blue body. Perhaps I did this so that, all these years later, you would stop the heart's blood of my grandson from spilling out... perhaps that is all there was to it."
"But I think not. I think the fates have a more tangled knot in store. I am no seer: I am only old, and I trust what I feel, however strange it seems to me that a thrall-girl may have a strange wyrd on her."
Gifr settles down with one last whine, while Knute tries to tell what's going on at the cavemouth from his current position. He can make out little, though, other than bobbing, moving light.
Tassidar, meanwhile, continues to step back from the cat, and resorts to mundane, but clever tricks-- a flask of oil is hurled with deadly precision, shattering on the cat's nose and front paws in a little spray of glass. The snow leopard hisses. Though drenched with oil, the paws slash out again towards Tassidar.
None of the blows connect.
Tassidar is ready with his flaming torch, ready to unleash the pain of fire on the natural beast since he hasn't been able to scare it off with other methods. He also notices that the light of his upraised torch spills out into the snow, far enough for his keen elven senses to see there is some sort of... structure? out about fifty feet away in the snow. Perhaps too strong a word: but there are definitely branches organized into a shape that wasn't arranged so when he first entered the cavern, hours ago, with daylight yet to guide him.
Knute squints into the night, trying to discern anything more than a bobbing light and the cat's occasional yowls from the dark. It's unclear what's going on, but with no orkish sounds thrown into the mix it seems less and less likely that the light-bearer is with the raiders. He shifts uncomfortably at the thought of someone facing that cat alone. Knute considers calling out, or waking Thrymr, but hesitates. It's still possible the person isn't friendly, Knute admits to himself, and Thrymr and I did agree to wait until morning.
The Ulfen does not break the night's silence just yet, instead checking that an arrow is nocked in his bow and staring in the direction of the cave, looking for some clue as to what he should do.
"You look much like her, though. I remember she also danced, as a girl. A strange dance, not Ulfen. Southern, I suppose. With a bit of bright scarf. ...I wonder what happened to that scarf?"
She danced? Halla finds it impossible to imagine her mother as a girl, remembering only an exhausted and overworked woman. And yet ... I danced as a girl. When is the last time I did that, since I was expected to do a woman's work?
"I scrubbed the blood off your body with the snow when the other women named you dead. I felt in my marrow that I should do so. Like there was a Norn-woven thread tying my fingers to your little blue body. Perhaps I did this so that, all these years later, you would stop the heart's blood of my grandson from spilling out... perhaps that is all there was to it."
"But I think not. I think the fates have a more tangled knot in store. I am no seer: I am only old, and I trust what I feel, however strange it seems to me that a thrall-girl may have a strange wyrd on her."
The sensations of her dream come back to her: the bonds entangling her, the voice that warned her it would not let her go. What have the Norns to do with me? she thinks resentfully.
She is about to open her mouth to scoff at the notion, but then she remembers that she prevented two great chieftains from dying in battle that day, not to mention facing down the winter-child. What thrall could say as much? Even a jarl might be considered fate-favored if she had done that.
She remembers the other dream she had, before the orks came: a card showing a woman dancing with a scarf, then a newborn baby in a midwife's hands, then a storm of destruction. "Hilde," she asks hesitantly, moving closer to the fire but keeping her voice low lest she disturb Signy, "one of the elves gave me this on Jól-day." She carefully extricates the wooden box and opens it to display the colored cards. "Have you ever seen anything like them?"
Tassidar does a double take.
Humans---it has to be! Orks would eat a dog, not keep one.
The elf had survived a full attack from the large cat unscathed, but the speed and ferocity of the beast had lessened Tassidar's regrets about what he was about to inflict on the animal.
He brought the flaming torch down with all of his might on the cat's head setting it ablaze in the process.
In Skald Tassidar calls out.
"I am hoping that there is a common tradition in these lands for aiding fellow good travelers out on the road, for I am sorely in need of assistance. I took shelter from the storm---apparently in this snow leopard's cave!"
(Knute, you can clearly hear the words shouted from the cavern-- they sound like honest Skald to you.)
(Thryrm, there's a voice shouting, loud enough to pierce the exhausted half-doze you'd been sleeping into.)
A second after Knute hears the shouted words, the lights flare up-- as inside the cavern, Tassidar swings his torch with grace and precision, slamming the burning brand directly into the cat's already-oiled maw.
It's all too much. The lights, the fire, the burning pain in its muzzle... the snow leopard yowls-- this meal is nowhere near as easy as it hoped! Batting frantically at its smoking, flaming fur, the leopard.... bolts, hissing wildly as it turns and flees from Tassidar, darting back further into the cavern, disappearing into a tunnel that leads down and away.
Halla
Hilde's old hands take the box, sliding the lid open and lifting a card enough to see its face by the fire's light. The old woman clicks her tongue against the roof of her mouth, thoughtfully.
"Long ago," she says. "Before you were born. Before your mother, probably. There was a man..."
She closes her eyes a moment, wispy old brows rising in her lined face as she tries to recall. "He came on one of our trading ships, when they came back from the south. Black hair, a white smile. Handsome like a fox, quick and clever...." Hilde smiles faintly at the memory, then opens her eyes and looks back down to the cards.
"He had cards like this. He said he could read the fates in them. He would have you pick nine cards, which he said was a number of power... and then he'd turn them over, and tell you what the pictures meant." Hilde snorts. "The godi and the seidr-woman both disliked that. He did not stay with us long."
Hilde's hands rifle carefully through the cards, until she comes on one that depicts an odd image-- a great building, like as if someone had put longhouses one on top of the other, on an up-rooted piece of earth.
"He said this was my card," the old woman chuckles. "That it meant I would survive many things. I suppose so."
"Did your elf-giver say which card ought be yours, little raven?" Hilde asks, eyes looking back to Halla's face. Signy does not stir.
Thrymr hears mumbled voices in the dark, but doesn't stir from his rest. He grumbles at Knute "It's either a fool or lying..."
Knute is startled by the voice suddenly calling out from the cave. That did not sound like an ork! Knute is about to respond when Thrymr grumbles. The ranger hesitates, but then says to Thrymr, "I don't think he's lying; if he was that ork leader, he would not have called out, and just set orks on us. And if he's a fool, I'm still of a mind to help him." He shakes Thrymr properly awake, and motions that he's going to call back to the figure.
Knute turns back towards the cave, and takes a few steps forward. He calls out, "There is such a tradition, aye, if you're truly a good traveler. Who are you? Why are you here?" Knute's is torn between caution and eagerness to help. "Can you reach our shelter without aid?" he adds.
Knute peers into the night, trying to gain a glimpse of the person he's speaking with and determine his intentions. Knute's hands remain tight on his bow, though he doesn't draw or raise it yet.
The elf breathes a heavy sigh of relief and turns towards the human voice.
"Oh thank the gods! I saw your shelter that wasn't here when I entered the cave and I was hoping that it wasn't built by goblins or trolls. I was in a tight spot there."
"My name is Tassidar. I am traveling to a small Ulfen village that is nearby. I hope that my appearance does not shock you. I am an elf."
"I am uninjured and I can reach you. If I am welcome to?"
With an ornery growl, Thrymr levers himself back to standing using his mattock as a crutch. Gifr is released from confinement and mirroring the black-ish mood of his companion keeps low to the ground with ears flattened and hackles half raised. In sotto voce Thrymr frames his words to Knute "Alone, no woodscraft but bearing fire and seiðr." showing that his suspicion still outweighed any thought to charity.
Calling out in low and menacing tones Thrymr growled "Alone and on no road... If you were making for a village give it's name and your purpose there."
Tassidar could pick out the frame of the man speaking, hulking and bearlike in the gloom with a heavy headed mattock held to one side. The hund heard earlier keeping to the Ulfen's heel.
"He had cards like this. He said he could read the fates in them. He would have you pick nine cards, which he said was a number of power... and then he'd turn them over, and tell you what the pictures meant." Hilde snorts. "The godi and the seidr-woman both disliked that. He did not stay with us long."
Hilde's hands rifle carefully through the cards, until she comes on one that depicts an odd image-- a great building, like as if someone had put longhouses one on top of the other, on an up-rooted piece of earth.
"He said this was my card," the old woman chuckles. "That it meant I would survive many things. I suppose so."
"Did your elf-giver say which card ought be yours, little raven?" Hilde asks, eyes looking back to Halla's face. Signy does not stir.
She hesitates. "Not one. Not nine. There were seven. But he did not tell me what they meant." She doesn't mention that it was Rys and it happened in a dream. Carefully, she sorts through the deck and lays out the seven in order -- the bound man, the dancer, the baby, the storm, the witch, the smith, and the freed slave -- watching Hilde's face to see if they mean anything to her.
Did you have a card, Maeve? she asks.
I don't remember. The answer is sullen. If I did, it was not the last one.
"No woodcraft? I am not exactly sure what you mean by that, I've been a proficient woodsman for over a century. Creating fire is a basic skill, with or without magic."
"As for the name of the village I am traveling to, I believe the village is pronounced Hofn, at least how it has been for the past two hundred years or so."
"I am currently traveling alone. Nothing can be done for that, I do not currently have a companion accompanying me, nor could I hire a guide."
"I can appreciate your reluctance to accept my circumstances. Perhaps I could share more with you?"
"It has been a long journey north, full of run-ins with unpleasant people. I was nearly robbed a few times, but my spells and skill with bow and blade kept me safe for the many miles of journey through increasingly savage lands until I reached the Lands of the Linnorm Kings."
"I had underestimated how difficult travel would be in the deep winter snows with roads swallowed up by ice and drifts. The village I seek, Hofn, is a small, coastal village. I had hoped to arrive by trading boat, but found that few sailors would dare the winter ice and storms. So I determined that I would make my way by land. This freezing, windswept landscape, It is so different from Kyonin's green glades and carefully tended groves, but the elements do not affect me as it does other name giving races."
"Many persons react to me as though I have two heads. It appears my kind has been forgotten in this part of the world, or worse, I am mistaken for one of my arctic cousins, but I have persevered, for I do not shy away from challenges."
"So you may ask, why would I travel in winter? I was trying to reach the village before the solstice came, and the weather had miraculously cleared enough for me to make good time, but unfortunately not good enough time. Night fell while I was still several miles out from where the last village had told me Hofn would be."
"I could tell that a storm was brewing. Tired, freezing, and knowing, quite depressingly, that I had missed the solstice, I followed a game trail hoping for some shelter from the coming snow. I found a large cave with several rooms branching off from it-- this cave complex behind me has certainly been inhabited at some point in the past, judging by things like rusting chains bolted into the wall near the entrance, and crude, shattered furniture in other rooms. There is even a shrine to a dark demon lord, but it has been obviously defaced and destroyed, the unholy symbol shattered and ground into the rocky cavern floor. It doesn't look like the cave has been used by anything but bats and other animals in a dozen years, but I digress."
"I was simply too tired to fully explore all the rooms. I curled up in a corner of the main entrance chamber in my warmest cloak, safe from the wind and snowfall at least, and drifted off to the sounds of the wind howling and shrieking outside."
"You can imagine my consternation at being awoken by the howling and shrieking of a snow leopard inside my refuge. I found him quite intent on eating me rather than simply evicting me from his lair. In fact he was rather adamant about carrying out that point."
"Luckily I had put some of the ruined furniture to use and had built up a nice bed of coals. I generally keep a torch handy should I need light-I was in a cave after all. That is how I came to have this torch."
"So that is my story up and to this point. I have additional firewood, if you would like to come inside I would be happy to stoke it up for you. It must be better protected and drier than it is out here. I would like to extend sharing what I have since I invoked the time honored tradition of travelers on the road. I have food and hot tea as well."
The cries of a bird of prey herald the arrival of a magnificent creature.
Snow is displaced as white and black plumed hawk lands on a perch above the two humans. Its head an body are completely white while its wings are patterned with black feathers. If the bird were to hold still its coloration would be excellent at breaking up its form, but the bird flaps and screeches in obvious dissatisfaction towards the elf and the men below.
"You must forgive me, this is Vethrfolnir."
The elf addresses the bird directly.
"I did not forget about you friend. What these men were asking was do I have any bipedal companions, besides, you were out on your hunt---so technically I was completely alone until your return."
The elf extends his arm and the hawk flies down to land and perch on his gauntlet.
Thrymr listens to the elf spend words as though they had little meaning and to leave them pooling upon the snow. The creature's sheer verbosity and unfounded arrogance in his abilities leave no impression on Thrymr's more earthy sensibilities. He travelled hundreds of miles through the tundra alone, but doesn't know how to make a snow shelter... thought wandering off the path during a storm was wise... and hid in a cave making no attempt to secure it's entrance.
The appearance of the hawk is about the only event that either Thrymr or Gifr pay any mind to. Carefully watching they read the non-verbal cues in the interaction between the man and beast, taking a better measure of his character than any that would be obtained by listening. Gifr at least seems to partially relax from his state of escalated attention into a posture slightly more neutral.
Eventually the Ulfen responds, though he chooses less words to do so "Cat's not dead... but you're still sleeping in the cave?"
Knute looks initially surprised at Tassidar's accent and at the prodigious amount that he speaks, but relaxes visibly as the elf tells his story. I suppose I haven't seen or heard of many evil elves. Only odd ones. And arrogant ones, apparently. It all checks out, except for one part. "But what business do you have with Hofn? Why, in particular, did you want to visit on the solstice?" Knute knows he's prodding but is curious what an elf that's obviously not with the normal troop of elves has to do with the sleepy town of Hofn in the dead of winter.
Knute peers in the direction of the cave, trying to see signs of any other creatures in the dark. "You didn't search the cave? And yet you invite us back there?" echoing Thrymr's comment. "How do you know there aren't other inhabitants besides that cat?"
As Tassidar introduces Vethrfolnir, Knute realizes he hasn't introduced himself. Still on the fence about trusting the elf, he says simply, "I'm Knute Iversson," leaving out the fact that he's from Hofn.
In the firelight of the torch the elf makes a courtly bow and makes some motions with his freehand to accompany his body movement.
"Knute Iverson, I am honored to know your name. My surname is Edasseril, I believe that is the custom? To give you mine when you offer yours? I thank you for responding to me when I called out. A friendly voice at a time of great need is like harp strings on a spring breeze."
"In response to your companions question, I am simply trying to offer up what I have to share."
"The cat was trounced and burned with oil. It must be half dead honestly. If the three of us and our animal companions occupy the cave I doubt the leopard will return this evening."
"It is warm and dry inside, no one can see my fire from without and the walls are solid stone. There are some benefits from taking shelter within natural formations, especially when traveling alone."
"It's much less obvious to observers than a made shelter, and I was trying to travel discretely since I am not familiar with the threats of the area. besides all that, I was simply to exhausted to construct anything."
Tassidar tries to address the larger of the two men.
"I have given you my name freely good sir, I would enjoy knowing yours should you choose to give it."
He then returns his attention back to Knute.
"In response to your question Knute, I was hoping to observe something on the solstice. I had reason to believe it could be conducted from that village. I was also told that there was still a community of dwarves dwelling near Hofn. I was fearful of seeking them out on my own without first asking about them."
"As for the cave. I checked about a dozen or so rooms. I cannot be sure that I located every room, or every secret it may hold, but I don't believe anything else besides the cat and several bats are living inside."
"Further south I was told that people believe if they ate bread with an elf, they would be bound to him. While I can assure you eating bread with me binds you to me no more than eating bread with anyone else, I respect your reluctance. I offer you the warmth of my fire or perhaps some other boon I might grant."
"I do have some wine you might like."
"But if my offer is declined, no hard feelings on my part."
"It occurs to me that I can hear and see you. I would approach you if you would like be able to see me clearly as well. I have no interest is hiding in shadows, but I also do not want to make you feel threatened by closing with you."
Thrymr gives Knute a pointed look before disgorging a gobbet of phlegm into the snow. In a voice that he doesn't keep to a whisper, caring not if the elf overhears him he summises "Didn't take long from elf begging for help to thinking he knows better than us. I'm staying in the snow. Up to ye whether ye tell him about the orcs on the march." moving back to his recumbent pose within the ranger and hunter made shelter.
Gifr pads back to lay his compact muscular frame beside his companion, resting his head upon forelegs and keeping curious eyes focused upon the bird of prey more than the elf supporting it by gauntlet.
"Your reaction is not unexpected large one. I may have missed your moves to assist me since my attention was so focused on the attacking animal. My apologies for disturbing your camp. I will take your lesson of building shelters outside the mouths of unexplored cave complexes to heart."
"Though you care so little for me, I would know, are these orcs marching towards Hofn? If they are I will try to warn the villagers when I get there and do what I can to aid them. Orcs are the sworn enemies of dwarf, human and elf alike."
Thrymr, Knute, Tassidar
As the gruff Ulfens and the strange foreign elf speak with another, there is no immediate sign of the reappearance of the cat.
Halla
"Hm. Seven. Nine. Perhaps there's different ways of telling, then."
Hilde squints at each card Halla offers over, tilting them to the fire's light to better see.
"I don't remember them well, child," she sighs. "It was sixty years gone. Maybe more. And I had better things to do with the fellow than look at cards." That said, she taps at the card of the Varisian dancer, twirling the bright scarf.
"I remember this one. I asked him if this was him-- he said no, that he was a cricket or something. But he said that this one was about... balance, about how what the dancer does looks easy, but that behind the bright colors, it represents an arrangement that only continues if all play their parts-- that if you take out one step of the dance, the whole thing falls to nothing." Hilde shrugs. "Like a ship, he said. Where everyone must pull their oar, or do whatever their task is, or the ship founders and all are lost."
Hilde looks through the others, pausing on the last one, the bound slave with chains broken. The old woman looks from the card to Halla's face.
"I suppose one needs be no seer to know what you would like this one to mean."
Halla drops her eyes to the ground. "You are too wise and have lived too long to believe that one born to thralldom works with a song in her heart." She gathers the cards together once more, returning them to their box.
Seven cards that Rys has already seen, Maeve muses. Perhaps the end of the story is unforeseen, even to the fates.
"So that I am not called a liar as well, by your companion Knute, I should clarify that while there are several small offshoots that are technically document-able as independent features in the cavern, the complex has five main chambers."
Tassidar's words are spent against Thrymr's turned side and closed eyes. Only the hund of the pair is still paying any heed of the elf and hawk.
Knute frowns at Thrymr's spit, but is also resolved to remain in their shelter. "I couldn't spurn any upstanding fellow in the woods," Knute says, smiling slightly. "Skaði only knows when I'll be the one yelling for aid." The Ulfen bites back the question that pops to his mind: "What were you hoping to observe on the solstice?" Instead he watches the larger man and the elf trade words for a while, then addresses Tassidar as the Thrymr turns his back on the conversation.
"I certainly don't mind your approach, though my companion might. As for shelter, thank you, but we'll keep our own tonight," Knute says, attempting to return the politeness. He does not mean to sound cold, though it may come across as such. The reminder of the orcs hardens his voice. "There's no need to warn the villagers, I should think. The orcs," and here Knute spits into the snow, "are definitely marching away from Hofn. We tracked them through the day, and they've been moving steadily north and west."
Knute takes breath as though to add more, but stops. Can he aid us in recovering the children? Might Tassidar know what dark god these orcs worship? He looks at Thrymr, as if to confer, but decides the hunter has already made up his mind regarding the elf. He turns back to Tassidar, "Do you know someone from Hofn? How did you intend to win the good graces of the villagers there? I would like to trust you, if I can." Though, after the disaster of Jól, trust is in short supply.
Knute hear's Thrymr's grumbled "Elf can come near if you want"
"I suppose the life of an adventurer or a woodsman in your lands could easily become a string of close call events. I stand ready to assist you if circumstances arise that I may repay your willingness to aid me."
Properly invited, the elf moves lightly across the snow towards the men. As he draws nearer they can see that he wears white and silver robes under finely cut exotic furs. The hood of his winter garb pulled back, the elf is revealed to have silvery metallic hair, purple eyes and almost pearlescent porcelain skin. His face appears rather stoic with but a hint of a smile and warmth at the edges of his eyes and mouth. There is no sign of malice or ill will there to be seen however.
"I am glad that the march away from Hofn, but fear for the village I just came from. Though they were quite . . . reserved . . . towards me, but I wish those people no harm."
"I don't know anyone from Hofn."
Knute is surprised at the elf's appearance as he steps into the light. "You look strangely normal, for an elf," Knute mutters before he checks his tongue. Most of the elves I've seen are all sorts of colors and take on odd appearances. Though maybe that's just for Jól? He doesn't question Tassidar further on his looks, however. The elf's hint of a smile, and sincere concern for the villagers nearby, makes up Knute's mind.
Knute steals another deep breath and a glance at Thrymr before relating their story. "Actually, Tassidar, you do know someone from Hofn, now. My gruff companion and I are from there, sent to track the band of orcs." He doesn't introduce Thrymr, knowing his name is his own to give, but otherwise relates the story of Jól's disaster to Tassidar: the attack overnight, the desperate fight as children were dragged off into the snow, and the poor state of Hofn and its villagers as Knute and Thrymr were sent out to track the orcs, to avoid losing them. "Hopefully they're organizing a larger party behind us, to bring aid when we find where the foul creatures are making camp." He ends his monologue by holding the wolf-head talisman up in the light, and tossing it into the snow near Tassidar. "The orcs wore these around their necks, and used strange tactics. There was even one among them who practiced seiðr, magic. Do you know what god the brutes might serve? Or why they would want our children?" Knute's voice is quiet towards the end, as he thinks of Tomi and the other children being dragged towards some dark fate.
Varg loves the sacrifice of sentient humanoids, but his altar is the battlefield: Varg is bored by the blood of restrained captives. The warrior cut down in the prime of his strength by the heat of battle, the city wall ripped down to its foundations-- these things are pleasing to Varg.
The elf wears a quizzical look on his face when Knute states that he looks strangely normal for an elf, but the Look disappears and a question dies on his lips as the man from Hofn reveals his tale of what happened at the village.
When Knute throws the talisman, Tassidar tries to pluck it from the air.
He looks the wolfs head over, but does not recognize it from his theological studies.
Had he read anything about it when he was studying about the area prior to his trip?
The elf looks up at the human, his large almond shaped eyes searching his impassively for a moment.
"Is this ones child among those taken?"
"An elven couple may be graced with, but a single child in their centuries together, sometimes two, very rarely more than that. A child is a precious thing. It is love of life; the past and future all together and so much more that evades my expression in your tongue."
Tassidar's eyes search Knute's for a while longer.
"I am indebted to you Knute of Hofn. I have some ideas on what they may do with the children, but do not want to put words to my speculations and cause you unnecessary pain. Could you come with me to take a closer look in the cave? I want to compare this talisman to the defaced altar inside. If you do not know this place then perhaps the worship inside was also unknown."
"Then I will go with you and do what I can to help retrieve the children---if you will have me."
"Perhaps my late arrival had purpose after all."
Without turning or raising his head Thrymr growls "Get some bloody rest, cave will still be there come morning"
Knute flinches initially under the elf's piercing gaze, but hold his stare. He looks across the snow, hoping to see any knowledge of the children, good or ill, in Tassidar's eyes.
"Agreed," Knute says, "while I certainly know of couples with more children than that, each is precious." His voice sounds strained as he remembers Tomi pulling on his furs during a visit to his uncle's house, curious and innocent eyes looking up at him. We'll find them somehow, Knute thinks to himself grimly.
"You have no debt to me, Tassidar. With the force the orcs showed, we'll need all the help we can." The ranger glances at Thrymr, looking to see if he offers resistance. "If you can and will help us, I'll be the indebted one," Knute continues simply. He frowns at the elf's veiled talk of speculations, replying, "I would rather you tell me outright. We," he includes Thrymr, "will not be discouraged, no matter what it is. And it's more important to know what we might be facing, or where the orcs might be headed."
At Thrymr's comment, Knute's body reminds him that he has been up since early that morning, tramping through the woods... He turns back to Tassidar. "As recently as this past summer, it was just an old trull cave... I'll inspect the shrine with you in daylight. My companion is right; the cave isn't going anywhere, and we must rest after tracking through most of the day." Knute stands up straight again, and makes it obvious that he's standing first watch while Thrymr takes his turn sleeping. "If you sleep in the cave, I'll holler if I see anything on my watch. Should wake you too." He gestures at Thrymr. "Hopefully this one will do the same," Knute adds, grinning slightly.
The orcs of the north-lands are rumored to worship two gods, primarily: one called Rull, a god of storms, whose symbol is a lightning bolt, and a god they call Gor, which is a local avatar/orcish interpretation of Gorum. Neither of them are associated with wolves to your knowledge.
"Very well. We shall talk in the morning. Call me when you have finished your sleeping. May Ketephys aid us in the hunt."
Tassidar turns and heads back to the cave. He takes a closer look at the rooms and looks at the altar.
"One thing for certain, I am far from home."
Finishing comparing the amulet, Tassidar returns to his bedroll and goes into reverie for the remaining time he requires.
When he is done he packs and will try to take watch if the humans are still resting by then.
Luck is apparently with Tassidar, for now, in the form of an absence of a leopard clawing his face off.
Outside the cave, Knute bundles up against the wind and the chill, checking on the remaining pigeon ever so often to make sure it's staying warm enough. Thrymr and Gifr sleep well.
Knute: It's been about two hours since the foreign elf has returned inside the cavern, and since Thrymr and Gifr bedded down. The chill burrows down to your bones, but the wind has thankfully died to nothing, and the forest is deeply, profoundly silent. Very occasionally the hoot of an owl pierces the night, or a twig snaps somewhere off in the distance, but the blanket of snow muffles noises as if it were well-woven wool. You're thankful for your rest earlier, as it helps you stay awake now, but you dearly wish for a fire, as without one, the bitter cold is like a tangible thing. Yet you know the risks of a fire being seen a great ways away...
In the midst of your musing on how nice it would be to be home, warm, with your latest catch going into the stew your mother makes... you hear-- something. A twig breaking, yes, you've heard that several times-- but this was closer, and followed by a soft, short hissing noise. The sound came from somewhere off in the trees (not the direction of the cave) but of course, in the blackness, you can see nothing.
*Snore*
He cocks his head to get a better look at the smaller, less feral and territorial two legs. For some reason it keeps checking the winged prey meat.
Vethrfolnir ruffles his feathers to trap his body heat in better. Why do these smellier two legs stay in the cold sand when there is a rock lair nearby?
"Two legs"
The hawk blinks and keeps watch.
Tassidar also tried know religion on the altar.
Tassidar's mind was focussed on several events from his childhood.
Curious that this set of memories be set together.
The elf sat in a trancelike state facing the fire.
Tassidar does not recognize the god or demon represented in the defaced shrine inside the cave, but he is pretty sure it is not an image of a wolf.
He saw nothing stirring inside that particular room when he peeked again.
Halla
Hilde moves her withered old fingers in a small gesture like a shrug, it is what it is-- acknowledging the truth of Halla's words, but not offering any sort of empty promises.
The old woman sighs, glancing back to the fire, returning her hand to Signy's head.
"Old enough, yes." She sighs a second time. "The scouts trailed the orks near that old trull-cave out in the woods. Come morning's light, Thorgal will take those who can go. Likely Thorgal will ask that Palli send you along. You should eat something."
Knute blinks wearily as he stands in the cold. The day's march is catching up to him, but he remains alert, thoughts of home and comfort warming him as a fire does not.
Knute shakes himself to full alertness as he hears a short hissing. Hissing? he thinks to himself. That's just what we need now, the orcs to come back... Knute checks that an arrow is nocked to the string of his bow, and slowly draws it back a little while pointing himself towards the noise. After determining he can't just make a shot blind, hoping he hits something, Knute relaxes the bow.
He quietly shuffles over towards Thrymr, and crouches down, hoping he remains unseen and unheard. Knute pauses like this, keeping one eye on the cave mouth, while the other searches the night for any sign of movement. Please, Skaði, let them not see us, and move on...
As gently and quietly as he can, Knute holds his bow and arrow in one hand, placing the other over Thrymr's mouth, and taps him in the back with his knee. Once Thrymr is awake, Knute puts his finger to his lips, points in the direction he heard the noise from, and motions for Thrymr to listen.
Knute's kneecap lean draws both Gifr and Thrymr to wakefulness. A brief growl from the Ulfen is forestalled at Knute's ward and both man and hund pause expectantly...
"Old enough, yes." She sighs a second time. "The scouts trailed the orks near that old trull-cave out in the woods. Come morning's light, Thorgal will take those who can go. Likely Thorgal will ask that Palli send you along. You should eat something."
The news recalls Halla to the present situation with an unpleasant twist in her gut as she thinks of the trull-cave and what horrible things may be happening to Ingrid Alfsdóttir there. The last thing she wants is food ... yet she knows it will be too long and cold a trek to embark upon without a hot meal in her belly. She nods numbly and goes in search of the cooking fire and whatever has been kept warm above it. Peeking out at the sky, she tries to determine how long it is until dawn.
Out in the woods
The two men and the dog sit very still, the hound's furry flank rising and falling against Thrymr's hand with each breath the dog takes. Ears strain for any sound or sight, but what little light filters through the heavy clouds is barely enough to see one's fingers in front of one's face. For long seconds the two Ulfen listen... but they hear nothing further. If it is orks, then they must both be very quiet orks, and in no hurry to spring an ambush, because the seconds turn to minutes and it seems nothing further is forthcoming-- no arrow from the dark, no sound in the night. Perhaps you imagined it, Knute...?