At the lack of further noise Thrymr gives Knute a look with furrowed brow before resuming recumbence.
Out in the woods
Nothing to see here.... Thrymr goes back to sleep, urging Gifr to lie down as well.
Knute strains his eyes peering out into the darkness but sees nothing further.
Gifr drowses at Thrymr's feet as the two take their position observing. Occasionally the hound's ears perk up at the soft cry of an owl or the distant soft 'whump' of a treebranch drooping its snowload off.
Other than that, the night is very quiet.
For Tassidar in the cave, things also pass uneventfully, fortunately for him.
At last, dawn tentatively pierces the clouded sky and the forest branches. Thrymr stamps in the bitter chill, waking Knute with a nudge to his shoulder. Both men still feel they could do with a lot more sleep, because bedding down in the scant shelter of a tree's branches with a 'camp' they made in the dark, and no fire, and deep Ulfen winter snows, is a miserable way to spend the night.
Tassidar had a more comfortable night of it, being at least out of the wind and snow, with a small fire hidden by the cavern's own rocks from emitting much light out into the night. He stirs as well.
Thrymr awakens without any creaking bones nor damp nor chill from the snow, for he is a man of the North and beyond such mundane concerns. He forces himself to a seated position with arse in the snow and steadies himself for the day by spending some time with arm across Gifr's flank scratching the hund's ears. To Knute he muses "Best we see if any sign of the bastards... otherwise will need to choose a bearing to follow."
Tassidar walks over to the men. He is dressed in white, silver and grey robes under high quality furs. He stops to place his staff in the snow. after a moment the hawk flies down to perch upon it. The elf converses with the hawk in a language that reminds the listener of water flowing over rock in a stream and wind through tree leaves.
The hawk settles.
Tassidar walks to about 20 feet of the men.
"Good morning. Could I interest you in some hot tea? The coals of my fire are still hot. You could warm yourselves by it before we press on."
With squinted eyes and an impassive expression Thrymr looks up at Tassidar, he offers a "Snow is warm enough for me" before slapping Gifr on the side and forcing himself to his feet. The pair of them circle the mouth of the cave double checking for any sign of other passage that might've been missed the night before. The bearish ulfen never puts his back to the cave mouth and keeps his mattock free of entanglement in case it becomes needed.
Gifr yawns at the elf, gives the hawk a cock-headed look before trotting along with his companion.
"Very well, I assume you will pass on hot breakfast as well. Knute?"
Knute rolls over as Thrymr wakens him, testing his shoulder. He feels better all around, the arrow wound from yesterday stiff, but not painful. Not a bad night out in the woods in winter. Not that I wouldn't give a lot to have slept warm, at home, in a bed, Knute thinks. He stands up, stretching out his muscles in the weak morning sun, and starts as he notices the elf approaching them.
Knute watches as Thrymr trots off to check for tracks, and turns to Tassidar. "I don't need tea, thank you. Though if you have stew or some other food to share, I'll not pass up the offer," Knute remarks as his stomach rumbles. "I've even got my own to contribute," he says, pulling a pouch of red berries and a small loaf of bread out of his backpack. "Though we should be quick about it, and then inspect the cave and its altar. I hate to waste daylight, with the hours so short." He goes to the edge of the cave and peers in, though is hesitant about actually entering while Thrymr is searching around the area.
"Did you find anything?" Knute asks, when the bigger Ulfen is done looking around for tracks and approaches.
"I rechecked the complex again before settling in last night, but I would like for you two to look through it with me. I may have missed something."
Tassidar gives Knute a slight smile, though those who know elves well would recognize this was actually quite a heartfelt warm one for one of his breeding.
"Those berries will be just the thing. I have iron cut oats, brown sugar and cream. I cooked extra knowing you could not risk a fire in the open. Looks like we each get an extra portion."
"At least one Ulfen in the north is not afraid of breaking bread with me."
”So, three questions? Will the ork only be able to answer with what he knew while he drew breath? Or can his bound spirit see beyond his life?” He peeks into the bag, his stirring hand slowing thoughtlessly, ”And does it matter how damaged the head is?” The young man looks up to meet the old witch’s eyes, his own filling with an urgent worry, ”Hofn burns the ork bodies as we speak.”
Eysteinn
"Only what the beast knew in life, yes. The better the condition of the head-- especially the mouth-- the better your chances."
When Eysteinn mentions they are burning the dead orks, Grinmer smiles sardonically, displaying a mouthful of crooked old teeth. "Then I suppose you had better hurry, hadn't you?"
The sharp old eyes watch Eysteinn, as if waiting to see just how dedicated he is to going back to perform the ritual... and if he'll risk himself against the storm that he raced to Grinmer's hut.
The uncertainty begins to slip into indecisiveness. That storm will be dangerous. Eysteinn is tempted to weather it out. Maybe an ork skull would do just as well? he thinks briefly, then discards the notion, No good. No lip-skin to thread.
Plus, time would not be on the children’s side, and the thought of the specters of Hofn’s tiny victims haunting his dreams if he didn’t act is too much.
”I suppose so,” he finally responds as he ties the little satchel securely to one of the inner pockets of his voluminous leathers. He looks up at his one-time teacher, ”If this works, Hofn will know of your aid ... if not the means.” He shrugs, cleverness warring with sincerity on his features, ”If it doesn’t, I will still know. And I won’t forget.”
He lingers a moment longer, not sure how to express his gratitude further. Then, without further word, he heads for the door, pulling his furs tighter … bracing for the frozen winds to come.
Knute smells the oats and brown sugar Tassidar speaks of, and he grins. "That was kind of you, Tassidar. I'm glad we can share breakfast; as my mum always says, 'Food isn't a meal unless you're sharing among friends.'" Knute's smile widens as he hears his mother speaking the words in his mind. It falters at the elf's second comment though.
"Yes, sorry about that. My fellows are warm once you get to know them, but cold to outsiders. Some have shown you hospitality on your journey North, I hope?" he asks, tentatively. "Though their caution is understandable; I doubt many outside Hofn have had even infrequent dealings with elves."
"To be fair many have traded with me, but my journey has been perilous. More than once I came close to being waylaid. To be honest, last night I was more wary of the two of you at first than the Leopard. I was worried that you might be bandits being that you were in a darkened campsite. At least I knew what to expect from the cat."
Tassidar gives a little laugh which sounds like musical notes on the wind.
"I am very interested in Ulfen culture and traditions. I read as much as I could about the region when I arrived in Greengold before departing Kyonin. It seems that the nature of the land and what inhabits it lends itself for your communities to become insular. Or perhaps it is just my perception because nothing truly significant has changed in over 800 years of living memory with my people."
"So the people of Hofn have had dealings with elves?"
Thrymr and Gifr do a careful circuit (the hund makes sure to mark a few of the trees, in passing) of the area around the cavern mouth. There is no sign of ork-track, and only a print or two near lost to the snow which is likely the cat's, leading into the cave as it does. Gifr finds only scents leading into the cave.
By daylight, both Knute and Tassidar can get a better sense of the cave-- for Tassidar, it was merely a shelter; for Knute, this is a place of rumor and probably childhood dread, but he's long since left that behind.
The fifteen-foot wide gaping mouth of the cave leads into a large chamber, studded with stalactites and stalagmites, the floor scattered with strewn chunks of rock that were, long ago, piled one atop each other in a crude barricade. Now they are flung like a child's toys.
A badly-rusted chain, the links pitted through like a termite-ridden log, is still visible bolted to the wall by the door. Knute knows the story: how the trulls kept a beast here, chained to the wall, and how Hrolf Half-Hand and Thorgal Magnisson together slew it...
Near the chain is a pile of moldered-- something or other. On closer inspection, it might have been a pile of furs at one point, a crude bed-down for the chained beast. But in the decade since, the original furs and hides have rotted with stagnant moisture, and other wild animals have used them-- the hides are thick with matted hairs that weren't on it originally, and leaves and twig detritus as well.
Not too far away from that is a pile of old, yellowed, gnawed and cracked bones: all that remains of the beast. Scavengers long ago stripped any last sinew from the skeleton, and some enterprising animals cracked the bones for the marrow within. There are smaller bones mixed in too-- perhaps the remains of other meals.
Tassidar built his fire on the opposite side of the room, because frankly, that side stinks.
The floor of the cavern is dotted with little slicks of moisture, melt-water and drips from the roof. In one section they cohere into a shallow puddle.
Two tunnels lead off from the entrance chamber, one to the left and one to the right. The leftward tunnel branches downward. The rightward tunnel rises and dips, with clutter strewn through it, but looks to stay overall level.
Keeping towards the back of the group with Gifr beside him, Thrymr growls "Cat's still in here."
"What makes you believe so?"
Eysteinn
Grinmer flashes a not-very-nice grin at Eysteinn as he says his nice words and prepares to go back outside. "Watch your step!" the old witch calls, in lieu of any more compassionate farewell.
Outside, the wind quickly makes it known to Eysteinn he is making a bold, but dangerous decision. The path is damp and slick with rain, and the wind drives it practically sideways at him: a cold, stinging rain that batters at any inch of skin it can, quickly numbing down to the bone. Moving slowly, careful to always keep one hand on the cliff face and two if he can, Eystein picks his way along the path a cautious foot at a time.
When the rain turns into driving snow, the treacherous path gets more so, as visibility drops into a field of whirling white. Eysteinn is aware of the crashing surf, fifty feet below him on one side, and presses into the rock face on his other side in an attempt to keep himself from any slip or blind mis-step.
Though the cold threatens to numb his extremities and the wind chill is brutal, Eysteinn doggedly keeps going, resting whenever he gets momentarily out of the wind.
His sense of time is deeply skewed by the time he reaches the trail leading downhill to Hofn itself, thankfully out of the wind and with better footing than the little path he's been for the last... however long. In good weather, Eysteinn can reach Grinmer's hut in an hour; he feels as if he spent all day on the return.
Snow is still skirling through the buildings, but beginning to ease; it has already deposited another fresh layer of whiteness over the ugly lingering marks of battle.
It's nearing evening: to the south west, far out on the horizon, the sun is setting, a dull orange clow beneath the storm clouds. Another hour of daylight left at best. Few people are out on Hofn's streets-- most are huddled inside their homes, still recovering from the shock of the raid, or preparing weapons and armor for the war-band that must follow.
The pile of orc corpses is dully smoking, not far from the gate.
Halla
In search of something to eat, Halla winds up slipping out of the longhouse once more. Many people's homes were damaged to the point that the great hall is being used as an impromptu refuge to those who need it, as well as a commmunal kitchen-- there were many leftovers from the feast. Normally, the day after Jol would be a day where anyone free would wander by to lend a hand with clean-up, and take some of the leftover food home. Today, it's offering the shaken residents the chance not to have to prepare meals.
It's about four in the afternoon-- an hour to dusk. As Halla steps out and pulls up her cloak, she realizes that it must have stormed while she slept; there is a new layer of snow on everything, and a few flakes are still softly drifting down. The streets seem nearly empty, save for a few figures moving around on whatever business they have.
Knute looks intrigued at the mention of places he hasn't heard of before. "Kyonin?" he says. "How far have you traveled, Tassidar? I've never even heard of Greengold or Kyonin..." Knute thinks on Tassidar's words. "Well, we make or can trade with the dwarves for almost everything we need, so I suppose there's little reason to venture south. And the cold does tend to shut down most travel for a good portion of the year, anyways."
He looks surprised at Tassidar's question. "Yes, we do. Every Jól, the elves and dwarves come to trade with us. I assumed that's what you wanted to see in Hofn on the solstice. It's a merry, excellent time," Knute says, thinking of Lydd, the gifts he received, and all the good food and alcohol he consumed. "Or, at least, it usually is. The orc raid this year was unprecedented." He turns silent as he thinks on the odd raid.
At Thrymr's remark Knute nods. "It obviously didn't leave last night. We'll have to be on our guard. Before we explore the cave, did you want breakfast, Thrymr?" Knute motions to the spread he and Tassidar had laid out (or what's left of it, at this point).
The return trip is miserable, and while Eysteinn never feels like he’s in mortal danger, the sight of the village wall brings some much-needed relief. In Wyrmtongue’s odes, heroes face ice giants, white dragons, and impossible blizzards, he grumbles to himself, not cranky lobster-eels, equally-cranky witches, and wet, slippery rocks.
Still huddling in a weak attempt to warm himself, he pauses to shelter against the leeward wall of the first Hofn structure he comes to—getting a break from the biting wind.
Father will be insufferable when he hears Ginmer was unable to help with the goði’s affliction. No sense in rushing into THAT. He looks in the direction of the smoldering ork pile. Better to have something solid to offer them in its place. He stands shivering in his wind-sheltered spot, working the problem of the ork corpse like he would one of those little metal dweorg puzzles.
First, he needed the head. Not hard. he thinks, harder to find one in good enough condition. Then, a place where he can work Ginmer’s ritual without being seen. But even then, if I am seen? Exile? Death? His mind frantically seeks a solution. A woman might get away with it. Or someone everyone already thought was strange? Or dealt with bodies, maybe?
Click.
The final piece of the puzzle falls into place. Eysteinn’s blue lips split in a grin around his chattering teeth. Halla Ingendóttir. With renewed energy, he pushes off from his temporary shelter, heading back across Hofn to begin his evening’s work.
He heads first for the ork pile, looking to find a suitable head before they’re all burned up.
Thrymr shakes his head at the offer of food, apparently having been content with the field rations he packed. Gifr sniffs the air cautiously but keeps to his companions heel. A brief breath and sigh Thrymr then shoulders through into the lead "Best we end the beast, rather than leave it crippled... if he did set it aflame." The ulfen defers to his companion as to whether it could be kenned which passage the cat passed through, though if guidance is not forthcoming he chooses left first.
The fresh snow has covered over the bloodstains and the churned mud of the battle. To look at Hofn now, one would scarcely know the devastation that had struck it -- if you looked in such a direction to avoid sight of the piled corpses and burned longhouses.
She ducks into the great hall, so loud and full of good cheer last night; today those browsing the remains of the feast are dour and reserved, the warriors bearing a double burden both of grief and of anger at their inability to defend their own. A few woman comfort a softly-weeping mother in a corner, while a handful of men drown their impotence in leftover ale. She avoids everyone she can, keeping her gaze to the ground as she picks over the food on the long trestle tables. Although her stomach is empty, she has little appetite.
"Interesting, so these elves look different than I do? I assume darker haired? Where do they go after Jol?"
Tassidar looks down at the ground and realizes the cat was able to renter the cave without him being disturbed out of reverie. The cat had also passed his feathered sentinel. He shudders inside.
close call.
"I most definitely set the cat on fire. I think Knute can attest to that."
Tassidar thinks for a moment.
"Many elves from Kyonin are creatures of innate magic. I am one such elf. I am going to create some lights to assist us. I don't want you to be alarmed."
Four motes of light come into being. Two blue two white. He pairs one of each color together and sends them down either corridor.
"The blue can sometimes help blood be easier to identify."
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.
There are no signs of blood from the cat's retreat, but then, as its injuries were caused solely by magic and flame, and not by blade or arrow, that is perhaps less surprising.
Thrymr trusts to Gifr's excellent nose, but the hound seems on-edge and growling at every dark corner of the cave-- the hound growls at the mess of matted furs, and growls at the leftward passage, and the rightward passage...
Still, when looking towards the left-hand corridor that slopes downward, the hound lets out a single, sharp bark.
Patting his hund's side Thrymr puts his finger to his mouth to quiesce both them and the others following. He then begins to move into the left hand passageway with mattock drawn and in hand. Gifr is allowed to pace ahead...
Eysteinn
Nobody is actively watching the burning corpses. Eysteinn sidles around to the far side of the pile, where the least houses and so forth stand. The storm has aided him, in that the burning fire was muffled and in several places extinguished.
His sharp eyes see the places where the snow is thickest and the fires most quenched; then, his training in the healing arts picks out a head with the jaw and mouth untouched.
Eysteinn draws his belt knife, looking left to right, and slides the blade beneath the jaw of the ork, starting to saw through the thick neck...
It's merely one of the common orks, but he dare not take the time to hunt through the entire mound of bodies in hopes of a leader. He doesn't think anyone spotted him, and tucks the grisly trophy under his furred cloak to carry it about unseen.
There are a few places that might do in a pinch, especially if Eysteinn works under the cover of darkness-- it's less than an hour until sunset, now. Everyone will shortly be trying to stay inside their longhouses, or staying with relatives or the great house if their own homes were damaged. Using the outbuildings of one of the damaged homes would no doubt suffice as a makeshift place to practice the craft.
Halla and Eysteinn in the great hall-
When Eysteinn enters the great hall in search of Halla Ingendóttir, he sees her: moving amid the tables in the fashion of a woman who wishes to be left alone by other people.
The food is getting to be a bit picked over at this point, and the greasy, rich dishes that tasted so good the night before now seem unpleasantly heavy, cold meats and stale breads.
Before heading into the great hall to find Halla, Eysteinn takes his grisly trophy to one of the spots he thinks won’t be looked into by Hofn’s folks. After another quick look to make sure he’s unobserved, he drops to his knees, laughing darkly to himself as he digs a shallow, orc-head-sized hole in the snow.
Hey, Eysteinn, what’s that in your furs? An ork head? But supper’s been over for a while, now. And it looks like you didn’t bring enough to share.
With a grim shake of his head, he deposits the ork's, covers it with snow, and stands back up … making sure the snow coverage is as inconspicuous as is quickly possible. Then he heads for the great hall.
The warmth of the gathered bodies and fires in the great hall hits Eysteinn like a summer heat … a welcome heat as it begins the thawing of his frozen fingers and toes. He snatches up some cold meat and wolfs it down as his eyes seek out the thrall woman. When he finally sees her, he gulps deeply from a mead-horn before snatching up a hunk of bread and making his way over to her … all the while studiously avoiding engaging with every one else, but especially any of the village’s warriors.
”Halla,” he says quietly but urgently as he steps in front of her, ensuring she can’t just walk around him. ”I’ve need of you. Might we talk?” He looks around emphatically, his voice taking on a pleading tone. ”Please? Outside?”
Seeing that his companions did not seem to be put off by the appearance of magical lights, Tassidar casts Mage Armor upon himself as quietly as he can manage and grabs a scroll from his case to have at the ready.
He remains silent after casting not wanting to upset the hunter and his dog.
Going after a wounded leopard in its lair. These men are brave indeed.
”Halla,” he says quietly but urgently as he steps in front of her, ensuring she can’t just walk around him. ”I’ve need of you. Might we talk?” He looks around emphatically, his voice taking on a pleading tone. ”Please? Outside?”
Halla glares up at her former master's former son's intrusion. I've need of you: the peremptory command is barely softened in her ears by the follow-up 'please.' Forget for a moment you're no better than me now? she wonders spitefully.
He does look like Hel, however, still bearing wounds that show he fought with the warriors last night to save the children. She softens slightly. Presumably he's looking for healing. Why he didn't go to Palli's longhouse, Odyn himself knows, but....
She accedes, a barely-perceptible nod. Grabbing a last day-old loaf and tucking it into the pocket of her cloak, she follows him out of the great hall.
Thrymr, Knute, and Tassidar
Thrymr stalks forward in the cavern, while Gifr prowls ahead on padding, quiet paws. The seidr-lights of the foreign elf glow and bob, casting an eerie glow ahead in the downward sloping tunnel.
The tunnel slopes gently downward. The conjured witch-lights glisten off of rivulets of moisture along the walls, though it seems juuust warm enough in the cave to keep liquid above the freezing mark, despite the weather outside. It is still cold enough that your collective breaths steam in the air.
The cave is natural stonework, untouched by pick or shovel. A damp chill seeps into your bones, and in the silence, the sounds of dripping moisture can be heard, echoing softly through the chambers.
Little cracks and crevices branch off all around you, the product of millennia of water-erosion. Some are a few feet wide, but quickly narrow to impassibility; others are merely the width of a hand. Small, scurrying noises can be heard from some of these tiny cracks, as the lights pass by.
It's not far at all to the first 'chamber' after the main one. This room stinks with a different scent than that of the front chamber: an acrid, ammoniac scent. The room seems largely empty, though increasingly more damp: on the far side of the room, the lowest side, there is a large puddle of pooled water, trickling further away down the corridor, where the tunnel continues. Other than that, you see that the floor seems covered in a layer of brown soil, rather than bare rock, piled in little clumps here and there. Feline tracks have plainly been through it recently-- and, it seems, move into the tunnel on the far side of this chamber.
Thrymr Fort:
Gifr Fort:
Knowledge Nature:
Both Thrymr and his companion bear the scent stoically, moving with methodical pace through the chamber. Recognizing the layer of guano on the floor the ulfen turns to the other two, holding his hand horizontal to press down to indicate quiescence before pointing to the roof - where a living carpet of bats lies in wait. He then jerks his head towards the onward tunnel leading deeper... and stalks after the cat.
[iUgh. That smell again . . . Must be worse for the dog though.[/i]
Oh look bats. Thousands of them.
Eysteinn nods thankfully and turns towards the door. When his face is away from her, he can’t help but let out a bewildered sigh of relief. Her face! She almost refused to even come and listen to me. He shakes his head as he moves towards and out the great hall door. Handle this carefully, Eysteinn. She doesn’t HAVE to listen to you.
Back out in the night, which is only getting colder by the minute, Eysteinn leads Halla in the general direction of Old Pali’s place, but ducks around the first corner that will give them some privacy. He pulls out the stale heel of bread, taking a bite to buy him some time to consider his words as he looks at Halla. Her standout raven’s hair. Her guarded expression.
He’d been scrambling to find a good way to make his request, and everything so far just sounded so … jarring. Maybe that was the only way to proceed … like jumping into an early spring pond, you just had to do it all at once.
”I have something that needs done, I need help in the doing, and you’re the only one who I think will help me. Who CAN help me.” The words are blurted out, tumbling over each other in Eysteinn’s rush to convince her not to simply leave. ”I’ve been to Old Ginmer’s. She can’t help with … “ Wrong approach. ”… I mean, she has a way to help get the children back, I think. But it’s … I mean it’s not ….” He grimaces, struggling to get to the point.
He watches her for a second watching him, a scowl forming on his face. Finally, he collects his thoughts, and when he continues speaking, it’s at a far more moderated speed. ”I went to Ginmer’s hut at the request of the Lords Thorgal and Hrolf.” Close enough to the truth, anyway. ”She said she could not help with the problem I brought to her. When we talked of the children and the orks, though, she had an idea. She gave me a way to gain knowledge only the orks would have known.” No help for it now. Just plunge in. ”But it’s seiðr. And no campfire trick, either.”
He pauses one more time, and this time, when he finally continues, his voice is hushed. ”It’s not something I’ve heard of before. I don’t know if I’m able, and even if I am, if I’m caught … I think no loss of station will save me from the axe or exile. Please, Halla, will you help me? We can do something for those children that no one else can ... or will do.”
At Thrymr's talk of moving into the cave, Knute nods. He wolfs down the remains of the breakfast, and apologizes to Tassidar. "Yes, the elves do look very different. They're all sorts of colors, for the most part, and have other odd things about them. I'm sorry, we'll talk more, but later. Thrymr's right, we should find the cat and deal with it, then see if there is anything that can point us in the direction of the orcs, and be off."
Knute follows Thrymr deeper into the cave complex. He grimaces as an appalling smell becomes stronger. Recognizing the stench as bat guano, he looks up at the ceiling and sees the bats. Really hope we don't disturb those, he thinks grimly. I hate bats.
At least we have light to see by, he thinks, glancing up at the odd lights Tassidar is sending with them. Magic of our own will be useful, when we catch up with the orc leader. By that same light, Knute spots the tracks, and his hand tightens on his bow. He steps through the cave, avoiding larger piles of guano if he can, and keeping his eyes and ears alert (even as he attempts to ignores his nose).
”I have something that needs done, I need help in the doing, and you’re the only one who I think will help me. Who CAN help me.” The words are blurted out, tumbling over each other in Eysteinn’s rush to convince her not to simply leave. ”I’ve been to Old Ginmer’s. She can’t help with … “ Wrong approach. ”… I mean, she has a way to help get the children back, I think. But it’s … I mean it’s not ….” He grimaces, struggling to get to the point.
He watches her for a second watching him, a scowl forming on his face. Finally, he collects his thoughts, and when he continues speaking, it’s at a far more moderated speed. ”I went to Ginmer’s hut at the request of the Lords Thorgal and Hrolf.” Close enough to the truth, anyway. ”She said she could not help with the problem I brought to her. When we talked of the children and the orks, though, she had an idea. She gave me a way to gain knowledge only the orks would have known.” No help for it now. Just plunge in. ”But it’s seiðr. And no campfire trick, either.”
He pauses one more time, and this time, when he finally continues, his voice is hushed. ”It’s not something I’ve heard of before. I don’t know if I’m able, and even if I am, if I’m caught … I think no loss of station will save me from the axe or exile. Please, Halla, will you help me? We can do something for those children that no one else can ... or will do.”
Halla's eyes narrow as he dances around the question of what Grinmer cannot do. So Hrolf Half-Hand's secret is yours as well. And they sent you to seek help from Old Grinmer? She keeps quiet, however, determined not to ease his discomfort.
When he reveals that the seiðr-woman might be able to help find the children, though, avid interest cracks her defensive facade. "What do you want from me?"
Thrymr, Tassidar, and Knute
All three travelers notice the bats-- voices are quieted, steps soft, and nobody bumbles forward at a volume that might stir the sleeping colony from their winter's rest. The three men, and the hound, pick their way through the layer of droppings underfoot, to reach the far side of the chamber and keep moving.
Gusts of chill air caress their faces here and there, from more eroded crevices that wind off to who knows where.
The floor of the descending tunnel is treacherous, here: it has gotten steeper, for one thing, and the flowing water from the previous room trickles in a slurry along one side of the tunnel, carrying with it clumps of guano. The filth itself would be slick enough, but it's drawn all manner of algae to this bit of tunnel.
The little group of explorers try to keep on the higher-sloped side of the tunnel, though water still trickles and seeps from pores in the rock even there. The seidr-lights shine off something that looks like rusted metal, up ahead-- or at least something more regular in shape than mere rocks.
Gifr is padding ahead, cautious and quiet as before, and Thrymr is keeping an eye out for anything coming their way. He discovers that four legs are more stable than two-- Gifr is navigating the slippery downhill without trouble, but Thrymr's booted heel apparently lands on a smooth-as-ice patch of damp, slimy stone, and he lands with a solid thump on his backside, sliding down and forward along the slicked tunnel. He passes his dog, to Gifr's considerable surprise, and comes to a bruised stop on his back in a large chamber...
He hears a growl.
Knute: you're the first to react. Thrymr's feet just slid out from under him, and he bump-bump-slid down the corridor, landing with a thump somewhere just outside of your range of sight. Then you heard an animal-sounding growl. What would you like to do?
Knute, seeing Thrymr slip out of sight, picks his way to where his companion was standing. He glances down at Gifr. "That growl wasn't you, was it?" Knute whispers, hopefully. He points himself down the cave and raises his bow, arrow drawn and ready to loose if anything moves in the shadows.
Knute lets fly an arrow as soon as he sees movement. It streaks towards the target...
"What do you want from me?"
It’s a start.
”Help me.”
He looks around warily once more before producing a rough-sewn pouch from within his voluminous leathers. ”Grinmer gave me these.” He opens the pouch to reveal its contents to Halla. Needle, some thread, and a blade. ”She said these can be used to bind the shade of a slain ork back into its head. Then we can ask it three questions. It’s shade is forced to answer us, but it will only know what it knew in life. And once asked, the questions cannot be modified or changed.” There is a pause before he finishes, ”I’ve not done this, and I don’t know if I’m able. Help me.”
His speech quickens, as if he can speed-talk Halla into agreement. ”You have to help. No one else will touch Grinmer’s arts. At least no one I could convince to help. I fear what will happen to those children in time. Help me. Please.”
Halla cringes involuntarily at the gruesomeness of the task. Needle, thread, and flesh: it's not like she hasn't been doing the same thing with the wounded villagers in Old Palli's longhouse, but to think of handling dead ork...!
"They are burning the dead orks," she warns him. "Will there be anything to bind the spirit to?"
Eysteinn gives a grin that's half grimace. "Aye. One of their heads. Which I already have hidden. I think the trick will be in finding the right questions."
"'Where are the children?'" Halla retorts, as if it is obvious. "How long will this binding take? Old Hilde said word has come from the trackers, and a rescue party will set out in the morning."
@ Trull cave
Knute moves forward, trying to balance his sense of urgency with the need to place his feet carefully, and not fall as Thrymr had. He comes up behind the hound, squinting out as far as the glowing lights penetrate, unshouldering his bow in one swift motion. His eyes scan the dark but see nothing... at least for the space of a few seconds.
Then, the snow leopard emerges from the darkness. Knute's arrow flies true-- the cat makes an inhuman hiss of pain as the shaft hits dead-on, penetrating its thick fur.
It bounds forward on its big, snow-traversing paws, sticking to the shadowy edge of the light. The leopard is hurt, hungry, and cornered-- the fur on its head still blackened from where Tassidar's torch-blow had hit the oil-- and it has retreated as far as it can... now comes a dog, and men in force... the beast does the only thing the road of instinct leaves to it, which is to attack.
The pain the leopard has felt the night long, licking at its seared flesh, is transferred to Thrymr as the feline jaws close on his defensively-raised forearm and bite deep, piercing his leathers and furs.
Gods, but it is as quick as a sparrow with a tailwind.
With a thought, Tassidar brings all four lights into the area and switches them all to a bright white. Meanwhile, his hand reaches down and his sword flies from its scabbard and across the room---
---striking a deep blow to the cat before returning to the elfs hand.
"Hold fast we'll have it off you."
Prone Mattock: for
Gifr Bite: for
Crit Confirm: for extra
Thrymr reacts to the beast's beginning mauling with a growl and a spasmed back, bringing his mattock to bear from a prone position. The haft buries itself in the cat's side, haft splintering with the effort as his hund pads forward to join the assault. Thrymr doesn't seek to regain his footing.