Eysteinn
The foreigner looks from face to face, deflating a bit when nobody guesses his riddle. "No? Neither of you? What of you, master elf?"
The gray elf, who has been ignoring the exchange so far, looks back slowly and, Eysteinn might judge, rather coolly to the southern man.
"The answer is a hunting hawk."
"Ah! Yes! Very good!" beams Faisal, then hunts amid his furs. "Let me see if I have a reward--"
"I do not wish it," says the elf, and stands with a slight nod to Yngvi. "Excuse me."
The southerner blinks as Rys moves off through the crowd. "Have I... given anger?" he asks Eysteinn and Yngvi.
Dagrun
Finnviðr winces to see his champion lose, and to hear Dagrun's grinning commentary.
"I bet the arm-ring that I won at last year's Jól," he groans, rubbing at his face. His woe is short-lived, though, when Dagrun explains where he got the bow.
"What! A win already? Well done, little brother!" Finnviðr cries, giving Dagrun a hearty smack on the shoulder that nearly bowls him over. Earnestly, Finnviðr adds on, "There's no shame in a bow, you know. Like father says, one man with a bow could hold a high place longer than three with a sword. You should be proud!
"Ah, Ragni wants to try the fighting, but he says he'll let everyone get drunk first. I am tempted to try my hand riding the jarl's stallion-- though they say the last person to sit him broke two ribs. Still, what a beast!"
Do wet let this pass? He's the goði's son, after all. But an insult is an insult, and he needs to know his real place.
"The nobody who keeps your mouth full along with the others, whelp," Kjell says, danger flashing in his eyes. "A nobody who keeps buildings in repair and works for a living, more than can be said for you. And one day you'll either get some sense or a fist in the mouth." The freedman glares into the younger man's eyes, daring him to throw the first move.
Eysteinn beats his forehead with an open hand in frustration, then smiles at Faisal “That was very well phrased and quite poetic, stranger. I’m glad I learned this one from you.” he bows slightly to the southerner.
After seeing the reaction of Master Rys, Eysteinn is as baffled as the Qadiran. “I don’t… think… I…” he looks at the skald “Master Wyrmtongue, are you aware of any elven custom our guest might have accidentally stepped on?”
Feeling well-rewarded for her time, Halla begins to hum one of Maeve's tunes under her breath, remembers Old Palli's warning about 'moments,' and tries to make sure the music can be heard only in her own mind as she waits on the oilcloth to be relieved.
Rikka
As you finish your work on Signy's tattoo, an old man comes up leaning heavily on a cane.
"Signy, there you are-- go to mind the wares for a while, I promised the thrall-girl some respite to enjoy the feast-- what are you doing--"
Signy flashes a white smile. "Following grandmother's lead!"
The white-haired man looks to Hilde, sitting on her stool and grinning hugely with her silvered teeth showing. She lifts her hand to display the reddened skin and fresh marking, and the old man groans and looks heavenward.
"Thank you for my mark-- and your stories!" Signy says with wave to Rikka, and jumps to her feet before weaving off through the crowd.
Leif
Hrolfsson grits his teeth at Kjell's answer, hands balling into fists and the muscles on his neck standing out. (To one side, Torgi facepalms discreetly.)
After a tense moment, though, Leif merely laughs, harsh and contemptuous. "Aye, you work for a living... when you're not sleeping off the ale that you drink until it robs you of all wits! And you would teach me sense? Old Kjell, holding his aching head?"
"Enough," Torgi growls, stepping between the two men with his hands raised. " 'Tis Jól-- a day for the burying of grievances, not the making of new ones! Leif--" and he reaches out, and clips the young man on the ear smartly, "you are as like to be goði after your father: will you trade words with the son of a thrall, and dishonor yourself so?"
Leif is red-faced with anger and rubs at his ear. "He called me a whelp--"
"I heard his words, boy, and mighty is your armor to be so stung by them! Get back to your friends and drink to the two matches you won!" the old warrior rasps. Leif shoots Kjell a murderous glare then turns and stomps off.
In the same low tones, Torgi the Blue says shortly to Kjell, "What you can get away with on Jólday, Kjell Strongarm, is not always what you should get away with. Your head's thicker than your biceps, as Tor's my witness... now get out of the damned ring unless you're throwing in for further matches."
Dagrun
Finnviðr trails off from his rhapsodies about the horse to peer towards the ring, where their father is still standing, along with Kjell and Leif. The words cannot be made out, but it looks as though both men would like to take a swing at each other. Torgi steps between them.
"Mind you don't get in the way of their punches, Father," Finnviðr mutters. "Where will you try your hand next, Dag? Going to watch me ride the horse?"
Halla
Signy, the grand-daughter of old Palli and his wife Hilde, comes jogging up with a flagon of fresh milk and a large chunk of bread filled with steaming meat and soft butter. She is largely considered the prettiest girl in the village by most; at the moment, one of her shoulders is an angry red surrounding a Raido rune, fresh-inked.
"Girl! Grandfather says I am to watch the wares an hour," Signy says, dropping down cross-legged onto the oilcloth and handing over the milk and the loaf. "Go see what there is to see! There is a foreign girl doing tattoos, and an elf making images of things appear, and I hear two of the dwarves are going to try the climb..."
She babbles of all the things she's seen so far as she gets comfortable.
Eysteinn
Eysteinn can think of no reason the elf would give the foreign man such a cool welcome. Yngvi looks just as mystified as Eysteinn feels. His brows have climbed to near his hairline, and he shakes his head.
"Couldn't think of any, no," he says in bemusement, looking after Rys with a blink. "All are welcome on today. As the voice of Hofn, be at your ease, stranger."
Faisal seems somewhat reassured by that. "I am sorry to have broken up the riddles. Will you still ask more?" he says, including Eysteinn in his hopeful look.
Kjell stares at Torgi for several moments, then calls out without shifting his gaze. "Hrolffson! You and me. A real match. Here. Now."
So many things to do… Father, and the chief might not approve of me wasting too much time here… Eysteinn checks the sun, still bright up in the sky No, I have time. Funnybeard here can’t win!
“Aye, we trade witty words some more, honored stranger.” Eysteinn cracks a smile “You got me once, let’s see if you can do it again.” he stops for a second, then adds “Si tibi placet, lingua communis Meridiem dico.”
"Much as I'd like to see that horse rattle what passes for your brain, dear brother, this looks more interesting..." Dagrun points to the ring. "Kjell might be about to knock Leif down a few pegs, and there's few more deserving of the treatment. After that... not sure what I'll do next. Perhaps Ragni will get drunk and try to wrestle more pigs this year. I don't think anyone still holds a grudge about Ástríðr Alfridsdottir... with enough alcohol and the right light, anyone might have made that mistake. Poor child. Anyway... time to go watch a fight!"
Eysteinn
The man visibly brightens again when Eysteinn speaks in the Taldane tongue.
"Ah! Lorem lingua commercia non arbitror quod aliquis loqui, hic. Recte loqueris, amice. Nos permutare enigmata!"
Yngvi chuckles, and responds in the same tongue. "We are not all ignorant here."
"No, I did not mean to imply that," says the man with a smiling shake of his head. "Another riddle, then..."
He thinks a moment, then says, "This belongs to you, but others use it more than you do. What is it?"
Kjell
"Done!" snaps Leif before Kjell has barely finished yelling his challenge, and well before Torgi can even try to interfere. A murmur of anticipation rolls through the watchers. Kjell has proven his strength and skill already, but Leif is known for his broad shoulders and, despite his seventeen years, the fierceness with which he fights.
Torgi sighs. He can hardly interfere with a challenge that everyone heard. The older man steps back and waves his hand in a resigned gesture of fight, then.
Though Leif steps forward a fraction of a second before Kjell does, he does not move to try and grab Kjell as the others have. He stands there, knees slightly bent, blue eyes glinting with his wounded pride, teeth bared, his hands half-raised and waiting.
Dagrun
No sooner has Dagrun shared his amused recollections of last year than Kjell's challenge rings out over the group of watchers, and everyone who wasn't already watching the brewing kerfuffle eagerly turns to see the outcome.
"Aye, it does look to be a fight!" Finn grins, crowding forward with the others but leaving a bit of space for his smaller brother to squeeze in to see.
Dagrun notices from the corner of his eye a figure slipping almost effortlessly between the bunched Ulfen. When he turns to look, it's one of the elves: tall as Dagrun's brother, but slim as Dagrun himself-- the leader that had spoken to Hrolf, gray of skin and hair and eye. The elf is also watching the fight, his brows furrowed slightly.
Eysteinn’s face darkens, his brow corrugates, when he hears a riddle I once had two of those the youth thinks back, with no small hint of regret, at when his father stripped him of the right to be called Thorgalsson.
Afraid to let the stranger think he managed to piss off yet another contestant, he manages to get a contrite smile back on his face for the answer “Quam rudis et me memini esse urbanum opus cum civibus hospes: scriptor Eysteinn nomine, aliene, si uti cupias tibi."
Kjell squares off and readies himself for this bout. Leif's lack of an attack is odd, but Kjell is already moving by the time he sees it. Perhaps to the surprise of Leif and the other bystanders, however, the carpenter-mason doesn't go in for a hold or grab--he simply launches a fist at the lad's jaw.
Eysteinn
"Optime! Ignosce mihi quoque. Ego Faysal ibn Khalid: honor in domo tua, Eysteinn," the southerner says, little knowing he might be inadvertently touching a sore spot with that as well.
Yngvi, of course, knows all about the awkwardness of that particular subject, and the skald smiles somewhat sardonically, but tips his head to Eysteinn at his answering of the riddle.
Faysal is rummaging through his pack and at length comes up with a curious device: a small circular box of metal that fits in the palm of his hand, with a glass top. Beneath the glass is a thin dark needle that quivers around like the wind were blowing on it, though no wind could get inside, and little markings on the metal in a script Eysteinn does not speak.
Faysal offers this over. "Here! I do not have the feathers that are the token for our game, it seems, but if you will take this as a prize..."
Still fascinated by the elves, Dagrun surreptitiously watches the gray elf out of the corner of his eye while cheering Kjell on in the fight.
"Knock some sense into him, Strongarm! A bit more, and he might rival the cattle!"
Kjell
Leif is taken off guard by the attack as much as those in the crowd are-- clearly he also was expecting a hold-- his head snaps back from the powerful blow, and he staggers a step back, his lip split open and bright red blood welling forth.
It seems to only make him angrier, to snap whatever plan he'd intended to approach the battle with. Leif's eyes bulge; a vein on his temple starts to throb, and he spits blood before roaring wordlessly. Sark.
The answering punch he throws at Kjell looks to have the force of a bull behind it. His swing is wild...
...but accurate enough. The fist catches Kjell on the side of the head, just at his temple. Hard enough to make him feel as if this were the morning after a night's hard drinking.
Torgi swears to himself, not that Kjell might be in any position to appreciate it, and waves his arm to get the attention of someone standing over at the rock throwing.
Kjell falls back at the powerful blow, not expecting such a powerful strike from one as young as Leif. He himself responds with a roar in turn, and brings his fist around into the youth's gut.
Signy, the grand-daughter of old Palli and his wife Hilde, comes jogging up with a flagon of fresh milk and a large chunk of bread filled with steaming meat and soft butter. She is largely considered the prettiest girl in the village by most; at the moment, one of her shoulders is an angry red surrounding a Raido rune, fresh-inked.
"Girl! Grandfather says I am to watch the wares an hour," Signy says, dropping down cross-legged onto the oilcloth and handing over the milk and the loaf. "Go see what there is to see! There is a foreign girl doing tattoos, and an elf making images of things appear, and I hear two of the dwarves are going to try the climb..."
Old Palli will do well this hour with Signy at the till, Halla muses as she gets out of the blonde's way. There will be more than one man buying a tincture he doesn't need just for an excuse to exchange words with her. She feels a woman's usual jealousy of one more beautiful than she is, but no more than that; one can't help but admire Signy. She may not be a jarl's daughter, but she will be a jarl's wife one day ... if they can persuade her to accept anyone.
She shakes out the cloak she was sitting on and rubs the chill and the stiffness out of her legs. "Where is the elf performing witchery?" she asks curiously. "At the stump?"
Kjell
Kjell's fist plows into Leif's lean stomach and he hears the breath leave Hrolfsson in a rush, but the blood rages hot and high between them both now and the young man doesn't drop as Kjell was no doubt fervently hoping he would. Leif snarls, bloody froth flecking from the split lip Kjell gifted him with earlier.
Leif follows up with a... headbutt, bringing his forehead down on the bridge of Kjell's nose, to painful, crunching effect.
...very painful. It's the last thing that Kjell is aware of for several insensate, oblivious minutes.
When he comes to, it's to find Palli crouched over him, the healer's gnarled fingers straightening the bridge of his nose and the old man tutting to himself.
Some of the pain eases at the healer's touch. He uncorks a vial that smells of bitter herbs and holds it to Kjell's mouth. "Drink, Strongarm."
It tastes like juniper and misery and sets his stomach to roiling, but the pain-haze recedes further.
A good forty feet away, Hrolf Half-hand is speaking with his son with Astrid Eikbrunr and Torgi the Blue standing nearby. Leif is dripping wet, as if someone had perhaps upended a bucket on him, and sports an emerging black eye as well as the mashed lip Kjell had inflicted. Whatever Hrolf is saying to his son goes unheard, but it does not seem to be praise, by Leif's body language.
"Strongarm, how many fingers am I holding up?" Palli says, waving his hand in front of Kjell's face.
Halla
"Yes, at the stump," Signy says with a nod. "He made a dragon appear, red and breathing fire! Did you talk to the southern man? I thought I saw you with him! Where is he from? Is he sick, do you think, to go about in thick furs like that? I wonder what's wrong with his beard--"
Eventually, Halla is able to peel herself away from Signy's inquisitive chatter, though not before her opinion is asked on things like 'what do you think of my marking' and 'is the southern man interesting' and 'have any of the elves talked to you yet, I thought they would, because they're a little fey too' and so forth and so forth.
Dagrun and anyone else who watches the fight between Kjell and Leif
It's brutal, short, and it looks painful. The two trade blows giving little quarter-- at seventeen, Leif has further growing to do yet, but it's clear he has inherited both his father's strength, and benefited from the tutelage of his father's war-band as well. For his part, Kjell fights with the determination of a lifetime of slights to be avenged...
...but in the end, it is Leif's wild (some might say lucky) but powerful blows that drop the freedman, finishing with a savage headbutt and the sound of snapping cartilage.
Leif stands there a moment after Kjell drops to the ground, teeth still bared in a snarl and sort of wobbling unsteadily on his feet. His hands flex as if he would strike at the first target to come within reach, but nobody offers themselves... at least until Astrid Eikbrunr hurls a bucket of icy water on the young man. A solid right hook from her sends the snarling Leif to the ground like his defeated match-partner.
Palli is called. "...of course it would be these two," he mutters as he sees to bringing the injured back into the realm of the conscious with his trademarked tinctures and prayers.
Hrolf Half-Hand strides up looking grim shortly after the healer, and engages in terse, quiet conversation with Torgi and with Astrid.
Finnviðr whistles. "That's going to leave aching heads for the both of them! Damn! Well, there'll be no more wrestling until they get patched up, I think-- I'm going to see the horse, myself..."
Rikka Tikka Tabby
More customers: Rikka gets her first male customer of the day, and also a dwarf. A red-headed and red-bearded dwarf who watched Signy be tattooed comes up and offers a small, formal-seeming bow.
"Greetings, marker. Do you know the dwarf-runes?"
“That looks like a marvelous gift, Phi Zalibka Lidd!” Eysteinn’s face open with surprise and interest at the small item, so much so that he forgets to speak in Taldane. He looks up to Yngvi, hoping the skald would allow him to take the prize even outside of the rules.
Eysteinn examines the contraption, shaking it, moving it around, until he asks Phi – this time remembering to switch back to the Common tongue “It looks like great craft, but can I ask if it has a purpose?”
Kjell comes to after a short while, his head aching again. Staring up at Palli, who offers him a drink--heartily accepted--Kjell looks back and remembers the headbutt. Frowning, then wincing from the pain, he drinks the tincture, grimacing at the awful taste, but grateful for it. He nods to Palli. "Thanks, healer," he gets out.
The man looks over to Leif, confused at his soaked and slumped stature, but blinks as Palli raises him a question.
"Ah... Three? No four, four." He screws his eyes shut and tries to stand, getting there slowly.
Dagrun winces as he sees Leif drop Kjell. "Damn... didn't see that coming. Have fun mounting a steed, brother."
Walking over to Kjell, he offers his hand to help the big man off the ground. "That was quite the fight. I thought you had him for sure. I'd be worried that this would inflate his ego, but it looks like he's being anything but congratulated over there."
Dagrun smiles as Palli as he looks at Kjell's already healed nose. "Excellent work, as always, elder. Where would we be without you?"
Out of the corner of his eye, Dagrun sees Signy walking by with a friend and momentarily loses track of his thoughts...
Knute looks around as the competition for the third hour of archery gathers. Seeing no one else step up, Knute shoots a grin at Lydd and walks to the range to prepare. This time, he carefully blocks out his surroundings, focusing only on himself, his bow, and the target. He imagines himself hunting, stalking the most magnificent deer he's ever laid eyes on.
He draws an arrow, smoothly pulling it to his cheek, and looses. A quick breath with the second draw, and a second arrow in the air. Another intake of breath, another arrow.
Knute's first and second arrows are mediocre shots, missing the first ring, but only just. His third arrow, though, caught by a gust, strikes the wood post below the target.
Knute hangs his head and mutters a quiet curse. He looks up the next moment, and walks back to Lydd. "Looks like your luck for me fared no better than my own last round, eh?" He chuckles, but it sounds forced. "Let's hope my own for you can win the hour." Knute offers her a weak smile.
"Greetings, marker. Do you know the dwarf-runes?"
Rikka nods politely. "Good day, sir. Unfortunately, I don't know dwarf-runes... but I can re-draw any image you can show me. If you have it written down or can draw it in the dirt, I'm sure I can create it for you."
Rikka works with the dwarf to understand the rune's shape then bares one leg and sketches the rune's outline on an unmarked part of her thigh (between the windings of the dragon's tail), making sure it is exactly as the dwarf wants it. Once her client is satisfied with the image, she recreates the drawing on his flesh. Belatedly, she realizes that flashing her leg might be seen as provocative.
Kjell accepts the younger man's hand and gets to his feet, clapping his shoulder. "Dagrun, yeah? I thought I'd bust some sense into him myself, but seems he's a fierce fighter. Just needs to learn how to pick his fights." Kjell gingerly rubs his nose, the irony of his statement lost on him.
Kjell winces and catches Dagrun's wandering eyes. Following his gaze, he grins. "Go talk to her, lad. Don't waste your youth."
Dagrun grins at Kjell. "Right, then... if you're alright, I'll be off. Perhaps I'll see you later."
With a wave to Kjell and Palli, he trots off after Signy and her friend.
Upon catching them, he falls into step, smiles warmly and says, "And here I didn't think I'd see anything more beautiful today than the armbar Kjell placed on that formidable dwarf. I'm happily mistaken. May I join you?"
Halla
"Yes, at the stump," Signy says with a nod. "He made a dragon appear, red and breathing fire! Did you talk to the southern man? I thought I saw you with him! Where is he from? Is he sick, do you think, to go about in thick furs like that? I wonder what's wrong with his beard--"
Eventually, Halla is able to peel herself away from Signy's inquisitive chatter, though not before her opinion is asked on things like 'what do you think of my marking' and 'is the southern man interesting' and 'have any of the elves talked to you yet, I thought they would, because they're a little fey too' and so forth and so forth.
So is your grandmother, Halla thinks a little spitefully as she finally escapes, seeing a son of Torgi the Blue eagerly approaching Signy. She strolls through the center of town, eating and drinking as she goes, on her way to the stump, though apparently in no great hurry about it.
She sees Eysteinn and Yngvi with Five Solomon at the riddlestead, the gray elf who stared at her now gone. The three are speaking in a strange tongue, which is attracting more attention than the riddles themselves were. Is that what it sounds like when Maeve and I speak? she wonders. No wonder people stare. She stops a moment to watch the archers, then moves on toward the stump to see if the dragon-making elf is still performing.
Eysteinn
Yngvi shrugs a little gesture of go ahead. Freely won, as far as the skald is concerned.
The southerner resigns himself to his name being a constant bewilderment to the villagers. He winces a bit at Eysteinn shaking the device, holding up a hand to forestall any further shaking.
In Taldane, he says, "Ah-- careful-- it is fairly sturdy, but I wouldn't want to test the craftsmanship overmuch-- this is called a compass. You perceive the needle moves? Always it is drawn to the north of the world. With this device, a man may know north even if the stars be hidden by clouds, or the day full of rain," he beams.
Dagrun and Kjell
Old Palli grunts his acceptance of Dagrun's flattering words. "Well, Kjell here would probably be dead," the old man mutters. "How many times have I put a poultice on you, Strongarm? ...to be fair, more often I'm patching up the bangs you've given others..."
The healer gets to his feet, using Dagrun as a help in the task, and brushes off his hands. He squints down at Kjell.
"Four? Hrrmn. If your vision is still fuzzy in an hour, come and see me."
His mouth purses to a smaller line at seeing Dagrun watching his grand-daughter, but he says no words to stop Dagrun from heading after the fair-headed girl.
To Kjell-- or perhaps to himself, but in Kjell's hearing, at any rate-- Palli mutters, "I suppose now that Leif's reached this age the two of you will be knocking heads every ten-day. Try not to make life more difficult, Strongarm."
He does not say whose life would be being made more difficult by this-- Leif's, Kjell's, or possibly just his own.
Dagrun
By the time Dagrun has caught up with Signy, she has seated herself on a square of oilcloth that holds the wares that Palli sales, having just relieved the thrall-girl that was minding shop instead-- perhaps the friend he saw. She offers him an amused grin from her seated position, one hand shading her sky-blue eyes.
"Join me in watching the shop? If you wish! But will you spend all your flattery on me, when there are elf-maidens about to sweetly speak to?"
Rikka
"Fair enough," the dwarf grunts to her words of being able to recreate that which she has seen. He smooths flat a bit of mud, and draws a sequence of runes in the ground, like and yet-unlike Skald runes. They are angular, well-suited to being chiseled in hard substances, but seem more complex than the Skald equivalents.
In the end, they negotiate for the rune-chain appearing on his stocky bicep in red ink. It's a simple design, quickly enough done, and when it is finished the dwarf pulls out a knotted cord weighted with fat gold beads the size of plump berries. He slides three of these off and into Rikka's hand, and gives her a bow before he goes to see what other delights the fest holds.
Rikka takes a break to shake out her working hand. She has a good view of the festivities from the spot she chose: the sounds of the entertainers at the stump, music and poetry alike-- or the sight of an elf juggling blazing brands, their flames seeming to worry her not a jot-- or another elf who gestures and makes visions appear: birds made of light and flame, sparkling linnorms, the appearance of summer roses covering a section of the road before it dissolves into jewel-colored butterflies.
Halla
Halla sees several elves gathered at the archery range-- but then, that's only to be expected-- and is in time to see Knute shoot only middling, to his disappointment.
She presses on. The majority of the children in town are gathered around the stump, where there is indeed an elf who is making images appear. The elf himself is dressed in bright colors: a vest of new-leaf-green, stitched with golden thread; trousers as blue as the summer sky; a crimson belt sash; and white flowers in his raven-black hair.
Even as she approaches, she sees him conjure a flower made of flame in his hand and offer it to a girl who can't be more than twelve. When she pulls back blushing and red-faced, the elf pretends to be distressed, and the fire crawls up his arm until he's wreathed in it, at which point he bursts into a lively dance atop the stump, untouched by his flames.
Halla and the children far from the only spectator. A few dwarves watch, a few elves, but mostly those of Hofn. There are a few foreigners, though-- such as a woman sitting a short distance from the stump, a pig snoring contently next to her.
Knute
With renewed hope for his second hour, Knute shoots thrice.... and winces when his arrows come shorter of the target than in his first attempt. Lydd makes a sympathetic noise, and Red Alf says, "My position may be safe for a little longer!"
The elf-woman steps up to take her shot with a nod of thanks for Knute's good sportsmanship, however disappointed he is about his showing.
"That's more like it," she says with a satisfied nod as she steps back from the target, after three well-placed arrows. "I will thank what luck you gave me, Knute Iversson! If my score can stand..."
One of the other villagers steps up to try his hand-- why not, after all--
--and Knute can at least take comfort in the fact he shot better than the other Hofn-ite. Hofnian. Hofner. Lydd seems a bit more confident of her chances after seeing that, and chats idly with Knute on the form and bowmanship of the next few contestants before the hour is called, with her the winner.
Lydd steps to receive her prize-- a single arrow, though the shaft gleams of silvery metal in the sunlight, rather than of wood, and the arrowhead is of a black, glittering metal.
"Dwarf-make," says a calm voice a few feet from Knute, and if he looks over, he sees one of the elves-- the grey-clad one who had greeted Hrolf earlier in the day.
Kjell looks to Palli and shrugs. "Believe what you like, old man, but I don't start half the fights I'm in. It's not me that you have to scold. He needs to learn how life really is, and how it really isn't, just like the rest of us. Same as Dagrun and every other young man in the village." He raises an eyebrow and grins. "Let's just hope Torgi's son doesn't grow up too fast--especially with your granddaughter."
Dagrun grins down at Signy. "It's true, there are... but, and I mean this with all due respect to them, there's something somewhat frightening about the fact that I could be talking to an elf who looks no older than you or me, who might in fact be over 100 years old. That said, they are a truly fascinating people, even from just the little I know from my books, and it's not far off to generally say that they are the finest archers in the world, too. Many a battle has been decided by the fall of elven arrows. And just a little bit ago I--" He catches himself and stops.
"I'm sorry... I do run on sometimes. How have you been, fair Signy?" he asks, with a sheepish smile.
“That is… remarkable! A true piece of magic, infinitely useful for sailors.” says Eysteinn in gratitude. Then he stops, a strong worry emerging in his voice “Is… is this truly magical? I… do not wish to offend you, guest, but I do not think it would be wise for me to accept a gift made with sorcery.”
Halla removes and folds her cloak again and finds a dry patch of ground to sit down on where she can see the performers while she finishes the meal Signy brought her.
Kjell
Palli doesn't argue when Kjell protests his innocence in many of his fights-- maybe he agrees, or maybe he just thinks it's foolish to waste his time arguing with a man who's so often deep in his cups-- and he says nothing on the topic of Leif, either-- but his mouth does purse as if he ate a lemon at the mention of Signy and Dagrun.
"Hrmf," he grunts. "The boy's smart enough, but..."
But, obviously, the healer thinks few would be good enough for his grand-daughter.
Palli puts the last of his bottles back in his bag. "Vision cleared?" he asks with the blunt pragmatism of healers. "I'd suggest you take it easy for a bit, but nobody else ever listens to me when I advise that, so why should you."
Dagrun
Signy listens to Dagrun talk with an amused smile. When Dagrun catches himself and comes to a stop, she indicates a spot on the oilcloth for him to sit, if he wishes it.
"I am well enough. Trying to work up the courage to sing, at the stump! I think I will hear the elf-music in my dreams tonight. Perhaps you should take the stump and tell everyone of the famous battles you know so much about," she teases. "Make a saga of it."
Eysteinn
Faisal beams at Eysteinn's appreciation of his gift, then arches a brow. "Eh? No, no magic, but that of nature. Have you lodestone? It is a type of rock that has an elemental attraction to the north star, and to metals; the scholars of my land assert that this is because it pieces of the star that have burned off and fallen here to earth. Well, some of them do. Some also that lodestone is the blood of Saranrae, become hard as it has cooled, and that it is drawn to weapons. Personally, I believe there is what one might all a sympathy between metal and lodestone, that, as one sees a resemblance between a father and his son, so lodestone is perhaps an ancestor of the ore that we work with, and that is why it is drawn... but I digress. Forgive me. It is not enchanted by any spell, if that is what you mean."
The man's Taldane becomes quicker in his eagerness to explain, and for Eysteinn, whose chances to speak the southern tongue are rare, it may be a bit tricky to follow along. Yngvi, though, gives a small approving nod at Eysteinn's reluctance to take a bespelled item-- there, perhaps the lad's learned his lesson...
Halla
It's a splendid show: the colorful elf makes a number of images appear, disappear, and melt into one another. He crowns a young girl with a circlet of flowers, then the flowers become birds and fly off. He hops off the old stump and snaps his fingers, and the crowd can see how the tree once stood, tall but wind-crooked. He disappears from sight and reappears holding the axe of a disgruntled-looking dwarf, which then drifts off into the sky, just above the dwarf's grasping fingers.
The elf's eyes are a green so vivid as to seem unnatural. For a moment, looking over the crowd, he stares at Halla with his dye-green eyes, then grins. "Are there any requests?"