Halla wraps the closed box carefully in her cloak to keep the cards safe and dry, then heads back across the village toward the riddlestead, looking for Five Solomon.
Kjell nods. "Honor is important, I suppose." He walks over to the grounds and watches the miller's son toss the stones. One throw is more impressive than the others, and Kjell raises an eyebrow. "Well, let's see how things go."
Even Kjell's first throw goes further than the best of the miller's son's, and he puts extra weight into the second, wanting to outdo even himself. After such a tremendous throw, however, he raises his arms with a whoop and almost rolls the third stone, barely caring about its distance.
Knute sights the stallion, raising his eyebrows. Sven really did find a magnificent horse, here. He feels sorry, actually, that the steed has gone through so much harassment, and is still suffering more. Still, Knute's competitive nature gets the better of him as he watches others make their attempts, and he tells himself that by calming the horse, he may be able to help it. At least, standing here watching is doing it no good.
After watching more failed attempts, Knute steps up, indicating his intention to enter the ring. He asks to borrow a saddle from one of the other competitors, knowing that if he can even get near the beast, he has little chance of riding it bareback.
With the saddle in his hand, Knute steps carefully into the ring, and attempts to soothe the agitated horse, trying to appear non-threatening, and he hopes, as a friend instead of a challenger. Others wonder at his strange approach, and the odd noises he makes attempting to calm the animal, but Knute has blocked out the crowd of Ulfen that have stirred up the stallion, and wills the horse to do the same.
Seeing that his attempts to calm the animal have little effect, Knute tries a different tactic. He slowly approaches the horse with feigned indifference, carefully avoiding making contact with its eyes, much as one might try to get near a hostile cat or dog. He then waits a few paces away from the horse with his left hand outstretched , hoping to let the horse get his scent, and realize he bares it no hostility.
Knute waits, maintaining his calm around the rather dangerous animal, and when it seems like the stallion is as relaxed as it's going to get he gently, but quickly, tries to place the saddle on its back.
Halla
The riddle table is still occupied by Five Solomon and by Eysteinn. Yngvi is there too, but is getting to his feet, standing to his full, lanky height and stretching. He mutters something about needing to rid himself of all the ale he's consumed before stepping off.
Eysteinn seems to be deep in contemplation of a riddle. Five Solomon, however, gives Halla a white smile at seeing her again, and a welcoming nod.
"Dia duit, arís! An bhfuil na mban imirt freisin ag cluichí focal agus aigne?"
Kjell
The watchers-- some of whom, perhaps, followed from the wrestling circle-- let out a whoop of encouragement at seeing Kjell's impressive first throw-- only for the second to go past it, to louder cheering.
Shale whistles between his teeth and his short-trimmed black beard.
"Creator's hammer! I cannot surpass the might of your arm. But it is a poor warrior who will serve his own pride by denying victory to another."
The dwarf picks up one of the rocks, hefting it thoughtfully, trying to figure out a good technique for hurling the dead weight. In the end, he tries for a spin-and-launch.
His first throw is a respectable distance, but comes short of both the miller's son and Kjell's own spectacular rock-flings. His further technique experiments land him nothing better.
A few more contestants try their hand, but after seeing Kjell's throw everyone seems to be under the assumption they are trying for second. His stones remain the far mark throughout the hour, even when others shower them with the sod of near-approaches.
At last, Astrid Einbrukr (having wandered back here at some point during the hour) roars, "Give the man his prize, he's stood all comers through the hour!"
The tall, red-haired woman beckons Kjell forward. One of the dwarves is there as well, though where Shale is dressed only in trousers and lightboots, this one is robed in rich furs and heavy jewelry-- the dwarf leader, Skarn Fire-hand-- a dwarf of great age to judge by his long, stark-white beard.
"My people have gifted the prize for this hour," the dwarf says in a deep voice. "We give you the fruit of our deep mining, champion: the stone we have named after your god Tor, for our own gods are not gods of the sky, and this is a stone of storming."
The old dwarf opens a metal box and reveals a chunk of rough-cut crystal about the size of Kjell's large fist. It is grayish, faintly translucent, and streaked with glittering golden mineral deposits. When Kjell touches it , the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.
The solemn dwarf cracks the slightest of smiles. "Don't throw this one at someone unless you don't like them very much, champion," he says drily.
Knute
Unfortunately for Knute, the animal is too worked up to be easily calmed by his soft whickering noises. The stallion doesn't seem to be any more angry, just decidedly irritated.
Knute takes his time, circling the majestic beast, but the impatient noises of the watchers at his slow approach to the horse don't help matters any. Even though the stallion has his scent now, he still shies away when Knute tries to heft the saddle onto its back, leaving Knute holding the saddle and the laughter of those watching.
"Let someone else have a try!" shouts a young woman, vaulting from the wooden rail down into the mud. The stallion watches Knute with a rolling white eye, snorting and huffing.
"I'm sure you'd have no shortage of willing helpers, Njall. After all, everyone needs the blacksmith. Red Alf, either of my brothers, Old Palli, Eysteinn... I'm sure any of them would be more than happy to assist."
He pauses a beat. "I kid, of course. Red Alf is probably too busy."
Knute contemplates vaulting onto the horse and attempting to ride the beast bareback. He eyes the distance, then shakes his head slightly. It's unlikely he's agile enough to land on the horse, he knows, and Rikissa's warning to be careful is still present in his mind. It would be much worse if I ended the day with a broken rib or leg, than with a wounded pride, Knute thinks. He sighs, and graciously bows to the horse as one would to a worthy opponent. He then walks back to the ring of watchers, keeping a wary eye on the horse to know if it charges.
Knute breathes a small sigh of relief as he exits the ring. Looking up at the sky, he didn't realize how long he'd been out there attempting to tame the stallion. His mouth is dry, and his legs a little sore from all the slow movements in the cold. "I probably ought to go get that ale after this," he mutters to himself. Knute stays to watch the rest of the contestants for the hour, even as his attention keeps returning to the good smells and joyous sounds drifting from the square proper.
It takes a while for Eysteinn to realize he has been sitting in silence for far too long I know I’m close, but… dammit… can’t stall forever. He bows to the skald, admitting defeat and leaving the answer to some other participant – perhaps the odd foreigner, or... Oh, fantastic. Thank the Gods I'm leaving, can't think of anything much more uncomfortable than a riddling game with this one. he thinks as Halla gets close to the riddling stand.
The riddle table is still occupied by Five Solomon and by Eysteinn. Yngvi is there too, but is getting to his feet, standing to his full, lanky height and stretching. He mutters something about needing to rid himself of all the ale he's consumed before stepping off.
Eysteinn seems to be deep in contemplation of a riddle. Five Solomon, however, gives Halla a white smile at seeing her again, and a welcoming nod.
"Dia duit, arís! An bhfuil na mban imirt freisin ag cluichí focal agus aigne?"
"Ar na Jól, tá an-beag cosc," she replies with a shrug, "ach níl mé cliste." She watches Yngvi leave with a sense of relief. The skald intimidates her, but she has no fear of Eysteinn Thorgalsson, with or without his family name. "Cad é an cheist?"
Dagrun
Njall gives Dagrun a sour look at his suggestion of who Njall ought to get for a helper.
"And I am sure you could find many other people to bother, than Signy, when she is minding her grandfather's goods," the blacksmith huffs.
Signy sighs beneath her breath, though her tone is still bright and teasing when she says, "He is not bothering me.... any more than you bother me, Njall, when you come to chat a bit! Peace now, and what will we trade? I know Papa wanted some of your iron nails..."
Signy tries to turn the conversation to simple terms of barter.
Knute
You watch half a dozen people try, and fail, to convince the horse to let them on. The horse bucks off attempts to saddle it and attempts to sit it with equal prejudice. An elf manages to stay astride the stallion, bareback, for a good ten seconds, but the great horse twists and leaps and manages to dislodge him, bucking the slender elf halfway across the ring.
By the time Knute leaves, nobody has successfully ridden the beast.
Eysteinn
"I hold weight in my belly, trees on my back
"Have nails in my ribs, but feet I do lack. What am I?"
Halla
Five Solomon smiles encouragingly at Halla, despite her protests of not being clever. "Beidh mé a insint bhfreagra na Máistreachta. Tá súil agam a rá liom an ceart é!"
In Skald, he says, slowly and carefully:
""Man cannot control the weather: so all the sages say.
"But put your hand to me, and the wind itself obeys.
"What am I?"
Dagrun smiles at Signy, then at Njall, as he says to the blacksmith, "One should always steel one's self against being proved wrong when dealing with a woman, eh? Especially when she's nailed it. You'd have to have a brass pair to forge on in the face of such logic. Many a foolish man bellows, but the iron-y is that even if you were right, and could prove it, you're wrong as soon as a woman says so."
Standing, he picks up his bows. "Signy, it's been a pleasure, as always. Perhaps I'll see you later. Njall, my best to you. I think I am going to try my hand at some more of the games."
With a wave, he walks off towards where the games are being played.
Halla squints her eyes in thought. "You put your hand to the plow, but that has nothing to do with the wind. What else do you put your hand to?" She glances out at the blue-gray sea. "Is it a rudder?"
Eysteinn smirks And the solution to a previous riddle in your belly… “Ah good skald, you are a mighty sailing ship! Could it be all your favorite riddles involve sailing in some way? Getting bored being landbound, wish you were back on the drakkar, crushing waves?”
Eysteinn salutes respectfully everyone at the end of the riddling competition, making sure to mispronounce as thoroughly as possible the Southerner’s name. He nods to Halla, who came back, not really expecting her to warm up, but nonetheless hopeful.
* * *
Eysteinn tries to get his stall as close as possible to the more testosterone-filled events – he settles down near the fighting and wrestling rings. On his simple table he puts fine mead and ale, cider, a selection of stronger spirits – both the good stuff and the awful, cheap booze.
“Come, friends! Cider’s a God’s treat this year, Dagbjort brought us the best apples from veigdra[/i] is made from fermented herbs and will warm up your guts! Or perhaps just a bit of brennivin to wash down the pain of an old wound?”
Between a customer and the next, hiding his real work with the fiddling of business, he prepares two protective drinks, mixing a bit of alchemy in the brew when nobody is watching These will come in handy the next hour.
Dagrun
Njall looks.... confused. Which is an effect often caused by Dagrun's witticisms on those who aren't much for their letters, and the like, which Njall isn't particularly. He stands there, vaguely aware Dagrun's said something cutting but trying to figure out what it was so that he can retort.
Dagrun, perhaps wisely, takes his leave before then, since the smith's retort might end up being physical.
Halla
Five Solomon looks apologetic. "I don't know the answer to the riddle myself, as it was Master Yngvi's," he says, switching back to Varisian-- although he did passably well with the Skald of the riddle, perhaps because he merely had to imitate what he had just heard aloud.
"But I would think that you control a ship, not the wind, when you use a rudder?
"I will ask you one of my own, until Master Yngvi can tell us whether yours is right or no:
"How lonely I am! For my child always leaves me
And those who brought me forth lock me in stone!
I dance for my own pleasure only
And destroy all that I touch!
Would you weep for me? You weep when my child
Comes to you; cry also for me."
Eysteinn
"Aye. Now I'll be off to rid myself of some of this beer for a bit," he says. The foreigner gives Eysteinn a nod and a bow of farewell-for-now, even as Halla sits at the table.
Eysteinn picks his audience, his location, his customers... he does everything that should be done, to produce those eager to drink his fine, hangover-inducing brews! And yet..... the warriors don't seem eager to part with much gold. Those customers that he gets offer only small trinkets in trade for the cheapest of his concoctions-- a carved bone whistle is the best of the offerings.
Still, as Eystein was mostly using it as cover to mix and stir a bit on his own, perhaps he's not too heartbroken by that. Most attention is on the wrestling and the fighting, and little enough on what his deft hands get up to with the bottles.
Winding his way through the crowds on his way to the board games, Dagrun gives Eysteinn a cheerful smile and wave as he passes his cousin's stall.
Briefly catching his father's eye, he gives the elder warrior a respectful nod.
Finally arriving at the board games, he looks to see if anyone is waiting for an opponent.
Torgi gives Dagrun both a nod, and a sort of frazzled smile, as if to say busy day, before waving him on his way.
The board games are no more than a stone's throw from the riddling. There is an old dwarf woman here, her hair stark white and her skin marked with blue tattoos that have faded with many, many years. She is playing jarl's guard against an elf woman with skin of a dusky violet hue and eyes that show no whites at all, simply a bottomless pool of indigo ringed by black lashes. As Dagrun approaches, the old dwarf grunts and concedes the match with a wave of one hand. "You will have me in four turns."
"Three," says the elf with a very white smile. "But here is a new challenger, I think! What is your name, and what is your favored game?"
Dagrun gives a polite bow. "My greetings to you both. My name is Dagrun Torgisson, and I hope you're enjoying the festival. I am always up for a game of shah or jarl's guard. I also like to learn new games, so if you've any others to try, I'm open to it." he says, smiling.
"How lonely I am! For my child always leaves me
And those who brought me forth lock me in stone!
I dance for my own pleasure only
And destroy all that I touch!
Would you weep for me? You weep when my child
Comes to you; cry also for me."
"An bhfuil sé tine?" Halla guesses hurriedly, clearly more interested in her own line of inquiry than in proving her riddling prowess. Barely giving him time to answer, she rushes on, "Tá mé ceist ar do shon: Cad é a chur ar an tábla, gearrtha, ach ní ithe?"
Kjell looks to Astrid as she calls out and grins gratefully. Not afraid to lose, just getting tired of waiting. No one wants a freedman to win. He steps up and turns to the dwarf when she gestures, and raises his eyebrows at the stone. Reaching out, he feels his hairs stand up and a strange sensation flows from the stone.
The large man places the rock in his belt pouch and nods to the dwarf, grinning at his statement. "Aye, and I'll do my best to keep such a treasure intact."
Dagrun
The elf gives Dagrun another very-white smile, and beckons him to have a seat. "I shall teach you the game of Swarm, if you like," she says, to which the old dwarf snorts.
"Save yourself an embarrassing defeat, boy," says the dwarf woman, as she collects the jarl's guard pieces and sets up a fresh board. "Mav doesn't lose at that to anybody, but she looks each year for new people to beat."
Mav, if that is her name, laughs silently. She explains a quick set of rules involving stones of both black and white, and a strategy that involves encircling the other color's pieces to capture them.
"Or you could just play a nice game of jarl's guard with me, lad," suggests the dwarven woman. "I've only got two hundred years' practice, not four."
The southern man grins at Halla's answer, and settles his pack onto the bench to start rummaging through it for an impromptu prize.
"An-mhaith! Ah, hmm ... gearrtha, ach nach ithe? Lig dom smaoineamh...
"Ah! Chuala mé an ceann seo. Cártaí!"
"Ah! I have heard this one. Cards!"
Quite pleased with his wit-- and oblivious to the fact that she has a sharper thrust to her question than mere riddling-- Five Solomon pulls out a dark, pitted rock the size of a man's fist and slides it across to Halla. If she touches it, it is somewhat warm, as if it had been sitting in the sun and not in his pack.
Kjell
The dwarf gives Kjell a solemn bow-- and Astrid Eikbrunr pushes a drink into his hand, giving him an appraising once-over and a crooked grin.
"Not bad," the tall red-headed woman says. "Not bad at all. I hear you're quite the wrestler, Strongarm."
Dagrun takes the offered seat. "I would very much like to learn how to play Swarm. If you don't mind though, I'd prefer to warm up my mind with a game I already know. So, jarl's guard it is, and hopefully I won't embarrass myself too much." He smiles at both women.
Kjell accepts the drink with a grin, although he nearly chokes at Astrid's rather forward tone. He composes himself and smoothly drinks, then gives her a quick glance before smiling. "Aye," he says in a similar tone to hers--well, he tries to, at least. "I've been known to give a good roll or tumble every now and then."
Quite pleased with his wit-- and oblivious to the fact that she has a sharper thrust to her question than mere riddling-- Five Solomon pulls out a dark, pitted rock the size of a man's fist and slides it across to Halla. If she touches it, it is somewhat warm, as if it had been sitting in the sun and not in his pack.
Halla touches the stone curiously and jerks her fingers away in surprise at its temperature before she realizes it is not hot enough to burn. Too late she realizes she owes the stranger a prize for guessing her riddle and has nothing to give but the two treasures she received from the dwarf woman and the elf illusionist. "Fan. Ná téigh," she tells him and runs for Old Palli's oilcloth. Unless Signy has sold absolutely everything to her admirers, there ought still to be some of her own wares there.
She snatches up a waxed paper pouch sealed with a lump of colored wax and runs away again without a word of explanation, taking advantage of her reputation for instability. Gasping for breath as she dashes back to the riddlestead, she offers the envelope to Five Solomon. "Snáthaidí sprúis," she explains. "Iad a cócaireacht i fiuchphointe uisce agus deoch tae, agus beidh sé tú a choinneáil slán ó breoiteachta mairnéalach ar an turas farraige fada ar ais go dtí an t-ionad ar fud an domhain."
She carefully unwraps the box containing the Harrow deck. "Tá mé rud éigin," she goes on. "Tá deic na cártaí. An bhfaca tú rudaí den sórt sin i Varisia?" She slides the lid of the box back to show him the cards within.
Spruce needles. Steep them in boiling water and drink the tea, and it will keep you safe from scurvy on the long sea voyage back to the center of the world.
I have something. A deck of cards. Did you see such things in Varisia?
Kjell
Astrid Eikbrunr is not a fresh-faced, wide-eyed maiden like Signy, with elf-blood to lend dainty delicacy to her features. She is a veteran warrior who has fought in the thick of things with Hrolf and the rest of the war-band, and has the scars (and a once-broken nose) to prove it.
But her smile at Kjell is genuine, and she has never seemed quite so concerned with propriety or his exact rank as most of the village. Her smile broadens right now.
"Well," she says with a light punch to his shoulder, "if you're still conscious after the drinking, and if some skinny elf witch hasn't lured you with those big eyes of theirs, mayhap I'll test those arms, champion."
**
Halla
Five Solomon takes the spruce needles with an earnest nod of thanks, smiling at the prize Halla has given him. He tilts his head to the side as she continues her questions, looking thoughtful, his black brows knitting together.
**
Dagrun
Over the course of an hour, the old dwarf beats Dagrun once, then trounces him for good measure in a second match. In their third, however, Dagrun somewhat redeems himself, abandoning the strategy she's seen him use so far for a different approach. The dwarf plays a rather conventional defense against his assault, and with some clever plays, Dagrun's able to pull off a quick victory before the hour ends.
The dwarf grunts her approval. "That was a nice trick at the end, lad, I'll have to remember it. There are always new things under the sun. Take the game set-- you have earned it. And I have others."
The set she was playing on is made for travel-- an iron box of dwarf-make, with a sliding drawer in the base that can be pulled out and the small stone pieces securely stowed inside. The little pieces are cunningly carved. It's no masterpiece-- probably just some apprentice's idle practice project-- but it's solid workmanship, enough.
Mav barely watches Dagrun's game; she is playing some game on the shah board that apparently doesn't require an opponent, to amuse herself during the hour. She does glance over a few times during his win over the dwarf.
"Jag är hedrad och tacksam. Jag kommer att sätta detta på ett bra sätt." Dagrun says, with a respectful nod. "You play very well. I feel fortunate to have won at all." He looks at the elf. "Still up for a game? I'd be glad to play most anything."
So it is time, then. thinks Eysteinn pocketing his measly earning from his brews and putting back in his bags the many unsold goods. Sun starts coming down, time to go and try to make Father proud. Time to play the brave warrior. he pats two small bottles of crystal clear liquid tucked in his belt – his two extracts mixed with booze fumes to save the appearance With a little trick of course.
Eysteinn takes a deep breath, cracks his shoulders and neck, and steps into the fighting arena. No boisterous line as he enters, no displays of strength. This was the big one. Stay humble, fight smart.
Halla hesitates, her fingers tightening around the box with an instinctual impulse to snatch the cards away, but she somewhat reluctantly hands them over to Five Solomon to peruse. "Conas is féidir leat a dhéanamh iad a rá leis an todhchaí?" she asks.
Oho, you'll ask a Qadiran to explain the Harrow to you rather than a Varisian?
Be quiet, Halla replies crossly. He's been in Varisia more recently than you have.
Rikka continues with the precise tattooing of the elf. Her speed increases substantially as she gets used to working on the pale woman.
Dagrun
The elf-woman smiles very wide again. "I will play you at Swarm, since you are so confident. But I don't play Swarm unless there are wagers riding on it."
The old dwarf snorts, and pulls out a pipe and a pouch of tobacco, settling in to observe.
Mav tilts her head to the side and looks at Dagrun thoughtfully. "If I win one match of three, I win nothing... but I will give you something. If I win two matches, I will take the memory of your first summer. If I win all three matches, I will take a year of your life," she says pleasantly. "Or, we can play shah, and play without wagers. Only a friendly match."
She gazes at Dagrun with her whiteless eyes, awaiting his decision.
Eysteinn
Eysteinn makes his way to the fighting circle, where there are two primary methods of fighting going on that he can see. In one of them, contestants wearing their full armor are going at each other with wooden weapons, beating each other into submission, essentially, and in another, contestants seem to be using sticks with paint daubs on the end, and only trying to land touches. The latter appeals more to elves, while the dwarves stick strongly to the first. Humans seem to be playing either game with willingness.
Ragni Torgisson is currently hammering away at a well-armored dwarf, the two of them trading blows with the stout wooden practice weapons. In the other ring, a golden-haired elf man is facing off with Mara, one of the village women and a member of Hrolf's war-band. Which circle draws Eysteinn?
Halla
Five Solomon takes the cards and looks through them, turning one of them over with careful fingers.
"Tá na cártaí d'aois, I mo thuairimse. Pictiúir áille, cé. Is é an cárta an Prionsa na Giorriacha. Léiríonn sé, más cuimhin liom, cinniúint éagórach, nó mac níos óige ... chaos agus athruithe tapaidh. Ach níl mé Varisian."
He looks up with another blink, and shrugs apologetically.
"Chonaic mé ach léamh amháin. Tharraing an tseanbhean naoi cártaí, agus d'fhéach sé ar iad, agus dúirt sé go bhfágfadh siad go raibh mé turas chun tosaigh ar dom. D'fhéadfadh aon duine breathnú ar dom agus a rá go bhfuil, mar sin ... ní raibh mé ag íoc i ndáiríre a gcreideamh i bhfad. Tá brón orm."
He hands the cards back carefully to Halla.
Rikka
The elf sits very still as Rikka works, which makes the task easier-- never a flinch of pain or a shift or a wiggle. Rikka gets lost in the process of copying the design, far more intricate than the simple runes she is usually called upon to tattoo, and is almost surprised when she finishes the last touches.
"How does it seem?" her client asks the vine-marked elf, who steps up and gives the woman's back a thoughtful, appraising glance.
"It's clean, Dyr. Well-wrought."
Dyr nods and turns enough to face Rikka. "I am pleased, then. Well? What of our gifts would you claim, ink-stainer?"
Rikka sees the elves back to their blanket of wares. "I'll let fate decide which item is best." She pulls one of the dwarf's gold 'grapes' from her pouch then turns her back on the magical items. She lofts the nugget in a high arc over head. When she turns around, she sees that the nugget has landed on the shimmering cloak. "Fate has spoken. I'll have the cloak, please."
Eysteinn ponders over the competition he has the best shot at. You’re here for father, and for chief Hrolf. Give them a good show. Were it for his actual willingness, he’d never spend the celebration with a sword in hand, but alas, he had a duty to perform. Let’s go all in. no painted sticks… I don’t quite like how swift and graceful those elves are. Dwarves, and raiders – those I know how they hit.
Eysteinn greets the people at the regular fighting ring “How is cou… ehm, how is Ragni doing?” he bites his tongue after the question You lost your name, you lost your right to call anyone “family”. He stretches, wears his studded armor, and grabs a sturdy wooden stick about the same size of Windsplitter. That length feels familiar in his hands, and he practices a few thrusts while watching the match end from a distance.
“Aye, this will do. I am ready, ringmaster!” he says to whoever is in charge of the fighting competition “Let’s give a fine show to these folks!”
___________________
Halla accepts the cards back disconsolately. What good is a book no one can read?
Take them to Varisia, and you will find many who can read them, Maeve challenges her.
As simple as that, Halla thinks bitterly. First I must buy my freedom, then buy passage south; by the time I am rich enough, I will be so old to have no future left to tell.
"An charraig te: Cad é?" she asks Five Solomon aloud.
Kjell nods and grins back. "I'll keep an eye for you tonight."
The man downs the rest of his drink and looks around, wondering what he might put his back to before the final celebrations. Eyeing the fighting ring, he heads over, looks around, and also chooses the circle without painted sticks. Not sure they'd let me throw paint on my hands, and I'm not quick enough for that in any case. He tosses on his chain shirt and readies for a bout.
Rikka
The elves seem pleased with Rikka's method of selection. Dyr picks up the soft, shimmering fabric and presses it into Rikka's hands.
"You may ask the cloak to shield you from arrows, once," Dyr says. "You must say, 'May the King of Lanterns hide me!', and... if he is in a good mood... he may do so."
Halla
"Mo daoine a ghlaoch air cloch ar an bandia Saranrae, cé go bhfuil sé déanta ag scoláirí a foghlaimíodh, ní sagairt. Stailc sé deacair i gcoinne rud éigin, agus beidh sé a chruthú teas chun an spás de lá, amhail is dá bhí tú tine a choinneáil ar shiúl an fuaraigh. Thug mé ag smaoineamh go Ba mhaith liom a reo, anseo!" Five Solomon says with a chuckle.
Kjell and Eysteinn, dun dun dun!
Eysteinn sizes up the competition...
There is the miller's son- probably an easy fight, the lad is just past fifteen and gangly, but dreams of being part of the warband someday.
Cousin Ragni Torgisson would be a harder challenge-- as Torgi's son, he has been raised to fight, and fights well, though he has yet to earn for himself a place in the war-band. Next year, Hrolf keeps saying-- next season, the next raid, when there will be a chance for the young warriors to prove themselves.
There are several dwarves there as well, one of them stepping up to the ring of armored fighters. Kjell, though not Eysteinn, would recognize her as the one Shale pointed out earlier. She is heavily paint-daubed from her sparring match with the elf. Eysteinn, alas, can draw little conclusions about her.
And then there is Kjell Strongarm. Eysteinn heard the warriors saying he did very well at the wrestling earlier. Everyone knows Kjell is strong as an ox, though it's unlikely he'd ever be accepted to Hrolf's war-band-- his birth is against him, there, and other things besides.
Kjell and Eysteinn
The miller's son, Olaf, eagerly moves to face off against Eysteinn-- perhaps he thinks he'll win some particular praise if he gives the 'witch'-tainted a solid drubbing. Or perhaps he's just eager to prove himself one way or the other. He is wearing a chain shirt that is a little too big for him and probably belongs to his father, and carrying a shield and one of the wooden swords.
"Come on, then!" the youth says. In a few more years, he will probably have the broad shoulders and arms to back up his challenge, but for now....
Eysteinn takes his faux-Windsplitter sword and acts before the youth.
***
Kjell, meanwhile, draws lots against Ragni, who gives him a nod of acknowledgement as the two take their place in a small circle. "Heard you did good in the wrestling," Ragni says with cheerful trash-talking. "At least before Leif laid you out like a felled tree!"
Kjell responds much, much faster.