Ramundr nods. Lead us through the forest Signe.
But first, let us build a pyre, so that the dead may not rise.
Though the pervasive dampness of the wood is a challenge, you are able to salvage enough wood, dried pine needles, leaves, and other detritus to build a suitable pyre for Ivar.
The journey back to Thorvald’s Gift is peaceful, the taint of the forest now gone.
After hearing the news of Thorvald's fell spirit, the curse of the maligned demon god, Ivar's confession, and the ultimate fate of his father, Bóthvarr is of a mixed heart.
”This news weighs heavy on my heart, though I felt my father always seemed to run from a dark past of which he would never speak. In the end, brave were you who delivered him unto sword-sleep, and burned his remains that his spirit might swiftly fly on raven's’ wings. Now, at least, I know our village is safe.”
Bóthvarr assumes the position of jarl and invites you stay in his hall as his honored huscarls. Whether you accept or not, he also allows you to keep his father's adventuring gear as well as any treasures you recovered in the woods.
Elk Running cups her hands and bows low to Bóthvarr before declining his offer of station. ”Forgive me, but I cannot stay. I am a wanderer, and it has been many seasons since I have been free to roam. I will travel north, back to the lands of the Núk, beyond the Ice River, the Harvin Peninsula, and even Mount Helgastervän. To walk the icy tundra, to follow the track of the saber-tooth tiger. This is where my heart draws me.”
Bóthvarr, you honor us with this offer. However, we have a debt of vengeance that must be paid. We will sail to the northern reaches to avenge the death of the Jarl of Halfstead, and we will raid and pillage their lands of all that is precious, leaving none but fatherless children and weeping mothers.
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Ramundr wakes. The sun had not yet risen. He searches the sky, where the last of the night's stars begin to fade. A northern wind whispers through the tall pines, calling him. Ramundr found himself drawn to Thorvald’s Gift, this forest, and the peace and clarity it offered. The departure from these forests weighed heavy on his heart.
Shaking his head, he stands, somewhat stiffly, shuffling out from beneath the thick pelt, and reaches up to the sky, stretching long muscles. He glances around. All remain asleep, or wanting to be so, save for one of the woodsman of Thorvald’s Gift, who was building up the fire again. Beside the man were strips of meat, drawn from the haunch of a deer, hanging upon a rack made of twisted vine.
Ramundr approaches, finds a seat on a cut log, and watches as the man lays the meat carefully upon a grating above the fire, pinching salt and herb for season. The man never turns to face Ramundr, his face remaining hidden beneath the morning's long shadows. Ramundr watches for a while longer,before broaching the silence of the forest. I do not know you, woodsman, but feel I saw you from afar, at the very top of these tall pines, using axe, adzes, and saw. The man does not answer, but draws a small knife to turn the sizzling meat.
The man, never turning, hands Ramundr seared meat, skewered on a small knife. His face half covered in shadow speaks Eat. He pours from a flask watered ale into a copper flagon, handing it to Ramundr Drink.
Ramundr nods in thanks, eating and drinking. Before I leave for Halfstead, I would climb as you have, to the top of these great pines, to see what may be seen of this great forest. Will you lend me and instruct me in use of your climbing gear?
The man gathers up a bundle of wood in his large arms You, Promised of Wotan, have no need to see what can be seen in Thorvald’s Gift. Do not give thrift to these desires. The North calls. Turning to Ramundr the man releases the bundle of wood into the fire. The campfire burst into flame and light, clearly distinguishing a ruined eye, before blinding Ramundr. His heart shaken, Ramundr starts violently, wiping from his eyes the sudden tears, only to see the gentle stars above as he lay beneath his pelt.
With the danger to Thorvald’s Gift stayed, and its alliance with Silvermeade secured, the Northlanders turn their backs on the lonely village and, with Elk Running at their side, chart a course north, back to Silvermeade Hall.
Tyra Olafswif, wife of your late jarl, is glad to have you home safely, and accepts Elk Running as an honoured guest. She calls an audience with you and Hallbjorn Bolverkson, surviving crewman of The Long Serpent and its recent, ill-fated voyage that saw Jarl Olaf murdered at the hands of savages in the name of Althunak. Hallbjorn is still excited over the idea of taking you out as crewmates and sailing back north.
”Ha!” he barks with humor. ”While you lot have been off climbing trees in the south, I’ve been planning our next voyage. The tide leaves tomorrow two spans past dawn, and we will be on it! Good fortune, my brothers and sisters, for the Widow has agreed to split shares with us for this second voyage. The season is late, but we can be away and back, our fortunes made or lost. Come, let us toast the new venture and seek our wyrd in foreign lands!”
Tyra smiles and lifts her cup as well. ”It is as Hallbjorn says. Four shares are promised me, and a share to each of you who joins in the voyage. You have just come home, but if you are strong to the task, you should gather your things and help outfit the boat as best you can. I will give you five hundred hacksilver each, today, for your word that you will sail, and to help you find the supplies you will need.”
”I will see to the outfitting of the ship,” Hallbjorn adds, ”And you will bring yourselves, your weapons, and other supplies to feed yourselves for at least two months.”
Signe is still processing what has happened the last little while all the way back to Silvermeade. She knew that evil could corrupt the hearts of people but to see how it could also contaminate nature was eye opening.
She is glad of heart to see home as it comes into view. She has a huge sense of pride knowing that she can bring good news back to Tyra Olafswif in wake of the jarl's death.
Signe greets her mentor warmly as she sees Hallbjorn with Tyra. As soon as Hallbjorn and Tyra have spoken their piece, the ranger immediately says, "My strength belongs to Silvermeade and I will sail north on the morrow."
Þyrnir takes a knee in front of Tyra. "I am yours to command. And, I have brought you a gift."
He extends with both hands the carving he had been working on since they had left the Black Oak. It is not his finest work, lacking as he did the proper tools and implements, but it conveys well enough the saga of Thorvald and Ivar, and of the band of stout-hearted men and women who put an end to the curse.
Once the audience comes to an end, he seeks out the jarl's daughters, to share news and stories and to reassure them that vengeance for their father is forthcoming.
True to his word, the Long Serpent is refitted and ready for another voyage in two days time. Hallbjorn has been running the dockworkers and ship chandlers ragged, but in the end, he has managed to put together enough food and other provisions to last a crew of 60 for two months. He excitedly calls the crew together and introduces you and the fifty sailors he has hired on. These women and men, experienced sailors all, have agreed to work for quarter shares.
The journey north is mostly under clear skies and with a good breeze blowing from the southeast. There is no need to take to the oars, and thus most of the trip is spent in idle endeavors. The sailors are inveterate gamblers, and Hallbjorn is possibly the worst of the lot. Storytelling and music also pass the time, and Ragnar and Thyrnir find an attentive and appreciative audience for their stories and art.
All is not pleasant, however, and there are hardships to face. The wind and waves are calm, but the sea is cold, and nothing stays dry for long unless well protected. The longship is open with no enclosed belowdecks to speak of. Saltwater breaks across the bow and douses the sailors. Fresh food runs out in a week, leaving salted pork, twice-baked bread, and dried fish as the primary ration. Most of the time, there is no opportunity to light a fire. Yet the Northlanders find the whole experience invigorating and fiendishly mock any who express discomfort.
Þyrnir is not a stranger to ships and sailing; even so, the first week is rough and he scrambles to keep up with the other sailors. Perhaps his mind is still dwelling on the things that happened down south, or perhaps worries about the jarl's dottirs plague him. Whatever they spoke of before departure, he does not talk about, but his brow is furrowed and he sighs deeply and often while looking over the side to the south.
Any self-doubt, any thought of herself being rusty on a ship is quickly washed away with the many waves of sea water that pelt them when they break over the sides. Memories of her childhood, being in a boat with her father, quickly come flooding back and she is both comforted and saddened. Saddened because she lost her father but comforting because she was reminded of family.
Signe looks around at those surrounding her and sees a new family, relentless mocking included
Ramundr kept to himself mostly, gathering supplies before leaving. The visit in his dream still haunted him. Boarding, he nodded to the crew, friends and strangers alike. Sailing off, he spent his time looking across the sea to the north, efficiently performing his duties as a minor sailor.
Otrygrr sinks deeper into his grim silences as they trudge home, keeping to himself, spending hours each night staring past their campfires at the shifting darkness. Only the sight of their home revives him, and it's with new purpose that he marches in to greet Olafswif and Hallbjorn.
The next few days see him walking the hills and spending time deep in the forest, as if the very land were the air he seeks to breathe deep of before taking the plunge into the sea. But come that dark dawn when they set off he is the first in line on the pier, his bundle tied over his shoulder, eyes alight with eagerness to be off.
Despite his lack of skill Otryggr proves an asset to the crew; perhaps more by dint of his strength and resilience than nothing else. He's tireless when it comes to hauling ropes, furling the sail, lashing equipment, scrubbing the deck, and whatever else needs doing. He never complains, never cavails, and if anything relishes any physical task that is set to him.
When not working he pulls forth a small wooden boardgame, the pieces affixed by pegs to the squares, and welcomes all challengers though he more often loses than not.
Everyone plays their part on the ship, and sailing is smooth for the first three days as the newness of the journey and the anticipation for the reaving to come keep spirits high.
All save Ragnar, whose sea legs have not quite grown in, and spends each morning of the first week retching off the side of the boat.
An aurora appears in the night sky to the north.
Broken planks, lost oars, and snapped spars float by. Among the wreckage are a few bodies of men unknown, dead from some massive attack. There is no evidence of what occurred.
A small storm blows up and tosses the ship around for a full day and a half. The crew has its hands full keeping the ship aright.
Land is spotted on the northern horizon but soon proves to be little more than a wave-washed rock protruding from some sunken island. Upon investigating, an evil and cruel sea hag emerges from the waves, targeting the Northlanders with her evil eye. Yet, having faced her kind before in the swamps surrounding Thorvald’s Gift, you defeat her swiftly. Signe’s keen eyes spot her lair 100 feet below the waves. Those daring to brave the water find her hoard.
55 hacksilver
Four large pearls worth 150 hs each
A basalt statuette of Rán worth 25 hs
Another gale storm blows up and tosses the ship around for the better part of a day. The crew has its hands full keeping the ship aright.
⊕⊕⊕⊕⊕⊕⊕⊕⊕⊕⊕⊕⊕⊕⊕⊕⊕
Ramundr never cared for the sea, nor for their storms. The sea was too large, and reminded him too much that his wierd was not under his control. Had the sea but raged a little more, his life would have ended. On land, he felt he had more control. Only Wotan's visit gave him comfort. Would Wotan have visited me just to die in a gale? After the winds and seas subsided, they found a number of food rations were loose floating about them. He aided the others in gathering their stores. He'd brought a few extra rations in his satchel, but the loss of the main rations would sorely hurt.
The countless storms and days far from land begin to take a toll on Otryggr; he grows restless, feeling the confines of the boat all around him like a cell, and begins to sink into prolonged bouts of silence as he stares at the horizon.
Moments such as battling the sea hag give him joy; yet each gale that tosses and inundates the boat leave him grim and withdrawn.
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Signe pauses what she's doing when the Northern Lights dance across the sky. It is not the first time she has seen them, nor will it be the last but she is always mesmerized by their beauty when they appear. It is truly a gift to have living art in the sky with all the moving colors.
When the storm blows in, there is little warning. Signe cannot help but be distracted as she wonders if this storm was similar to the one that killed her father when his boat sank.
The first storm actually rouses Þyrnir from his melancholy and spurs him to swift action, the habits learned while sailing with Olaf quickly remembered. He lashes down their provisions, so that none are lost when the wind and waves toss the ship about.
The second one is more difficult to deal with and he finds himself stumbling about and reacting too slow. He blames the sea hag's evil eye - she must have cursed him when they fought!
Following the storm, everyone is glad for a day of clear skies and (somewhat) smooth sailing. Even Ragnar’s sea legs have grown, and the godwytch is nearly able to appreciate sea life.
Hallbjorn, eyes scanning the horizon, turns to you with great excitement.
”Lads! Lassie! See what breaks the salty plain yonder!?”
A few hundred yards distant, several plumes of spray shoot up out of the sea.
”In one fell swoop, we can have all the provisions we will need, even if we are forced to overwinter in the Far North. Plus, the fat would be well put to render, and light many a lamp back in Halfstead, at least a few silvers a pint. What say you, do we put over and take us a whale?”
You tack and row toward the pod of whales in an attempt to harpoon one.
These whales do have tusks, at least some of them. We should approach prepared to defend our vessel.
Narwhals. Excellent ivory. Valuable. There are males however, they may well try to attack this vessel to defend the females. Hallbjorn, you lead here. Is it worth the hunt?
Hallbjorn bellows, exultant as the saltwater crashes over him.
Signe grins at Hallbjorn's response and finds herself agreeing with him. Seeing the ivory tusks of the narwhals, she knows it will be a boon for them should their hunt be successful.
"You are correct, Ramundr, in that if we allow them to get too close that it could go poorly for the ship. Good thing whale hunting does not require hand-to-hand combat. I am confident I can harpoon one from afar."
Otryggr comes to life, nearly hanging off the side of the boat as he holds onto a line, teeth flashing white beneath his thick black beard at the sight of the breaching pod.
"By Wotan's one eye it's good to be alive!" he shouts with unusual zeal, and as the ship heels over and makes its way to intercept the whales, he casts a weather eye to where Signe stands braced on the deck.
"Signe! Let me know how I can assist!" He hauls himself back onto the deck, then grabs a harpoon which he holds in readiness, prepared to hand it to her the moment she casts.
"Those poor bastards have no idea who's hurling harpoons at them," he says, grinning once more as salt water sprays over them. "They don't stand a chance!"
Þyrnir is not nearly as enthused about the prospect of hunting whales as his companions, but still stands ready to assist if needed. He prays that no one will be injured or killed, but with these things you never know.
Otryggr crouches with a dagger in his hand, ready to cut the rope should the quarry dive. But Signe’s skill with harpoon is as fine as that with arrow and spear. Despite the rocking of the boat, she takes careful aim, waiting for the moment when a gargantuan eye appears. She throws her wound-wasp. Its barb tip strikes true, and with a great crash and the splash of frothing ocean’s water across the deck, the battle is won.
One morning near the end of the third week, the sky is red at sunrise--a sure warning that a storm, a real storm, is coming. The crew quickly begins to prepare the ship, battening down loose items, putting out any lit fires, taking down the sail and mast, and tying themselves to the oars.
Hallbjorn is beside himself with glee, as he apparently loves nothing better than fighting the wind and waves, and ties himself to the rudder. Many of the sailors pray to the gods of storm and sea and make small offerings, hoping for courage and protection from the coming tempest. Elk-Running use the basalt carving from the sea hag’s lair as a focus for her prayers and offerings.
In a few short hours the sea turns choppy and white capped, the sky darkens with fierce clouds, and a strong wind begins to blow from the east.
Hallbjorn cries from the stern where he is lashed,
The storm breaks over the ship in a howling scream of wind, tearing at the cloaks and beards of those poor unfortunates on the Long Serpent. Waves crest over the bow as Hallbjorn turns the ship into the teeth of the storm. You and the rest of the crew must strain at the oars to maintain enough forward momentum to allow Hallbjorn to control the ship.
A heavy, pounding rain begins to fall, and soon anyone not physically up to the task of pulling the heavy oars is instead ordered to bail freezing seawater from the ship. The temperature is dropping, and ice begins to form on any exposed surface, prompting the bailers to split their attention between scooping up water and breaking ice off the deck and hurling it overboard in chunks.
Ramundr pulls on his oars in long powerful strokes. For Ramundr this was a contest of wills between himself and the angry Northern Sea. His wierd lay beyond this storm, and this gave strength to his arms and to his back. Each side had their moments of victory. At first, the sea and Ramundr embraced, neither ceding victory. But in a might crash of icy sea, Ramundrs oars were pulled from his grasp. With a mighty heave, Ramundr leapt for the flailing oar, daring the sea to take him. Bringing the errant oar down, he becomes a true storm sailor, mastering stroke and angle to steady their ship against a fate under icy depths.
Signe is once again surprised by the fact that she can face a whale with barely batting an eye but is almost paralyzed by a storm. This great storm puts the other two small ones to shame and even though Hallbjorn revels in the danger, she finds it hard to breathe and move. One could blame the cold but Signe knows that isn't why she seems to be moving painfully slow.
But then she digs deep and finds her extra measure of courage and begins to help more than hinder. But her strength begins to waiver as fatigue sets in.
The storm awakens within Otryggr a hidden fury born of terror; the very idea of being lost at sea and thus from all memory fills him with a helpless rage, and he throws himself at the oars, hauling with savage grunts, muscles rippling as he near bends the oar in twain.
Yet for all his strength there is something to be said for technique, and soon he finds himself fouling his oar against those of the men before and behind; strength at sea is hardly a substitute for true knowledge of the waves.
Þyrnir strains against the oar, the freezing rain and spray lashing his back, much as the taskmaster's whip lashed it many, many years ago. But this time he is with friends and comrades, a fire burning hot in his heart for justice and the desire to protect those he cares about. He squeezes his eyes shut against the wind and and salt, clenching his teeth and repeating a prayer in his mind over and over.
Protect us, deliver us.
Help us, mother.
Protect us, deliver us.
Help us, mother.
Protect us, deliver us.
Help us, mother.
Protect us, deliver us.
Help us, mother.
Protect us, deliver us.
Help us, mother.
Protect us, deliver us.
Help us, mother.
The storm’s fury continues to increase, as does the fear of the crew, though Ramundr and Signe in particular prove inspirational in their tenacity to best the ocean’s anger. Hallbjorn is hard pressed to keep the Long Serpent on course and calls for Otryggr to join him at the rudder. Otryggr, staggering across the deck, is able to make it back without falling and help.
The sea is mounting to touch the sky, and the ship rides up one mountainous wave only to crash down into a cold and wet valley of the sea. Sleet and then hail begin to mix with the rain, driving into the faces of the crew. Lightning flashes above, and soon the dragon’s head prow is aglow with St. Elmo’s fire.
After another ten minutes, a rogue wave strikes the ship, washing across the decks and tugging mercilessly at all. Ragnar, Ramundr, and Signe are able to hold on. Ótryggr, assisting Hallbjorn with the udder, and þyrnir, eyes shut in prayer, are caught off guard by the powerful wave and washed overboard.
The wave hits Otryggr like an avalanch, lifting him right off his feet and hurling him in a madness of white spume into the railing. With a roar the Vastaviklander seeks to grasp something - anything - before he's washed out into the perilous ocean, and his hand closes around a rope.
The strength of the wave nearly dislocates his shoulder as he hangs on, but when the worst of it washes off the boat Otryggr hauls himself back aboard, shaking the salt water from his beard and braids, heaving for breath and turning to see if his companions are still with him.
Þyrnir doesn't even manage to cry out as the cold wave strikes him from the side, lifting him off the bench and over the railing, his hands slipping on the wet oar and his mouth and nose filling with water. Blinded and disoriented, he is flung into the rough sea, his head coming up once before sinking beneath the surface.
Þyrnir falls from the ship into the icy sea as a gigantic wave rips over the prow and onto the rowing vikings. Leaving his oar momentarily, Ramundr snags a line, left loose for such an occasion. It is difficult to see where Þyrnir disappeared into the deep sea, and he is fearful that the man is lost. But one must not give in so easily to these seas. Guessing at where the man must have fallen, Ramundr twists his body then heaves the line mightily into the air. It flies true and the bulk of the line lands in the ragins seas at where Þyrnir sunk.
Þyrnir! A line!
With a wheezing gasp, the dark-haired head resurfaces, arms slapping at the heaving surface of the water and grasping the line thrown by Ramundr. Hand over hand, Þyrnir pulls himself closer to the ship.
Signe moves to the ship's edge beside Ramundr and helps him haul Þyrnir back into the boat.
A shout rings out.
The wave has snapped Hallbjorn’s lifeline, and he has disappeared over the side. In the distance, his blond head can be seen bobbing away before the darkness, rain, and waves hide him from view.
”There, in the waves!” one of the men cries. Perhaps it is mere imagination, but in the storm foam atop a wave, a terrible bestial countenance with long fangs and a crown of spearheads appears before quickly dissolving.
The storm abates after another fifteen minutes, then the weather clears quickly. In all, five of the crew have been washed away. Yet before the Long Serpent can continue its journey north, a pivotal decision must be made.
”A captain!” cries first one, then another man. ”We must needs have a captain!”
”You!” shouts Dellingr, seizing Ramundr’s arm ”You pulled the godi from the ocean’s teeth! With my own eyes I saw!”
”The strength of Donar has he! Ramundr!” cries Olvaerr, rousing the cry himself. First one, and then another take up the call, chanting the Valesman’s name o’er and o’er.
”Ramundr! Ramundr! Ramundr!
Ramundr mourned the loss of Hallbjorn to the sea, and their inability to save him weighed heavily upon his heart. It was in this state that he saw Dellingr call on Ramundr to step into Hallbjorn's place. Ramundr stayed silent contemplating for a moment, then stood.
It is said that
Cattle die,
kindred die,
we ourselves also die;
but the fair fame
never dies
of him who has earned it.
Hallbjorn died well. For he was not a cowardly man
who thinks he will ever live, if warfare he avoids.
He knew that old age would give him no peace, though spears may spare him.
Hallbjorn died well, as a Viking a should, and he earned his good name among us.
We go north, for vengeance and justice, to fight evil men and demons.
These are combats worthy of you, combats in which it is glorious to conquer and advantageous to die. For we have before us an ordeal of the most grievous kind. Many ong months of struggle and of suffering. You ask, what is our direction? As your captain, I can say: It is to wage war, by sea and land, with all our strength given us by Wotan and Frigg, to wage death against these daemons and witches. That is our direction.
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Signe's scream is torn away by the wind as Hallbjorn is swept into the sea by a rogue wave. She had already lost her father, her jarl, and now her mentor. She looks around frantically for the rope previously thrown to Þyrnir but her vision is blurred, whether by tears or the storm, and she can't seem to find it. By the time she does, it is too late and she can no longer see Hallbjorn.
As the storm dissipates and the sea calms, she sinks to her knees in stunned silence with the rope still in her hands.
Þyrnir lies on the deck, shaken by his brush with death, but still Ramundr's speech rouses him to cheer. Grievous was the loss of Hallbjorn, and the pain plain to see in their companion, Signe. As the storm abates, the godi goes by her side, silent. No words can soothe the raw hurt she is feeling now, nor fill the gaping hole in her heart. But a stalwart presence, a hand squeezing the shoulder, a solid body on which to beat the fists or cry bitter tears... those might, perhaps, help.
Signe is able to re-orient the ship and is aided by the captain, Ramundr, who finds Hallbjorn’s maps and notes with directions to the first camp of the Long Serpent.
The coastline has changed. Expansive woodlands have transformed to rolling plains carpeted by muted green permafrost. Rivers empty into ice-clutched basins, and long, low islands of ice cluster close to the shore.
Two days after the storm, the captain spots a small craft adrift on the sea. It is a narrow hide boat, pointed at each end, with a single deck that covers its entire top, save for a small hole. It is the sort of boat Hallbjorn described the strange men of the north using.
A lone figure sits slumped in the hole.
Signe allows herself some time to grieve. She appreciates Þyrnir's silent presence by her side, ever comforting but not trying to fix what couldn't be fixed.
She congratulates Ramundr on his new role and quickly sets to work in continuing with Hallbjorn's wishes of sailing north. Signe helps get them back on course and focuses on sailing.
When the small boat comes into view, Signe tries to see from a distance if the figure is truly hurt or just pretending.
"Captain, if we intercept the boat then we may learn more about our enemies."
Vengeance comes sooner than expected! Ramundr gives a signal to change course. Be ready for a trap. All eyes be alert, and also watch the horizon for other boats.
The Long Serpent easily intercepts the small, hide boat. The figure on board is a young man who seems to be unconscious. His dark complexion marks him as an Ulnat, one of the seal hunters of the far north.
The Ulnat people fought mightily against Althunak, in times past.
Ramundr remarks. If he appears diseased, we will leave him. If he has the markings of a witch, we will bind his hands and gag his mouth.
Ramundr stands tall and calls out. Do you yet live, hunter of seals? Ramundr does not know if the Ulnat speak the same language as he did.
The man gives no response, though he takes shallow breaths.
Þyrnir leaps on the smaller craft, checking the man for the markings that Ramundr mentioned. If none such are found, he employs Frigg's healing power to rouse the man to consciousness, so that he might be able to answer questions.
Þyrnir leaps aboard the craft and delivers his special brand of wyrd. The man is revived, though weak and exhausted from his exposure to the elements.
Once brought aboard, he comes to his senses and is able to speak, though it is immediately apparent that the only word in Nørsk he understands is “help”. He states it repeatedly while pointing across the sea to the northeast.
He points to himself and identifies himself as “Yilithi”. Otherwise, he is polite and respectful.
Ragnar, long have you been silent on this voyage, but speak you now. Have you lore to guide us? Have you learned the speech of the Ulnat?