It's raining. Again. It does that a lot here. Here is the town of Saltmarsh on the island of Highport in the Korinn Archipelago, the most northly part of the Moonshae Isles.
People have different words for different types of rain, and today it's drizzling. A light drizzle, but wet for all that.
Just as well you have found shelter at the Full Moon Inn, the only inn in the town, and meeting place for travellers and residents alike. Ghindor and Gabra chat together about what has been going on in the warrior's absence.
Does anyone notice a tall figure in a hooded cloak in the corner? If they did they might be surprised to learn that it was one of the fabled dwellers of Faerie. This is Byggvir, should you happen to make his acquaintance.
A grizzled young man sups his ale appreciatively, Hrolf is his name, hailing from the Northman lands to the west, and leaning on an gnarled staff.
No doubt there are others of interest in the inn tonight, whether they be here for some respite from their families or looking for work, as merchant guards or leg-breakers.
The host of the inn, one Gwalchmai, beams from behind his great tufts of moustache. He looks as though he might enjoy his own product somewhat to judge by his girth.
He guffaws as Hrolf downs his ale, "Well, stranger, ye've got a powerful thirst there!"
"There has been an outbreak of milk udder among the cattle, and some blamed the hidden folk." Gabra shakes her head.
"You know as well as I Ghindor, that it was the harsh hands of their master. He is not a man who should keep any living thing..." she stops her litany of the woes of Saltmarsh and looks hard at the dark-cloaked figure.
Byggvir adjusts his hood making sure his hair and ears are well covered. He looks around the tavern, his gaze lingering a while on each person in the room. Sighing he looks down at the mug of ale he ordered. Slowly he raises it to his face and smells the strange liquid and takes a large gulp. Looking back up he notices the red-haired woman staring at him. Once again he checks his hood to make sure his features are concealed, then he motions for her and her friend to take a seat across from him.
"This could pan out well..." he whispers to himself.
Gabra nods very slightly to the hooded stranger and touches Ghindor's arm. "A stranger. Wait ..."
She pulls her runes from her pocket and rubs them between her hands, murmuring to Hel for guidance before dropping three of them on the table.
Her eyes widen a bit as she looks at them. "Travel. Danger. A shadow. Ghindor, I asked Hel to guide my thoughts to the hooded one and she tells me this ... it is not wise to ask and then refuse the knowledge..."
Scooping up the pebbles, she moves as though impelled towards the cloaked figure and sits at his table.
Gabra's dreams are invaded by the strange message she received.
Your father's ship is yours to take.
It is as if a part of her brain long sealed has opened. Raised by the temple, blessed from birth with the knowledge of her sacred death, she has given no thought to her parents. Indeed she cannot even say who they were. The godi had no interest in anything beyond the completion of her life.
As she sits in the town square, listening to troubles and taking them into herself, she now watches the docks, wondering which is her ship. She knows she will recognise it at once and that finding it will give her purpose. The sea is calling and she wants to answer it.
Sitting at the table with the hooded figure, Gabra notes his elegant hands, which seem unused to holding a beer mug, and an elegant figure that is not well hidden by his cloak. His face remains in shadow.
"You wished to speak with me. Have you hardships you wish to unburden, or do you want to consult the gods on matters of the past, present or future?"
"...and tat's why I'll find ita hard ta walk any road the watta god lays before me! Gabra? Gabra?!?"
Ghindor looks around, and stops biting his fingernails. He spits on the grouns only to look up and see one large fellow drinking a heavy ale. He smiles polietly and quickly looks around for his flaming haired friend. Ghindor, while shorter than most men, makes his way through chairs and drunkard to reach Gabra. He appears shy to the people in his company.
Ghindor cannot read nor write. He is initially shy in social settings because he fears other educated persons may outsmart him or compel him to reveal his social weakness. Ghindor will appear shy until such time he sees his might can overpower his inability to write.
"You wished to speak with me. Have you hardships you wish to unburden, or do you want to consult the gods on matters of the past, present or future?"
Byggvir's voice comes out as a whisper but their is an undercurrent of power hidden within his speech. While he speaks at times he stares at his new companion before his gaze seems to fixate on someplace just beyond her as if he were seeing some other place and time.
"Perhaps the Norns have led me to one who is useful... What I desire I shall leave in the future clouded as it is in this realm. My past I have abandoned so I may seek others who feel as I do. So it is, in this present, I find myself with one who can commune with the gods in this realm. Please cast your stones and tell me what they say of me finding others who seek danger and adventure."
Seeing the shorter male approach, Byggvir offers him the seat beside the flame haired woman.
"Another joins me already. This place is fascinating."
As a seeming reaction, he checks his hood once again, a small amount of his silver hair falling out before he shoves it back into the shadows of his cloak.
... Please cast your stones and tell me what they say of me finding others who seek danger and adventure."
Noting the silver lock of hair and noting also that the voice is not that of an old man, Gabra reaches for her runes again. She holds them out to Byggvir with both hands.
"Cleanse your mind of all but the will of the gods. Open your inner eyes, as Father Odin did upon the tree and ask that the vision of the mighty pass through you. Take three of the stones and lay them on the table."
Ghindor sees the hook-nosed face of Shadrach the jeweller looking over at the group. He approaches Ghindor and mutters, "Eh, strange company you're keepin' these days, look you."
Ghindor sees the hook-nosed face of Shadrach the jeweller looking over at the group. He approaches Ghindor and mutters, "Eh, strange company you're keepin' these days, look you."
“Shadrach, ya fool! You owes me monies from…well…a long times before I lefta! I gave ya my daddy’s rings, and then…well…lefta. I’ll forgetta any interests owed me if ya can pay up for my friends here ta drink mightily. Join us…everyone looks differenta when ya slam some suds!”
Ghindor hopes his boisterous jibes help relax a situation. While Shadrach and he did have business together, the time was shortly before Ghindor was sold into servitude and gladiatorial amusements far from home. Any boon would thrill this fighting man, since he left the combat arenas with only a choice few items stored away for survival and gold-hunting adventure. Additionally, Ghindor would be thrilled to be left alone- he might sound foolish himself in front of would-be people in need of a body guard like him.
Shadrach eyes Ghindor and wipes his nose, looking like a vulture with a cold. "Aye, well, 'twas a while ago, look you..." he says with a shifty air, "But, ach, we'll call the matter settled, isn't it?" he adds as he goes to order some ale from Gwalachmai.
While she waits for the stranger to select his runes, Gabra listens as she always does to the background of babble behind her, picking out threads in the conversation.
Very quietly, out of the corner of her mouth, she murmurs to Ghindor "Have you seen the harbourmaster today?"
Gabra can hear people mutter about the frequency of storms lately, especially the lightning, and of murmurings of goblins and worse seen abroad.
Byggvir reaches out and grabs 3 runes setting them in front of himself on the table.
Gabra looks long. "Strength, but see - it turns to the floor and so is uncertain. One who doubts.
Here, the rune of faith. Strong, but pulling away from the strength rune. Not doubtful, but fighting. Inner conflict and one not at ease ..." her voice stops as she looks at the third stone. Her hand closes over it and she whispers.
"What are you? This is not a stone of this world. It speaks of a longing darkness and a life unknown to me. You are not of this land. Maybe not of this world."
"What are you? This is not a stone of this world. It speaks of a longing darkness and a life unknown to me. You are not of this land. Maybe not of this world."
Byggvir leans in, his violet eyes shining bright in the fire light.
"I am a visitor seeking adventure and companions to join me here in the Middle World. Tell me, what is it you seek?"
"Lios-alfar ... they say you laugh at the Middle World ..."
Gabra picks out three more runes and drops them before her without looking at them. "Tell me what you see. Tell me truly. I see only my missed thread, but with your eyes you may see the true weaving."
It's partly a challenge and partly a plea.
Meanwhile a man of good cheer enters. He surveys the room, giving everyone a smile and friendly nod. He hangs up his cloak, puts down his gear, and kisses an amulet he wears around his neck, a sign of thanks and devotion to the gods.
"Cunorix!" Gwalachmai bellows, "What'll it be?"
"Some of your good, honest ale, Gwalachmai. And what is that I see? A visitor from the land of Faerie? Give me an extra tankard, Gwal. I need to introduce myself."
Cunorix approaches the elf man.
"And good day to you, sirah. I am Cunorix, wanderer of these green isles. Where do you hail from?"
Gwalachmai looks around as says, "What, one of the Sidhe, in here? Where?" he then looks at Byggvir, "Him? He sounded sort of funny, but we get furriners here sometimes. Well, you know more 'bout that than me, so if you say he's an elf, then he's an elf. Maybe he'll have pointy ears under that hood!" he jokes.
Gabra can't help but notice Cunorix's arrival, but doesn't take her eyes off the runes on the table. Somehow she senses that Byggvir may be able to help her.
Ghindor looks open-jawed at Cunorix: free-flowing ales? “Welcome ta tis group! We should never fear ta unknown, even if fey tay be! I like a deep ale, my new friend… Gwalachmai, if you’d kindly provide?”
The diminutive yet burly fighting man looks to Gabra as if seeking her approval. Seeing her lost in thought, he moves closer to the runes scattered across the table. “Ahhh…tis one looks like Njord’s design, with ta way itta curves and rolls like ta ocean waves.” Ghindor picks up a marker and begins to motion with it like waves in the sea.
"The sea?"
Gabra spins around as though Ghindor's words were a wasp sting. For half a second she seems almost in shock then her face lightens and she looks many years younger.
"The runes speak through you, I feel it. Njord has guided you. Both of us. Ghindor, shall we voyage with the lios-alfar? Our eyes will see our middle world through his fresh vision."
As though a burden has been lifted, she picks up the runes. "Now we shall drink ale and eat good food and tell stories of our wishes. See, I have been burdened with many troubles this morning and I will pay for us both old friend."
"Cunorix - join us! We celebrate!" Celebration is a word that Cunorix has never been able to resist as Gabra well knows.
Gwalachmai laughs, "Ha, ye're all in good spirits tonight! Good spirits and the best ale."
"Aye, let us celebrate and make merry! 'Tis the very best way to honor the gods, for they find our laughter delightful!"
Her mood lightened beyond measure by Ghindor's unexpected revelation that her destiny concerns the sea, Gabra relaxes and proves an unexpected source of remarkably filthy stories.
"... three of them!," she concludes one such tale and looks at her new found companions. "Friends, it seems we are drawn together by the threads that bind us all. Some enterprise is waiting for us, I sense it."
The group of four, the pirest, the warrior, the runecaster and the elf swap stories and tales into the night, making an odd sight. They are watched by the northern mage, who does partake in their conversation.
A new day dawns, and Gabra feels an urge to visit the harbour.
Ghindor is wondering about some of the more quiet patrons last night, and wants to see if any might have an adventuring spirit and/or in need of a body guard.
Because he is flat broke, Ghindor will sleep outside, even patroling the docks in advance, anticipating great adventure.
Ghindor is wondering about some of the more quiet patrons last night, and wants to see if any might have an adventuring spirit and/or in need of a body guard.
Because he is flat broke, Ghindor will sleep outside, even patroling the docks in advance, anticipating great adventure.
Ghindor thanks his old friend as she gently guides him from the streets. The warms of a big blanket is the best he has had in months! While he realizes the upcoming water-logged aventure might lengthen the time between good sleeps, he shuns any doubts and fears and snuggles down for a gentle nap.
The cleric goes from door to door asking if blessings need to be made, rites performed, or advice given.
Gabra and Ghindor
Gabra walks out of town to the Grove of the Mother, a reminder of a darker time, a grimmer time; the stones are a monument to the power of nature, both the dark and the light. Today is a bright sunny one ,albeit with a cool breeze, and she feels at peace.
Heading down to the harbour, she sees Connar the harbourmaster, a wiry old salt with a grey beard and bandana "Mornin' Gabra, how goes it? Lemme see, gloomy and grey, eh? Heh heh! Now, tell yer what, you'll 'preciate this, mysterious-like. There's a ship in this harbour and I don't rightly know who's she is. Me! I don't know one o' these boats! But 's the truth. Look at that beauty and tell me if ye've seen 'er before."
He points to a knaar, a shallow keeled trading ship. She is indeed a beauty. You know this ship. You have seen her before, but not in the cold light of day. As this conversation is going on Ghindor appears.
Ghindor has been hanging around the harbourside, listening to the chatter of people; generally talk seems to revolve around increases in pirate activity, and the recent loss of several merchant shipments in the area. he also hears wild stories that the isle of the old Sea King was found by adventurers, but no sooner was it found then it was destroyed by the gods!
Cunorix
The priest wanders round town, and people have indeed taken a liking to the friendly cleric. Some ask him for a quick blessing from Mannannan, god of the sea, to ensure the safety of themselves and their loved ones on the ocean. But, in general, it has been an uneventful morning.
Byggvir makes his way through town, his hooded form drawing the odd comment, but only because it is such a sunny day, too nice a day for a hood to be up.
He finds himself outside the building of the Black Lion Trading Company, with a sign showing the company's blazon, a black lion rampant. He can hear the sound of crates being shifted about and a man talking loudly. Entering, he sees the source of the noise; several men are being ordered around by a stout, stern-faced man with a great sideburns.
"-no, not over there!, Over there! Careful! Now - hmm, what do you want?" he asks Byggvir querulously.
"Kittiwake. I know her, Connar. I think I've known her for years."
With one hand, Gabra reaches out to touch her property. With a smile the harbormaster has never seen before, she calls to Ghindor.
"Over here! Njord's gift has arrived."
Connar scratches his chin, "Njord, Mannanan, Aegir and Ran, damnedest thing..." he murmurs, then louder, calls out "That your boat, then?" to Gabra as she has now headed over to the other side of the harbour.
"She is, Connar. She is my boat!"
Gabra's laugh fills the harbour and she's almost unrecognisable as the serious runecaster all Saltmarsh knows.
"Tell me Connar, where shall I sail her? Cast the runes and tell me!" She bounds back to the grizzled harbormaster and pulls out the familiar bag. "In return I shall take your troubles and cast them into the whale road."
"Eh?! Now, er, hold on there, lass! We've got troubles enough at home without ye gallivantin' to who knows where! Er, that is, ah, blast it, there's trouble with shippin' right now. Pirate raids, and they always seem to know just when to strike. And other things, things no right man would give credit to..."
He looks at her runes, "Well, anyway, ye want me to pick?"
She nods. "Three runes Connar. Choose, and maybe the gods will speak to us and tell me to go or stay."
Her elation fades for a moment at Connar's concern. "If there is truly such trouble, why have I of all people not been told? You know my duty is to carry the burdens of others."
Connar sighs heavily, "Ye mean well, lass, and far be it from me to speak ill o' the gods," (being a sailor, he is of course superstitious), "But, the troubles round here are a bit... well, beyond ye, if ye see what I mean."
"Ah, go on, then." he says at last, dipping into the bag. He lays out the runes:
You can see that they paint a confusing picture; the rune of travel, the rune of the otherworld, but also the rune of man, opposed to the other two. A journey awaits, one that will be mysterious, but for now your concerns are with this world.
"Well, there ye are." Connar says, "Look, I see ye've got old Ghindor back... do ye think he could gather some fellers with good sword-arms? Come and find me tomorrow and let me know."
Byggvir looks to the man barking orders.
"I am looking to speak with Ynyr Glasseg. I wish to see if he needs any extra sword arms on your next caravan."