It is the dead of winter in the cold lands ruled by the barbaric Linnorm Kings, and despite your bodies knowing that is morning, darkness retains its grip on the heavens. You won't see the sun for a few more hours, and it will only remain for a little while, as is common this time of year. Despite the lack of daylight, the village begins its daily routine. The village warriors begin their training routines, the blacksmiths of Torag light their forges, and the merchants begin opening up their shops.
Give me a little bit of how your day opens up, everyone.
Livana finishes a light breakfast and looks out into the wilds. She returns to the hearth and checks on her herbs. They have almost finished drying, they will be ready to take to market once the sun has risen.
As she heads out into the snow covered hills, a fox bounds out of the darkness and begins pacing next to her. Its nose twitches constantly as it scans the area for scents. Every once in a while as they wander the wilds, its ears perk up and it runs off into the trees to take care of fox business before returning to her side. As they walk, Livana searches for the signs of winter herbs in the brush and under the snow, stopping to make her daily harvest.
She sings quietly to herself as she walks, enjoying the sights and sounds of the world waking up. As the animals begin to stir in their dens while the nocturnal ones return to bed down, the birds begin to sing, and Livana begins to feel alive. She unties the fur cloak that she wears to keep the other villagers less suspicious of her and lets the wind caress her bare arms, reveling in the sensation.
As the sun begins to crest the horizon she circles to head back, taking a different route to ensure she has enough herbs for today. Returning to her small cottage she checks on her still snoring father and takes a place by the fire. She curls up with the fox and rests for a short while, stroking the animal's back and murmuring to it while she mentally prepares herself for dealing with villagers.
After about an hour she collects up the now dried herbs, places her new haul in its place, reties her cloak, dons her gloves, and heads south. She bids the fox farewell as it heads off to hunt and strides into the village. Head held high, she stares straight forward and ignores the sidelong glances and occasional glares as she enters to the market to trade her freshly cured Winterbite for supplies.
I wonder if Thorfinn or Klaus are in the village today? If not I might have time to visit them before returning home. It's always nice to see an actual friendly face.
Ingrid made her way into the village in the early morning. Resting on her shoulder was a monstrously large axe, a tool obviously for war. What hung from it were the carcasses of a half dozen rabbits, a fox, and a handful of birds, which she was bringing in to sell. A trapper by trade, she usually hunted just to feed herself and her mother, but there were things which they needed that they couldn’t make themselves. And that requires frequent trips into town. At the moment what she wanted was to get her boots mended. They were showing signs of wear, and having wet feet meant losing toes. That, and some mead. The nights were cold, and anything that brought joy was to be cherished.
She didn’t expect anyone to greet her as she walked in. Foedottir, they called her. It was true enough. Her orc-blood was evident. It could be seen in her skin, her ears, her eyes. Even her build. The axe she carried was far too much for most men of the village. But at least they had stopped being nasty. The sight of her coming in to trade had eventually become mundane. So usual that it was accepted.
Still, she kept an eye out for any friendly faces. Bragi, for example. Or the other sources of gossip, like the white-haired duo, or poor scarred Klaus. Not that anyone would ever call Klaus’ face friendly. But she liked them, because they never treated her poorly. Not that she expected to run into any of them. She was just coming in to sell and trade in the early morning. It was, in all likelihood, to be just a day like any other.
After a long night on duty, Thorfinn prepared to leave his post outside the local Abadaran bank-temple. It was rare for a non-Abadaran to have such duty, but rumors of orcs on the march had prompted the priest to bring on some extra help, and Thorfin's unusually keen vision made him a better night watchman than most of the local men-at-arms. As his relief arrived, he nodded to the man, took up his spear, and stepped outside. Perhaps a meal at the tavern, then I can swing by the market before heading back. he thought.
Klaus starts his day, like most of the village, long before there is any real sunlight. One gets used to twilight conditions when one lives here. As much as he hates wearing the bulky cold weather outfit, it does keep him mostly warm as he moves around from the house to a small greenhouse behind it. He checks the charcoal track under the building and adds the required blocks to keep it burning slow through the day. It keeps the temperature above freezing in the building so the herbs that he grows have a chance once the little bit of sunlight is received. The herbs he grows supply his mother with needed supplies for poultices for healing when she can't use her magic. This is a rare occurrence, but nobody wants to be unprepared if they are needed. Surrounded by living plants he kneels and focuses his mind on Gozreh, thanking him for the clear, although cold weather, and requesting the specific magical powers that he might need for the day.
Morning chores complete he bundles back up and moves outside. He pauses and looks out toward the cave that had been his life. He knows it's only a skewed memory of his past, but he wonders how the years would have gone if they'd been able to move to some other town, or maybe a larger village where the people weren't so superstitious. Realizing that there is no purpose to such thoughts he turns toward the house to see what help his mother might need. Getting some breakfast would also be nice....
Once the horizon starts showing a bit more light indicating that the sun would be rising slightly above barely visible, Klaus headed toward the center of the village. Not that he wanted to socialize with those that despised even seeing him, but there were a few that at least tolerated seeing him and most others at least ignored him and allowed him to listen to the conversations and take word back to his mother. Besides, being away from the home allowed some of the 'gentlemen' of the village to call on his mother. He guessed that was a good thing.
Though he had never seen it with his own eyes, Bragi often dreams of the sea. His father had described its blue-green expanse in such vivid detail, he sometimes had trouble distinguishing his own childhood memories from the raider's stories. Such was his imagination, that he came up with is own tales of adventure before he was able to lift a sword, putting into words his nightly reveries. Perhaps he had something of her mother's gift of sight beyond sight, and these were visions of the future, past, or far-off places in the present. He hoped for the former, more than anything.
Woken by the spray of imaginary waves, Bragi stifles a pang of disappointment. Stretching and yawning, he leaps out of bed, only to stumble on some of his younger cousins, still asleep on furs laid across the floor. He kicks them lightly, reminding them of a verse in the Gorumskagat:
"He must rise betimes who fain of another
or life or wealth would win;
scarce falls the prey to sleeping wolves,
or to slumberers victory in strife."
The children scatter, and Bragi takes a moment to wash his face and braid his beard, before descending from the loft into the main hall. Once a single longhouse, the building had been added to as the family had outgrown its bounds. His grandfather had sired a dozen children, though only half of them survived into adulthood—the remaining lot had not slacked in their marital duties, either, resulting in twice again as many grandchildren. Though some had moved to other homesteads with their spouses, most of them stayed, if not for love or a sense of familial duty, then for the safety in numbers and the promise of inheritance.
Bragi greets his aunts, uncles, and cousins, both blood-kin and in-laws, who have all gathered on benches along long, oaken tables surrounding a central fireplace. As it often was, the chief himself did not join his progeny for their morning meal—in his old age, Unnarr did not sleep as well as he used to, and woke up early to inspect his holdings. Making his way to the hearth, the young skald heaps his plate with rye bread and slices of ham. His mother drops a generous chunk of butter on his porridge, smiling warmly as she does. There is work to be done, she reminds him, and it would not do to face the cold with an empty stomach.
He is soon waved over by his cousin Kjell, often called Grim-Kjell for his perpetually sour mood.
"Someone should remind him there are months 'till the sowing season," he grumbles. "I spent the better part of yesterday going through the plows for for cracks or dents, though there is still frost in the ground. Good work for children or thralls, maybe, but not grown warriors!"
"Oh, by all means," laughs Bragi, as he settles in. "You tell the old man what for, if you wish to get thrown out and winter with the wolves!"
Having broken their fast, the two down their last mugs of mulled ale before donning their arms and armour, and swaddling themselves in furs against the biting cold. There was little fear of an attack en route to the village, an hour's ride bearing only broken tools for the dwarves' forge, but on the return trip they would be carrying a shipment of salt—worth its weight in gold, and more than enough of it to tempt respectable men into murder.
Snow crunches under the horses' hooves as they guide their carriage out of the wooden palisade surrounding the homestead, marking the extend of their grandfather's holdings. The journey through the twilit forest is a quiet one. Though he is a dependable man and a capable fighter, Grim-Kjell is not known for his love of conversation, and though Bragi is quite fond of the sound his own voice, he soon finds himself hoping for a more lively companion.
Dyrm had early morning work, well, assuming one doesn't measure morning by the crack of dawn which is often a lost cause in these climes, getting the fires stoked and started. It's no nevermind to him really, he's got stamina even if his father fears he'll never really dedicate himself as much to crafting as befits a Torag worshiping dwarf. Yes, even before the shops open, the forge must be alive and tended to.
So he got the work of preparing everything, some would say beneath him, but there is trust in it. Tools not tended proper could break, bellows had to be clear or they'd throw the heating off ...
So for an hour or so, the young dwarf did his task until it was warm enough that folks passing by could feel the heat from the open window.
Then finally, Utoria walks in. His adopted sister is fully Ulfen, meaning she towers over her brother and then some, even as she takes her braids and binds them behind her for safe smith work. Well he remembers when she first caught one on fire. She's a better steel worker than he is, but if she ever gets too fresh about it, he can just call her 'Wick Head' and she blushes and pipes right down.
Lately, Utoria has been getting eyes from some of the lads in the village, and only now is Drym catching on that by human standards she has "filled out nicely". As her brother, he has considered discouraging some of the lads from doing just that.
"I'll take it from here, " Utoria says, "You haven't broken fast yet. I set some stew outside."
He could smell it, rich and meaty, a treat...though what kind of meat he didn't guess.
"Thanks, Sister mine. You'll find all in good care," And he went outside towards the outter wall of the smithy with the bench that allowed the heat of the building to be felt while still able to see those that wandered by.
Kinnith inhales the cold air deeply. He blinks his eyes open and climbs out of his blanket. He looks up at the fading stars for a moment before rolling his blanket up. He picks up his gear and slings yesterday's catch over his back before heading in to town to trade.
And he went outside towards the outter wall of the smithy with the bench that allowed the heat of the building to be felt while still able to see those that wandered by.
Some minutes later, a while after Dyrm has finished his meal, a carriage rumbles up the village road. Two horses driven by two armed men, the covered wagon rattles under the weight of its burden. Easily recognised by his red beard, Bragi can be seen tapping his foot on the toe board, impatient.
As soon as he spots the dwarf, he jumps off the driver's seat and saunters up to the smithy, leaving his cousin to grumble about having tie up the horses by himself.
"Well met, friend!" says Bragi, his breath fogging up in the cold air. "Have you got anything warm to drink, for a couple of thirsty travellers?"
Pushing back his fur-lined hood and removing his gloves, the skald cranes his neck to peer past the dwarf, into the forge. "...is your sister in, by any chance?"
"SHE Is busy at the forge and can't be gabbing now," The dwarf says "I can get you something warm, sure... a weak cider do you and your cousin? We can heat it"
Weak is putting it mildly, but it does heat nicely. Later in the day, it's less watered down.
The Dwarf says "And how is it with you and yours?"
Bragi smiles widely. "Ah, well. I suppose your ugly mug will have to do for company, then..."
He takes the offered cider, passing a cup to his cousin, who soon starts unloading the contents of the wagon: tools and kitchen utensils of all kinds, bundled up neatly for easy transport. Meanwhile, Bragi sits down next to Dyrm, sipping his drink and warming his hands on the cup.
"My grandfather sends his regards," he says, "and a bunch of busted-up tools to hammer back into shape, or to be replaced if need be. There is no hurry, as long as they are ready for spring. You can keep the rest for scrap."
The skald leans into the heat of the smithy, loosening the scarf around his neck. "Not much to tell, for news. My cousin Sigrún had a son a couple of weeks back, and we are still waiting for my mother to pick him a name. Other than that, the old man is set on making sure no one grows fat and lazy during the winter, but it is all busywork. Nothing ever happens here! I was half hoping someone would jump us on the way—verily, I long to wet my axe with raven-wine..."
He taps the haft of his weapon, which is laid sideways on his lap. "Maybe we will have better luck on the return trip, eh?"
Grim-Kjell grunts in response, side-eyeing his cousin as he does all the heavy lifting.
Livana arrives at market, shooting one longing glance at her cousins talking to the dwarf as she passes. It's so easy for them to get along... After trading her herbs for some coin, she picks up some supplies and then starts going from shop to shop looking through the goods.
I know father wants us to save some, but there might be some nice ivory jewelry. It's often cheaper this time of year when everyone just wants furs.
He'll end up just spending it on drink anyways.
Livana-As Livana is pouring over a pair of Ivory earrings, discounted to only 2gp, she notices a small squad of mounted warriors enter the village. Many of them wear helmets revealing youthful faces, but the two men at the forefront, she recognizes as being village elders. One of them is Unnarr, one of the village's most prominent warriors. The other she recognizes as Arorok Helmwatch, the high priest of Torag. A pair of warriors splits off from the main group. She loses sight of them as the main group head for a large hall in the center of town. You know that the hall is usually empty, except for when the elders hold meetings. Usually, advance notice is sent out to the villagers so they everyone can listen to the deliberation of the elders. It is rare indeed for them to hold council on short notice like this.
Ingrid-As you head to town with your catch, you see a large pool of blood just ahead of you.
Thorfinn-Thorfinn is enjoying his morning meal at the tavern when an armored warrior enters. He recognizes the man as Boralis. Boralis is young and energetic, but not particularly seasoned. "Hey Wyrmblod, I have a summons for your from the elders. They have asked me to bring you directly to them."
Klaus-Klaus is passed by the team of Ulfen warriors. They don't pay him any mind, but he is able to see the prominent riders easily. He watches them enter the hall.
Bragi and Drym-As you are chanting about, you notice that a mounted warrior is approaching you. He bears the sigil of the house of Bragi's grandfather. "Good morning, Bragi," he says. "Grandfather has asked you to report to the council. I'm going to take the salt back to the estate with Grim-Kjell. The high priest of Torag has also requested your assistance Dyrm."
Kinnith-The group of mounted warriors passes you just as you enter the village limits. You can see the two warriors break off and the main contingent entering the village hall.
Bragi smiles widely. "Ah, well. I suppose your ugly mug will have to do for company, then..."
A grin and in dwarven
"My grandfather sends his regards," he says, "and a bunch of busted-up tools to hammer back into shape, or to be replaced if need be. There is no hurry, as long as they are ready for spring. You can keep the rest for scrap."
"We'll dicker on price and trade later on when we get a look see at what can be salvaged, but you know us, always happy for a bit more to do around here."
The skald leans into the heat of the smithy, loosening the scarf around his neck. "Not much to tell, for news. My cousin Sigrún had a son a couple of weeks back, and we are still waiting for my mother to pick him a name. Other than that, the old man is set on making sure no one grows fat and lazy during the winter, but it is all busywork. Nothing ever happens here! I was half hoping someone would jump us on the way—verily, I long to wet my axe with raven-wine..."
"How about a good Dwarven name? Might help his beard grow in the future." At the complaining of nothing ever happening, "Sometimes I think that's not all together a bad thing, my friend, though I know you long for a chance to prove yourself. Perhaps I would not object to a little change now and then, not that I would want my father to hear that." A chuckle.
He taps the haft of his weapon, which is laid sideways on his lap. "Maybe we will have better luck on the return trip, eh?"
Grim-Kjell grunts in response, side-eyeing his cousin as he does all the heavy lifting.
Dyrm has gotten up to help Grim-Kjel, work he is not afraid of... when...
Bragi and Drym-As you are chanting about, you notice that a mounted warrior is approaching you. He bears the sigil of the house of Bragi's grandfather. "Good morning, Bragi," he says. "Grandfather has asked you to report to the council. I'm going to take the salt back to the estate with Grim-Kjell. The high priest of Torag has also requested your assistance Dyrm."
Dyrm turns immediately, "He's requested me as HIgh Priest and not family... this could be serious." He tells Braggi, then nods back to the warrior, "I thank you for your message, Torag Shield you when life strikes hard."
He calls out to his sister, telling her of the scrap and weapons waiting and how he must go, before starting off, presumably with Braggi, but it is cleary after grabbing weapons and the like he is wasting no time getting to the council.
Seeing the group move towards the council chamber, Livana forgets all about jewelry and sighs in frustration. Father used to be called to these as the village's Priest of Tolc. If I hadn't grown up strangely he'd be here instead of sleeping one off at home.
Feeling guilty about the social damage she has done to her beloved father, she quietly walks towards the village hall, hoping to be allowed to witness what is happening, or at least overhear some information she can take home.
“Ingrid-As you head to town with your catch, you see a large pool of blood just ahead of you.”
Seeing a large pool of blood just ahead of her, Ingrid came to a halt. It wasn’t like the villagers to leave a mess like that. It attracted all of wrong type of attention from the denizens of the icy wastes. She freed her axe of the burden which was her wares and carefully stowed them away before creeping forward to investigate.
Klaus steps aside as the warriors pass, not wanting to be noticed or recognized. Seeing the group heading for the hall he follows a respectful distance behind. He knows he wouldn't be invited in, but does want to hear anything important that might be spoken of. It would be nice to have a good story to tell his mother when he returns.
Thorfinn's eyes narrow at the summons, but he nods and rises, leaving payment on he table and grabbing a last biscuit to eat as he goes. As they approach, he notices Livana heading the same way. Catching her eye, he gives her a quizzical look. I wonder if she knows what is going on.
"How about a good Dwarven name? Might help his beard grow in the future."
Bragi laughs. "As true as that might be, his mother would likely want a son taller than a goat is high."
As you are chanting about, you notice that a mounted warrior is approaching you. He bears the sigil of the house of Bragi's grandfather. "Good morning, Bragi," he says. "Grandfather has asked you to report to the council. I'm going to take the salt back to the estate with Grim-Kjell. The high priest of Torag has also requested your assistance Dyrm."
The skald looks in confusion at the rider, then wrinkling his brow at Dyrm and Grim-Kjell in turn. "What, a thing? Now?"
Dyrm turns immediately, "He's requested me as HIgh Priest and not family... this could be serious." He tells Braggi.
Bragi nods, though he does not appear overly concerned: as soon as he gets over his initial confusion, he is filled with excitement. He only barely stops himself from rushing off, instead waiting impatiently for Dyrm to gather his arms and armour before setting forth.
There is a spring in his step as he walks towards the meeting hall, axe slung over one shoulder.
"What do you think it is?" he muses. "Orcs? Giants? Maybe even a dragon! They would not be asking for warriors, if there is no fight to be had..."
Kinnith changes directions to go to the hall. Maybe the lord will need me again. Best show up. He leaves his catch outside the hall, hanging from a hook if possible, and tries to enter.
Bragi nods, though he does not appear overly concerned: as soon as he gets over his initial confusion, he is filled with excitement. He only barely stops himself from rushing off, instead waiting impatiently for Dyrm to gather his arms and armour before setting forth.
There is a spring in his step as he walks towards the meeting hall, axe slung over one shoulder.
"What do you think it is?" he muses. "Orcs? Giants? Maybe even a dragon! They would not be asking for warriors, if there is no fight to be had..."
"We will learn when we get there I am sure but of your ideas I'd say more likely orcs... but too soon to say. Whoever or whatever it is, they shall regret making bad blood with the sons of Northlight"
Ingrid-Amid the blood covered snow, you find four bodies. Their skin has been shredded by some kind of razor like blade, and now that you look closer, you see that the blood has crystallized like it flash froze before it hit the snow. The corpses are cold and brittle. Oddly enough, none of their gear has been taken, and there are no tracks around.
As the others move toward the hall, they are shut out as Bragi, Dyrm, and Thorfinn are allowed entry by the guards.
Once inside, Bragi, Dyrm, and Thorfinn are greeted by several of the village elders. Chief among them are the greying, human warrior, Unnarr, and the stout priest-smith, Arorok. The Ulfen Raider is the first to speak. “Bragi, I know that you have long waited to test yourself, and now your patience could pay off. One of our patrols has gone missing and I am going to task you with the mission of finding out what happened to them. Dyrm, your sire has deemed your skills worthy enough to help Bragi in this matter, and I am going to send you out into the wild with him. Thorfinn, your temper has gotten you a reputation among the warriors here, but I have also seen you stalwartly defend the civilians of Northlight. I think you have great promise, with the proper direction. You, as well, will accompany Bragi. Take anyone else you think would be of value in Your mission. This map will detail the patrol’s route and hopefully aid you in tracking them down.” He hands you a rolled up scroll of parchment. “I look forward to hearing your success.”
Ingrid froze, her breath caught in her throat. This was murder. And not the kind that she would expect. If this was the work of orcs then they would have been hacked apart. Giants would have crushed them. Any animal would have savaged the bodies. But this? This was unnatural. She looked around for any sign of tracks, and felt panic mount when she couldn’t find any. What could have done this?
With axe in hand she took off in a full run towards the village. The animals she had caught lay near the bodies, left behind in her haste. She had to tell someone? But who? Who would listen to her? Who wouldn’t blame her? Fear gripped her heart then. Would they blame her for the deaths? Perhaps. Especially now that her tracks were all that any would find. She slowed for a moment, but then picked up speed. It didn’t matter. She had nowhere to go. She had to find a guard, or make it to the great hall to tell the elders.
Bragi listens intently to the assignment. He throws a sceptical glance at Thorfinn, but nevertheless turns to the elders and gives a salute—bringing his right fist to his chest, near the heart, as if swearing a vow. The solemnity of the gesture is only partly undermined by the wolfish grin on his face.
"Of course, grandfather," he says. "You can count on me."
After receiving the scroll, the unrolls it, scanning the map for clues—and giving the others a moment to bring up any questions he might not have thought to ask.
Dyrm glances to Thorfin and nods, not as skeptical ad Braggi, then sayss to the elders, "We shall not fail the village. May we have Torag's blessing afore we go?"
The patrol route would have taken them to the western mountains. From there they would have followed the border of the mountain range south. The trip should have taken about a week and they were to send runners back of anything out of the ordinary was spotted. Despite only being about a hundred miles, the patrol route passes through rough terrain that slows progress. While the mountain range is known to be perilous, the creatures of the mountains typically stay in the mountains, and the patrol makes sure nothing threatens the village’s survival.
At Dyrm’s request, High Priest Arorok approaches the party,. “May the gaze of Torag watch over you. My his hammer smoothen your path. May his shield protect you from danger. And by his mercy, may you return safely.” And and that, you are given permission to depart the town hall.
Anyone listening from outside would have been able to hear the conversation inside.
Klaus hadn't expected to be allowed into the hall so hadn't even approached the door. But when it was closed he moves up and leans against a wall where he knows he might hear some of what is discussed. He tries to look casual hoping to be ignored, as usual.
Overhearing the details of the missing patrol Klaus decides that he wants to be included with the group. If he can prove himself useful the people of the village would finally have to realize that his birthmark was just a birthmark and not some evil omen.... He waits for the group to depart.
Ingrid continued running towards the great hall to tell someone in charge about the bodies.
Dyrm is grateful for the blessing, and immediately departs, presumably with Bragi along side.
And nearly jumps out of his skin should he notice Klaus lurking outside, "Winter's Bones,man! What are you peeping around for?"
Livana, excited now that the others were finally coming out, was not at all surprised that they didn't even acknowledge her presence. Odd that they'd still shun me but greet Klaus so readily. I shouldn't be surprised though.
Stone-faced, she waits to see if they will treat her almost-friend well or if this is just the precursor to mockery and disdain.
Bragi receives the priest's blessing without a complaint, though he is obviously keen to be on his way. Once the ceremony is done with, he strides out alongside Dyrm, standing tall and proud. He passes Klaus with nary a glance, instead aiming to make himself the centre of attention as soon as possible.
Putting on the airs of a true chieftain, the skald makes good use of his prodigious lungs, raising his axe and calling out to those gathered in his booming baritone. Rather conspicuously, folded up in his other hand is the map, as if he was tempting his listeners with the secrets it might contain.
"I have need of good trackers," he declares, "as well as warriors of bravery and wit. There is glory enough for all in my cohort, for those who would seize it. What say you? I should hope there are a few able men and women amongst the lot of you, ones courageous enough to the dare the wilderness..."
Dare I risk it? There's a chance of nothing but derision coming from this.
Livana stares at Bragi for a minute and then takes a tentative step forward. "You all well know that I know the wilds and those that live there."
She waits for a response without formally offering her aid. It's better to be ignored than declined.
Ingrid came running up at that point, just in time to hear Bragi’s speech. She came to a halt. Bragi! There was someone she could tell. Someone who wouldn’t blame her. Perfect. All she had to do was find the right time.
”Yes, yes.” She said, face somewhat flushed from the run. ”You have my axe.”
Glad to see Dyrm as one of the first to leave Klaus accepts the term 'peeping' without a flinch. "I was excluded from the lodge, and accept that as valid. But I listen to see if anything may affect my house. My mother has no husband due to my curse so I act as the head of my family. I would join your team to locate the missing scouts, if you'll have me."
Livana stares at Bragi for a minute and then takes a tentative step forward. "You all well know that I know the wilds and those that live there."
Though he is obviously taken aback by Livana's sudden emergence, Bragi only misses a beat. He strokes his beard, briefly looking her up and down.
"Hm. Best not to appear ungracious, as my first act in command..."
"Only a fool wilfully deprives himself of good counsel," he says sagely. "Would you lend me your wisdom, cousin?"
”Yes, yes.” She said, face somewhat flushed from the run. ”You have my axe.”
The skald looks curiously at Ingrid, noting her windedness. Nevertheless, he nods approvingly.
"Lo!" he intones. "Here we have a huntress of considerable prowess, strong of arm and keen of eye! I would be honoured if you joined my band, friend."
Glad to see Dyrm as one of the first to leave Klaus accepts the term 'peeping' without a flinch. "I was excluded from the lodge, and accept that as valid. But I listen to see if anything may affect my house. My mother has no husband due to my curse so I act as the head of my family. I would join your team to locate the missing scouts, if you'll have me."
Bragi frowns. "Not quite the band I was hoping for, but I suppose one must be content with the offerings of fate..."
"Scarred one," he says. "You speak with the land-spirits, do you not? I daresay that might be a great boon beyond the bounds of this village, in the deep wilderness where the comforts of hearth and home fade away, and the niceties of men hold no sway. You are more than welcome!"
"It would appear Torag provides, though his wayss are a mystery to me." He ponders, "Well, KLaus, you have the right. All of you do. We are all of Northlight, and every one of us has the right to defend the homes and families we love. Speak your wisdoms, our ears are open." But I must be careful not to be so openminded my brains should fall from my skull.
"I am a tracker, and I served our lord before. I would serve him again by going with you. If you'll have me."
Ingrahild took a deep breath, looking around nervously. ”Good. Good. Well if we are to defend our homes, then come with me. I was running here to tell the eld-you know what? Just come and see for yourself. There isn’t time to explain, and I don’t want to cause a panic.” She looked at Bragi with an expression that all but begged him to trust her on this.
"I am a tracker, and I served our lord before. I would serve him again by going with you. If you'll have me."
"Good to hear," says Bragi—approvingly, though not without a hint of sardonicism. "No warrior should wallow in the faded accomplishments of yesteryear, when there is glory to be won in the now!"
The skald looks over the volunteers, counting with his fingers. "This should do—seven is an auspicious number, after all."
Ingrahild took a deep breath, looking around nervously. ”Good. Good. Well if we are to defend our homes, then come with me. I was running here to tell the eld-you know what? Just come and see for yourself. There isn’t time to explain, and I don’t want to cause a panic.” She looked at Bragi with an expression that all but begged him to trust her on this.
Bragi's eyes narrow. He hefts his axe, and nods gravely. "Lead the way."
Surprised but heartened that she was not rejected, Livana looks around at the unusual group that seems to have formed. A strange team, but that often means a good one if the stories can be trusted. Let's see how well it works.
"Let us get moving then. I've spent enough time in these cramped streets and wish to get out into the open. Once we are afield I will enlist a scout for us."
Ingrid leads the party back west to the spot where she found the corpses. They remain undisturbed. This is the direction the patrol would have come from when they returned to the village. Bragi, Dyrm, and Kinnith know the men who lay dead in the snow. They were designated runners during patrols. It was there job to return to town if their group found anything suspicious, or dangerous. It looks like they were beset by something while returning to town. Upon closer inspection, it looks like there is a trail of large footprints leading away from the battleground and back towards the mountains. There were two attackers who would have been larger than any orc or human and barefoot on top of it.
”See? Look.” There was anxiety in her voice, which did not at all match her build...or oversized axe. ”I found them not long ago. Look. They were killed with a blade, something small, like a razor. And if you look closer, the blood crystallized. As if it froze before it hit the stone. And the bodies? They are brittle. This isn’t natural. And there weren’t any tracks earlier, but now they are. I think that whatever did this used magic, and that it didn’t happen too long ago.” As she spoke she grew calmer. There was no way she could be blamed for this. Now with the method of death being so far removed from anything she could do.
Receiving the acceptance from both Bragi and Dyrm, Klaus relaxes muscles that he hadn't realized were tense. Did he really need the approval of others? That came as a surprise to him....
He watches and listens as others join the group. He notices that Ingrid seems more nervous than usual and focuses on her words. She had seen something that would upset many in the village? Perhaps it was best to follow Bragi's lead and not discuss it in front of the lodge with too many ears around.
When the group arrives at the scene of carnage they don't need to examine the bodies for how they were killed. The large tracks are ominous, but should be easy to follow.... "They obviously aren't concerned about being caught. No attempt at all to cover their tracks!"
Livana says nothing as she surveys the scene. After a minute she utters a yipping sound and a white fox comes running to her side from over a hill. She looks down at it, points to the bodies, the tracks, and the mountains and simply says "Crys; Scout. Track." As it sniffs around the corpses and runs off she then bends down to investigate the bodies.
"I see nothing completely obvious about what might have caused this, but let me look a bit closer"
Crys:
(37 for anything he can detect via scent)
Scowling at the inclusion of the Druid marked by evil, Thorfinn nonetheless goes along quietly. Not my place to decide who joins. I suppose I'm lucky to be here at all.
Later....
Thorfinn closely examines the blood and the wounds.
Bragi reflexively spits over his left shoulder, a ward against witchcraft. He takes in the gruesome scene with a mixture of anger and excitement. This was the stuff of legend, just like the beginnings of so many stories of heroism: a mysterious death, followed by the avenging of dead kinsmen. Then again, it was a shame these people had to pay the price for his future greatness...
Momentarily overcome by so grievous a thought, he recites:
"Great our fame though we die
today or tomorrow;
No one outlives the night
when the Norns have spoken."
After that has been said, he joins the others in inspecting the scene...
"These are the runners," he says after a moment. "Something must have happened to their patrol, but they might still live. We have to hurry."
The skald hands the map to Ingrid, who is the tracker he trusts the most. "Their attackers might have come down from the western mountains. We will follow the tracks, or failing that, the patrol's route in the opposite direction."
Glad to be entrusted with something so important, Ingrid went to work plotting their course.
Once the direction is given Klaus steps back from the immediate front of the group. Livana calls her fox to her and sets it to tracking, and Ingrid was also well known for tracking. He watches as they move along for any deception in the tracks, false trails created or anything that might send followers off. He also watches the distance for anything hidden, like perhaps a trap. Such an easy trail is a concern....
Livana doesn't detect any magic in the area. If magic was used, it's dissipated by now.
Bragi and Ingrid identify the tracks as belonging to a pair of yeti. You know the Yeti are bipedal creatures that average about 9ft tall. Primitively intelligent, but incredibly strong, they are excellent night hunters and can track by smell. They are feared among your village as being the winter's spite incarnate. They are unfazed by even the fiercest freeze. Their claws can rip a man's warmth from his body while tearing him right in half. The toughest Ulfen warriors have contracted frostbite from it's touch as the skin blackens into a large palm shape, but the worst part is the eyes. The gaze of a yeti's eyes will freeze you in your tracks as if your muscles had turned to ice.
Traditionally, the yeti stay secluded in the mountains, away from human contact, but they do come down from the mountains every now and again. Such attacks result in a string of deaths as the yeti preys upon villagers and livestock, but they are always put down by the guard eventually. Regardless, seeing two of them so far out of the mountains means trouble.
Crys and Ingrid are able to follow the trail, and you manage to reach the first hills before the night begins to fall. You manage to find a cave that patrols from your village often use. It provides you with enough shelter from the cold.