Flip a Coin

Silvester was Tired

He had been in and out of combat all day and had barely slept either of the last two nights, fighting off waves of gargoyles, bandits, crows, spawn, and whatever else this land had decided was fit to throw at her ladyship. And now here he was again walking amicably up a hill with Java and Father Erasmus to hopefully save Mari-Lywd and protect Runeheim from these Vulgaris .
“So what do we have to deal with these mages?” He asked the group.
“Just my sword today, but if you fall here I can get you back to your house,” the Father promised.
Silvester nodded in thanks and glanced at Java, who was quieter than Silvester had come to know from her. She looked straight ahead and marched past him.

“Just my magic.”

Instantly, he was back. In the woods, in front of Java as bandits surrounded them. Her magic keeping them at bay, doing her most to protect them.
Then, in the dark, a scant few torches lighting up the shadows of the monastery courtyard. Just enough to know they were surrounded. The knot at their backs, the pain and frustration of a losing battle.
“Hey friend, we are friends. Come on, you don’t want to do this…”
A familiar voice. Tearing his eyes away from the Shadows, from the spawn, to see Java slam Lucian into the ground. He drew his bow and fired on instinct. What was happening!? Java looked at him with a slight head tilt, almost confused. Then her hands started to move.

“We’re here,” whispered the Father.

Silvester glanced around trying to collect himself. A snow packed clearing, two mages and the skeletal spirit they had come to rescue impaled on a spike. Yeah, they were in fact here. He was _here_ . The three of them looked at each other, nodded, and stepped into the clearing. As Silvester drew back his bow he wondered… which Java would he get this time?

Head(space)

Rhyme turned the bezoar over in their hand, reflecting silently on the way it cast flecks of golden light off into the far corners of the room. The Lady was gone now, and with her fled the feeble grapple for a distraction the mage had clung to in attempts to shut out the echo of voices thundering in their skull.

‘Your student is betraying you … He holds himself back from killing you.’ ███ ██████ ███████.

‘I’ll take care of Mother Amelia…’ ███ ██████.

‘You put everyone in danger … If you want to defect and join the Vulgaris then…go do it. Just leave me out of it.’ Matthias.

‘What you do– it’s against nature.’ ████.

‘You burned Rowan–’ Sir Rowland.

‘You lied to me.’ Malachi.

The harsh gravity of their mistakes ran through their mind on a tired loop, competing loudly to drown out the now-familiar chorus driving Rhyme towards indulgence of their abnormal psyche. The madness they could suppress if they put in the willpower to steel their mind; but the distinct absence of insanity left all the more room for reflection to steal its way in. Silence was never absolute.

‘You want to see true power? … Little Interloper … I can teach you.’ ███ ██████ ███████.

‘You are not free … I can almost see the weave– but you still have a role to play to make it clear to me.’ The Lady.

‘Rhyme, you need to slow down.’ Matthias.

‘We’ll figure this out.’ Sygrun.

‘What’s wrong with me?’ Jester. Dun. Beacon of the Fire Guild. Rook to a vampire. Soulsplit. Daemon-haunted. Insane. “Interloper”. Vulgaris-minded. “Hero of Dunland”. ████████. Malefactor. Ally. Enemy. Rhyme. O’shea.

Why couldn’t they get it right? The others have been patient so far– but that kindness won’t last forever. If they keep moving perhaps they could tamp down the swell of all this neglected emotion and bury this sense of unease. If they worked a little harder then maybe they could outpace their ignorance, and repair what rifts they’d sown. One more act– one more study– one more apology…

‘You’re telling me what happened– that has nothing to do with how you feel.’ Sir Jacqueline…

“I’m a problem. I’m a burden. All I ever do is push everyone away.” Rhyme couldn’t remember when they’d arrived before Malachi– or why they had deigned to tell him this. They clutched at the bezoar in their pocket like a lifeline as the unfamiliar sting of tears clawed their way out from someplace buried and bricked over.

“No, Rhyme. I’ll always be here.” He looked so sad when he said it.

▲▲▲

‘I find it best to set aside your defenses, and to simply act as you are. They just want to make sure that you’re safe.’ ████.

“Enough!” Rhyme cast the bezoar across the room, breathless by the time it had clattered into obscurity somewhere behind their bed. No sooner had they unhanded the item did the flood of insanity return to deafen all other intrusions.

‘Find the bezoars,’ it demanded. ‘Find them all. Get them. Hoard them. Think how pretty they’d look– all lined up on your mantle…’

Compared to all that had come prior, the return of this particular preoccupation was a welcome relief from introspection, and it was with a thin sheen of sweat that Rhyme finally dropped back onto their and Reason’s empty bed. While a hand over their eyes blocked out the faint reflection of moonlight glancing off the snow and through their window, their thoughts supplemented a dancing array of crystalline reflections to attest to the beauty of the many bezoars their addled mind craved. Yet– somehow– Rhyme began to drift towards sleep in spite of the star-bright fireworks lighting up the backsides of their eyelids.

‘They just want … sure … you’re safe…’ An echo…

‘Huh… Is that true…?’ They wondered blearily. That thought hadn’t ever occurred to Rhyme– genuinely. That alone made them feel more messed up than any amount of meddling the vampire, Alu– or even the daemon could do…

Unseen, Unheard

“TORA!”

“TORA!”

“I am right here!” I shouted, to no avail. I even tried to catch those dirty mage’s attention, Useless! you’d think with all the disgusting magic they use they would be able to see or hear me. Maybe that’s the problem, being chased by the Faeries my whole life has turned me into this, distrusting, miserable. I even dragged my poor Husband into this life. How could he leave me like that! chasing shadows in the woods, did our life running from shadows teach him nothing? How could he abandon us!?

I have to find a way back to my children.

Late winter – Lion Age 609

Will this ever end? Seasons have changed, nobles have fallen, Why am I still here? Unseen, Unheard.

The faerie queen told it true when she said she wouldn’t harm me, I can’t even waste away from hunger or cold. I am forced to exist in this place between, this accursed place. I will take my end into my own hands.

“Torkeld, I am coming.”

and with that, the Fae queen’s revenge on Astrid is complete.

Don’t step on the Flowers

When I was young, I used to travel the woods near our home in Hrafnvik, my Ma and Da would send me out for forage to add to dinner. I always loved the woods, the birds, the deer, the squirrels.

Often I was alone.

Not paying attention to my surroundings.

I saw a beautiful selection of flowers before me, and as I moved closer to identify them, I tripped on a root and squished some of them flat, I could swear I heard a tiny screaming sound.

It must have been my imagination, I was pretty imaginative after all. I collected what I could and began to walk home, but this time…

The birds were gone, the squirrels had quieted, and the deer had fled.

I was all alone, until I wasn’t.

Before me stood a being, otherworldly and mysterious, not a person or a plant, but other. It berated me and I fled crying.

I was only a child, I knew not what I had done.

I am still running.

Runeheim Lesson 1

Lucian gathers up Peter and his new friends.

“Welcome everyone I wanted to tell you all about some of the new things I learned about our new home. First off i want to say thank you for trusting me and not going with that stranger. From asking around I found out that they were either a fae of some variety or a member of a group of rogue wizards. Either way they would have been very bad to go with. I also met some scary new monsters. There were these big rock monsters that were super strong. According to the locals they were servants of the local spirit of the hunters. They were glowing a spooky green so if you see anyone or anything glowing green you should stay away and tell an adult. I also met some ghosts from under our new fortress. They could pass through walls and gave me and some of my friends a nasty disease. But don’t worry I am planning an expedition into the catacombs to see if I can put them to rest.

Also I heard that Silvester and some of the knights are working on taming a bear! If they manage I’ll see if they will let you all get to meet it. Now is anyone still interested in learning some math!

Winter comes

Tove: Father, you will not believe what I’ve done. Ser Knut has promised to wed me if I earn 500 gold. I would be married to a noble man, we would be so well cared for and not scraping by anymore as we have been. Finally there is an end in site, a goal I can achieve, are you proud?

Trygve: Gods needn’t waste their time with mortal concerns such as gold or marriage, daughter. You were born to inherit so much more than being a simple noble could ever offer you. What would your grandmother think of this mortal behavior, Tove. You need to be living your life in her footsteps, spreading her wrath, embracing the cold that is to befall all these men.

Tove sighs: Here we go again. For the last time, da, you are not the son of Sveas nor am I her granddaughter. How I wish for a moment of clarity from you just this once.

Trygve stares at the woman, eyes wide: I have never seen more clearly in my entire life, Tove. Death is coming, the nights are growing longer, the earth is frozen, our time to thrive nears.

Tove kicks her bag across the floor: old man, you’ll be the death of us both if you don’t button your lips for 20 minutes. There is a reason I don’t bring you into town with me, can’t you see? You’re absolutely mad. Disgraceful. Besides, have you even eaten today?

Trygve: Gods needn’t nourishment in the form of food to stay strong…

Tove: For fucks sake, eat your soup while I run you a bath. Just because you’re the son of Sveas doesn’t mean you need to have the stench of death wafting around you.

Tove rolled her eyes, warming water to bathe the senile old man. He was right, the cold is coming, the food will become scarce, winters are terrifying for us mortals.

Oddny – If Only, Part 2

The Night Lord’s Feast

Embla and I walk through the lavish halls, hands clasped tightly together, searching for what should be empty plates. Instead, the host stands at a heavy-laden table and loudly offers slices of cake and pie; welcoming everyone to share in his generosity. If only they could understand how much she will have to suffer on their behalf, to cover their indulgences.

“If only there was food to eat, I am so hungry, but there is none” Caterina’s accent makes the words sound a little strange, but never has companionship been such a balm. She didn’t know our traditions, but she was the first to listen and follow along when Embla explained it. Lord Rennett and his friends could learn a great deal from her.

Walking to our beds after leaving the feast, our conversation is interrupted by a shadow moving in the darkness, and a hissing noise from behind us. We all run, Caterina the only one of us with the presence of mind to yell “Vampire!” as she does. My own scream of “Help!” is cut off as I am knocked to the ground, my blood pooling beneath me. If only I had been aware sooner, I could have done more than just put my body between Embla and our foe. If I don’t recover, at least I will have died protecting her.

~~~~~~~~

Digging the Graves of the Kallevik Wolves

I stare at Vestri’s body, the armor I just finished now torn and bloodied. My gaze moves to Virgil’s body next to him. The half-finished armor in my bag grows heavy, weighed down by the deep wounds my work might have prevented. If only my fingers were faster. If only I knew how to craft better armor. Under different circumstances that might have helped them survive, but not in a fight against The She-Wolf. I shudder as I wonder if they fought more than just Her children.

As my arms tire, my mind goes back to the beginning of this day; when Tempest was jokingly telling everyone they were either ‘Vogel’ or ‘Not Vogel’ and put me in the first group. If only I could earn such an honor, to be grouped with the Savior of The Hunt. Now that I am the only ‘Vogel’ left alive, his story must be told.

Later that night, I tell Gren and Caterina what Embla and I have discussed. This place no longer feels safe, perhaps especially because the Disir were here. The way I see it, we have two options. We could stay here and work to support the people that so many have died for on this day. Or we could go find Neccio; and tell the stories of the dead on our way. None of us need to discuss our options or time to think on our choices. We will stay long enough to help at the farms to end the Drudgery; but after that we are gone. If only we could stay.

Oddny – If Only, Part 1

As we eat lunch before Convocation, Shadow Step approaches our table to say “I am looking for folks who can be unobserved for a task later today. If you know of someone, please send them to me.”

“What exactly do you need them to be able to do?” I reply, picturing hours spent silently in a hunter’s blind, barely moving until the time is right to let an arrow fly.

He explains “We need people who can move in the darkness without being seen by guards”

“If I know of someone, I will send them your way” I reply, dismayed at the memory of loud gravel crunching beneath my feet. If only their work was in the forest, or if only I was better suited for more crowded places.

~~~~~~~~

A few days after Forum, I sit alone in a patch of sunlight; hunched over bits of padding and scraps of leather; muttering my thoughts to myself as an armor sleeve slowly takes shape.

“Should we ask our clan for help?” Embla had asked this not long before she left to scout.

My answer tasted bitter on my tongue. “No, we know what their answer would be. They showed it when they sent us away”

An interesting twist of fate, that we find another Snow Lion trying to uncover what happened to the Stone Antlers. If only we could help him. If only they would come when we called. If only we could show them what we have made of ourselves upon their arrival.

~~~~~~~~

Preparing for Disblot

“Why must you be the Speaker for these people we hardly know, and for this place we just arrived at?”

I don’t bother to ask Embla this, because I already know the answer. Lord Rennet’s invitation to his Night Lords Feast the same night as the ceremony proves that no one here has ever felt the gaze of The World while they work. If only I had paid better attention to Mama, then I could be the one to bear the aching hunger and the sting of deception carved into my hands.

Väkislaaksoon

Runeheim Leadership

I have scouted the area nearby the fort in the mountains, and send Astrid, Ulla, and Bil to do the same. The following is my report.

The mountains laden with fog and sharp stones gave way to a lush valley with green grass and open air. A dried riverbed ran along the groove of it and when I followed it to its conclusion there appeared to be some kind of constructed tunnel leading into the mountain. It was beyond my expertise to go further, but the valley looks peaceful and I suspect the tunnel is dwarven in make. I would suggest reaching out to Norri, or some of his dwarf-friends before beginning a dig in the area to see what lie beneath the earth.

I will call this valley Vlakislaaksoon, translated into the common tongue, Valley of the Dwarves.

I will be making my way back to the fort now.

-Torkeld

Four Rituals

1.

When they ran ragged into Runeheim it was after dusk, with a ghost to greet them and undead on their heels. There was no time for arms lifted in Lion’s Paw greeting, no time for proper face paint and introductions, only confused kowtowing to a dead man from another land who didn’t have the decency to go haunt his own ancestor’s graveyards.

By the time Neccio and Katarina finally returned to the rented room to sleep, Embla had finished tying knots in straw pulled from the mattress and left them in a protective line across the threshold. The Hestrali stepped carefully over them without comment.

2.

The morning Embla leaves their camp outside Runeheim to go scouting, she prays. Kneeling in the field, the grass smells bright and earthy where her hands have dug through it and she breathes it in deep, like incense, like campfire smoke, once, twice. She puts a pebble in her mouth, lets the dirt coat her tongue and mix with her spit before tucking the stone into the pouch of her cheek. Grit rubs the back of her teeth when she speaks, the slightest slur when her words get stuck on the stone.

“White Benalus, lion of the desolate place, I submit to you in the wilderness.”

She bows her head, speaks her father’s words with her mother’s tongue, opens her eyes when she spits grit into the palm of her hand to mix with the fresh dirt already cupped there.

“Hide me from the eyes of bear and panther and evil men, save my courage for the dark.”

Embla smears the mud in two stripes from the corner of her eye to her temples, thick like gnarled tree bark, just another fir in the woods.

“Shine bright on running creeks so I may drink, and keep me from the desperation of still water.”

Clear water from her wineskin rinses off her hands, swirls cold as dew in her mouth and around the pebble. She spits the stone into her clean hand, dries it on her skirt, closes her first around it, breathes again, once, twice.

“By your torch alone will my feet be guided back to the hearth that knows me.”

She nods once, levers herself up, turns back to wait for the others to wake. The mud will be cracked and dry by the time they see it. The Hestralians will not ask, and she won’t offer. Oddny will not ask because she already knows.

When Embla hugs her cousin goodbye where the trail parts, she leaves the pebble in Oddny’s pocket and a smudge of dirt under her chin. The grit grinds in her teeth all day.

3.

The group of them stand around the midnight fire, Alma beaming and content with her strange Gothic oven next to her. Embla can feel the runes of deception painted on her hands, and is grateful for them even with an empty stomach. These outlanders come here, throw decadent parties on the eve of Disblot, draw the Old God’s jealous eye with no regard for the people who work the land who will suffer for it. They come here and bring their monsters with them, and now bring their evil relics with the claim they will feed the world, but forget to mention it is happy to let Njords starve.

It is a desecration of hospitality that takes Embla’s breath away. She will need to be a deceiver to take part in this “cleansing” ritual without losing her temper. The clank of armor and weapons in the dark around her is a constant reminder that even the most banal of rituals is done under the boot of foreigners these days.

When they ask for stories of meals, Embla speaks loudly of salmon and old men’s lies, tries to make eye contact with the young karls drinking across the fire pit. She raises her voice, as a Speaker, and wills them to hear the story under her story. She’s no skald, but she knows tales land like seeds in the hearts of Njords. It might take until next spring, but maybe one of them will grow.

4.

Acid roils in Embla’s aching stomach, partly the hunger and partly the rage. Oddny bumps against her shoulder as they both sprinkle ale over the six – no, seven – fresh graves they were leaving behind in Hrafnastali. Embla has already said her words, made her prayers, and now it is time for her and Oddny’s most sacred of traditions.

When they get back to the road proper, Embla grabs her cousin’s hand, plants her feet, and refuses to look back at Rennet’s shiny new gates. “Fuck this place,” she intones seriously. “And fuck these rich invaders.” Oddny nods, and they hurry to catch up with Katarina and Gren down the long road.