[quote=@Odin]
Ketill listened intently to Basim as he appeared to bear witness to the facts Najla had wanted to bring forwards. He could feel the fumes of anger within him, rising up to his throat as they had so often done in the past years, and for once he no longer felt the need to control it. They released when Basim had finished, and Najla and Basim spoke together in Sawarimic. With a roar he smacked his fist into the wooden stand in front of him, an eerie crack signalling the power in his strike. [i]‘’And in what world does a man pay tribute for that which he did not accept or agree to? I never asked this bitch to safe my life, she did that on her own accord.’’[/i] He was breezing now, and when he finished his eyes shot from the judges to Najla and Basim both, with something in them having shifted. But… it was not the same as it usually was – he’d looked angrily at her before, but never like this. 

The crowd itself was content to sit by and, truthfully, it would have been a lie to say that they did not wish for Ketill to deal with the situation right now. But regardless of how Najla saw him, Ketill was a man of honour still, and his debt to the gods would be repaid either through court or other means. [i]‘’Yes, I struck her husband. But she forgot to mention that I was called into her room that night purely so he could insult me. It was my good right as thrall to defend myself. But it seems that in this backwards country of theirs, a thrall has no right, not even the right to live!’’[/i]

Again he sent his fist into the stand, this time breaking one of the wooden panels that was meant to hold payment in the case wergild was demanded. [i]‘’Any man would have done the same if he was worth his name!’’[/i] For a moment it was silent, until sounds of agreement came from the crowd. 

They were forbidden from speaking into the althingi lest they be called forwards as witnesses, but it would be a fools errant to stop everyone from talking altogether. So, it was that knowledge that the crowd used to voice their agreement with the statement that any man should defend themselves from insults, lest their honour be harmed. Some men just nodded, hummed agreeingly, others clattered their spears against their wooden shields. 

When all turned silent again, Ketill continued, his temper tamed, but the anger still within him. [i]‘’Her family are all dead – but not because I live, it is because she married a man who saw gold and power within her, not love. I have no burden to bear in that regard and the only burden I would bear for her now is the weight of her body on my back after I kill her. I killed on her orders, I slayed Osman’s brother for her on her command, and her repayment is what, to tell me I am responsible for that too? The weight of her families death should fall on [B]HER[/B] shoulders, not mine!’’[/i]

Fearing a conflict, the prime judge stood up and raised his hands, and in an instant everything fell even more silent. The sounds of the forest around them were eerily noticeable now, from the squawk of a crow to the sounds of a squirrel running up a nearby tree. Momentarily the judge held his breath and glanced around, with weary eyes that were tired of the conflict. [i]‘’I should remind you all that the judges speak law from memory. We memorized the tales of the Gods, we are keepers of the runes, and we know all the laws passed down to us from the Gods themselves. This issue is one that has never been brought to us before, and one that there is no law for. Were we to apply the laws of our own people, it would be evident that the woman is guilty of her crimes in the eyes of the Gods.’’[/i]

While the crowd seemed to think that this meant that Najla was guilty, it was not the case, and Ketill knew it. This had been a foiled attempt from the start. But he had to try it, didn’t he? 

[i]‘’BUT! These crimes were not committed in our lands, and not by our people. And most certainly not under the eyes of our gods, and therefore not under our laws. To punish this woman for something she was unaware of would be unjust. But… it is also not our place to tell you, Ketill, son of Grimhildr, that your grievances are to be forgotten.’’[/i] 

The other judges stood up now and seemed ready to pass judgement, though it seemed already that there would be none. [i]‘’It is our judgement that we cannot pass judgement, as we cannot understand the laws of this foreign land, and we cannot know the details of the conflict. We cannot say whether the woman is guilty or innocent, and we cannot say whether Ketill would be within his right to take revenge on her.’’[/i] 

The crowd seemed conflicted about this sentence, though it was unclear whether that was because they had hoped for a death sentence, or an agreement to make her his thrall. Rather, they received nothing short of a neutral answer that did not swing either way in terms of guilt. It was not as exciting as they might have hoped, despite the exotic nature of the case. [i]‘’We can only hope that this is resolved in a way the gods would resolve it.’’[/i]

Ketill nodded to that, as they were right. The best way to do this was to do as the gods would do – and to know that, he would need to travel to the world tree. The judges were about to turn and leave, as the althingi was coming to an end. But Ketill asked his question quick enough to stop them. [i]‘’The gathering at the world tree. When is it?’’[/i] 

[i]‘’In four days,’’[/i] the reply came, again from the head judge. They then took their leave, and were not stopped. Now the festivities of the althingi would commence for the next days, though some would leave to go to the world tree. It was not too far – a conscious choice to hold the althingi close to such a holy place – and so they could easily have stayed, but Ketill did not wish to waste time. 

He left the stands, leaving Basim and Najla each to follow him on their own accords. They’d be headed back to the merchants tents, but not to stay for longer, but instead to thank them for their hospitality. When they arrived, the merchant and his sons were already packing. Ketill approached the merchant himself and extended his hand, which the man took and shook with great power. It was typical of the northerners to do everything with force and power, and this was no exception, so Ketill returned the favour, shaking his hand vigorously. [i]‘’Thank you for your generosity,’’[/i] he added, to which the merchant merely shook his head as if it was nothing. 

[i]‘’There is one thing you can do for me now,’’[/i] the man answered him then, and looked towards his sons, who were packing a variety of furs. [i]‘’My oldest is dedicating himself to Audrun.’’[/i] This was somewhat surprising, so Ketill glanced at the boys and saw that the oldest was wearing an amulet with the rune that signalled dedication to Audrun, so it was true. [i]‘’Take him with you to the gathering, if you would. I don’t think me or my wife can bear to watch it, no matter the honour it may bring us.’’[/i]

There was, in that moment, very little Ketill could have said or done, except to agree to the request. It was not like it would take a lot of effort, or any at all, as they would just have to accompany the boy. So, when it was clear that Ketill agreed, the man would finally have let go of Ketill’s hand and returned to his duties, seemingly not wanting to get into the details of the event. Ketill understood – in fact, he preferred not to talk about it himself. Dedicating yourself to Audrun was something that required strength and bravery, and it was not something that even Ketill himself could see himself doing. 

Ketill then turned to Yasamin, instructing her to get the horses. [i]‘’We are one of the few who have horses in this land, and we are the only ones that have horses that can ride fast, so see to it that nobody hassles you for them.’’[/i] Yasamin did not wait to reply, and stepped out immediately to get the horses. The warning to avoid anyone hassling her was likely not useful – it was not like she could do anything to protect herself at this point. [i]‘’As for you two,’’[/i] Ketill then said, turning to Najla and Basim. [i]‘’Get ready to leave. We are heading to the world tree. A holy site. The gods are at their strongest there. I need to… I need to see what they have to tell me.’’[/i] He completely ignored the outcome of the court ruling, seemingly not wanting to talk about it. He also failed to mention that another reason for visiting the world tree was that he’d stopped receiving visions, and had gotten worried that the gods had forsaken him for failing to kill Najla, like he had promised them. Perhaps at the world tree, he could set that right.

After the merchant’s family had said their goodbyes, to the son and brother that was dedicating himself, and to Ketill and his companions, the group would set out to reach the world tree. The landscape changed drastically during this trip, changing from a frozen underground with dustings of snow here and there in the areas that were located higher up. As the land rolled downwards from the mountains near the border with Broacien, the air became less thin, the temperature rose only slightly, and green life returned to the area. The ground was no longer frozen, though it was still hard, and was unsuitable for good farming, only allowing a few crops here and there in lucky places that were fertile enough to sustain life. 

Trees started cropping up and, unlike in Broacien, there were no real roads, just slight trails here and there that would the next closest thing to a road. In places, the land sagged and bogged, and turned muddy. These were places that slowed down the group the most of all, as only the son of the merchant’s horse, which was shorter and stouter than the horses Ketill and his group rode on, was capable of trudging through it without problems. 

This trip, which would have taken little under a day in an open, easily traversable landscape like the Broacienien forests or the Sawarim deserts, would now take them over three days. They arrived a day before the event would begin, which was lucky, for they would have time to visit the blót-hus, which would be recognized as the holy place of worship stood near the tree, where the gódi lived. 

Their arrival was, in truth, quite a sight to behold, even for Ketill. He’d seen the tree before, but it was so long ago that he had nearly forgotten. But it all came back to him – that giant tree that seemed to span into the heavens themselves. It was a giant oak, much larger than your average tree, and it was stood on a slight hill, elevating it above the trees around it even more – which were tiny oaks, firs and pines in comparison to this giant of wood. 

Hidden in the trees around it would be the blót-hus, a magnificent wooden house that seemed to blend in almost perfectly. The woodworking on it was incredible, of a quality that you could not find elsewhere. For their lack of technology, the Northerners were expert woodcrafters, and you would find no other people that were as crafty with the supplies they were given as the Northerners. It was seen in everything they did – in society, where surviving the winter was never a certainty, every part of everything was used, from the bones of a dead animal to the wood shavings of a finished wooden stake. Everything had it’s purpose. 

[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/Rt3Kc7e.jpg[/img]
The blót-hus of the world tree.[/center]

The group would leave their horses nearby, tied up to a wooden post, and then approach the blót-hus. As they entered, another group was just leaving, a family of five as it seemed, whose faces had curious symbols drawn in blood on them. [i]‘’Heil og sæl, bróðir,’’[/i] the oldest man said, who seemed to recognize Ketill instantly as a Northerner. Ketill returned the favour, repeating the phrase to the man and nodding his head as a sign of acknowledgement. 

Almost instantly Basim piped up, unable to contain his curiosity despite the fact that Ketill had his sister trialled. He awkwardly repeated the phrase to Ketill, who did not even recognize it at first. [i]‘’What he said, what does it mean?’’[/i] the boy asked, as the group was awkwardly stood halfway into the doorway. [i]‘’It’s a greeting, right?’’[/i]

[i]‘’Not so much,’’[/i] Ketill replied, placing his hand on the ring that hung from the door, pulling it open and revealing the interior of the blót-hus. [i]‘’It means healthy and happy. It’s the same as… when the Sawarim use his name as a manner of greeting. It’s courtesy to wish people good health, and that is done through the gods.’’[/i]

It seemed like common sense to Ketill but, perhaps, it was not quite as sensical as he thought. But he remembered the Sawarim did things much the same way, so perhaps the boy would understand. He then entered the blót-hus, where they were greeted by an old man who wore a cloak and a hood over his head. In his hand was a bowl filled with the blood – of what the blood came, it wasn’t quite as clear. Without words having to be spoken, Ketill leaned slightly forward to allow the man to draw the runes. He remembered this much from his first time at the world tree, when he had visited here with his father. It was a long time ago, but the movements themselves seemed almost instinctual. The gódi dipped a finger into the blood and began, carefully, drawing the Ægishjálmr rune onto Ketill’s forehead with the blood. It was made with quick strokes, like a practiced artisan would do it, and the end result was good enough. Ketill then gestured towards the three Sawarim companions with him, before instructing the godi, [i]‘’Not them. They don’t follow our gods.’’[/i] The godi nodded understandingly, and glanced over the three with a smile. 

[center][img]http://norse-mythology.org/wp-content/uploads/2014/02/Helm-of-Awe-%C3%86gishj%C3%A1lmr.png[/img]
Ægishjálmr, the Helm of Awe, which offers strength and power[/center]

[i]‘’Welcome to the blót-hus,’’[/i] he told them, before turning to the merchants son and repeating the process. Ketill himself stepped further into the hall, which was a long hall with six pillars, three on the left and three on the right, down the length of it. It was equally well crafted – the woodwork was even more impressive on the inside than the outside. Perhaps most strikingly were the various statues made of wood that resembled the gods. At the far end, facing towards the door, was the largest of them all. He was a man seated in a throne, the entirety of it seemingly carved out of a single large piece of wood. One of his eyes was covered by a patch, and in his hands was a crooked staff. 

At the base of every statue were a variety of offerings, as they were far from the first visitors of the gathering. Ketill didn’t think to explain it to them, and approached the statue of the man seated in the throne, reaching into his pocket and retrieving the Sawarimic ring made of gold, with the inscription that offered protection against Djinn’s. He placed it on the edge of the statue, as an offering to Audrun himself, before saying something in a cryptic, strange language that did not resemble either Broacienien or the Norse dialect. It was not even a full sentence, it seemed, though it was over before he had even started speaking it, offering no time for Basim or Najla to decrypt it. They were, however, most likely occupied with looking around the spacious room.

Normally, the offering of a small ring would not be seen as much, but this one had been won over by murder and earned by right of fighting for it, so perhaps it would be worth more to Audrun. At least, that was what Ketill had thought, though there was no way to know for sure. He stood in front of the statue momentarily, waiting for a sign, but he received none. It frustrated him slightly, for he had expected something from the gods, but had received absolutely nothing. He felt anger again, but looked up at the statue into Audrun’s one eye, and felt something. It was entirely indescribable, but it felt like a click inside of him, something that suddenly fell into place, as if he’d found his place among his people again. Somehow, he felt like just a ring wouldn’t be enough. [i]‘’Thank you,’’[/i] he said to the statue, although perhaps to the others it might have seemed like he was talking to himself. 

His mind was clear now, and he would have to find a way to thank Audrun for this. One glance at the merchant’s son was enough to tell him how precisely. [i]‘’I will dedicate you,’’[/i] he said then, to Najla. It came abruptly out of nowhere, and she would not know the meaning of this phrase in this context. He did not let go of any more information, not even when pressed for it, and left the blót-hus, thanking the godi for his service to the gods before leaving to visit the grounds where people were staying. The area was in a green enough area to sleep on the ground, which was what the four of them would have to do with the absence of a tent, although it was far from strange given that most others were also sleeping on the ground.

[center][youtube]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5rEeEKYbVX8[/youtube][/center]

It was a merry time, it seemed, for there were men and women sitting around fires everywhere, as there must have been a crowd of at least fifty to a hundred people there. Primitive music came from all corners, made with drums and strange metal and bone instruments that were placed in the mouth and then played with the fingers to produce a ‘ploink’ sound. The gaps were filled by the voices of men and women alike, producing a strange sensation for Ketill, who had been away for so long yet felt an instant connection to these sounds – not just the music, but everything around it. The forest, the people, it was just an amalgamation of home. In the distance, women were dancing around a fire, in a spectacle that would’ve reminded any Broacienien or Sawarim of something that they had imagined witches would do. To the side, the men were clapping alongside the beat of the drums, singing a song that spoke of Audrun’s journey over the mountains, where he found a group of ice giants, and how he beat them at their own games and won the prize, namely the knowledge of how the world would end. It would be a sad story otherwise, but for the Northerners, the end of the world was simply a fact of life – in fact, it was something they strove for, in Sjeahalle. 

As Ketill and his group, namely Najla, Basim and Yasamin approached the grounds, they were immediately hailed by a nearby group consisting primarily of women and a few men scattered around. Among them he recognized the family they had ran into near the entrance of the blót-hus, who were laying around a fire. The scene seemed, upon closer inspection, perhaps not wildly different from the lifestyle that the Sultana’s lived in the palace of the golden city – constantly laying around on pillows in secluded and shaded areas of the palace to avoid the heat, all the while eating, drinking and taking whatever manner of smoking ware they could get their hands on. Except, in this case, there were no pillows, and the group was eating from a selection of mushrooms and drinking ale from horns. It almost seemed like a more primitive version of Sawarim royalty – well, that, and everyone was partaking, not just the nobility. Although, that would be a far stretch, considering that the only form of nobility in the North were the men who had the strength to take what they wanted.

And that, indeed, was a far stretch from real nobility.

[i]‘’Come, join us!’’[/i] one of the approaching woman told them, and without waiting for much of an answer, took Ketill by the arm and dragged him with her. Ketill followed without struggling, and Basim followed a similar fate, being taken by the arm by a woman that was, in all honesty, taller than the boy himself. [i]‘’Sit by the fire and feast with us!’’[/i] they continued, forcing the two to sit down, before turning to Najla and Yasamin and likewise forcing them to sit with them. Something seemed different, however, as the men and women were all acting [i]strange[/i]. Perhaps it was the fact that the gathering would be happening soon, but it was making everyone happy and uncaring, it seemed. Without missing a beat the women took a wooden basket filled with mushrooms and passed it around, offering them to Ketill and Basim first, then Najla and Yasamin. It would be the only food available momentarily, so there was little use in refusing it, and the cheerful nature of the gathering meant that there was little reason to doubt the mushrooms.

This part, however, was unfamiliar to Ketill, who had never partaken in this section of the gathering. His father had deemed him too young perhaps. Regardless, he took a handful of the mushrooms and pushed them into his mouth. It was certainly not a welcome taste, but it did not taste [i]awful[/i] at least. Soon enough even the normally stoic Ketill was laughing at the stories being told, and the otherwise depressed Yasamin had found a shred of enjoyment. 

Although the effects did not take hold instantaneously, it quickly became obvious that the mushrooms were inducing various effects onto the crowd, and things began getting blurrier. The effects similarly seemed to be quite different per person, with Ketill sitting back and lazying around, watching the fire and the women as they danced in front of it, listening to the beats of the drum and the lazy story being told to the right of him. Basim was dragged out of his spot and forced to dance with one of the girls, who was more his own height and had long blonde hair, that swayed hypnotically with her movements. She was more or less just pulling the boy along in her dance, but it seemed that under the effects of these mushrooms, Basim was content to follow along.

As the day continued and it got darker, the scenes changed from a gathering in the forest to an almost magical scene, with fires lit up everywhere, men and women dancing around them and the unified beats of drums that followed patterns that were wildly different yet intermingled at times. Ketill was laid on his back now, his hands under his head as he stared at the foliage above, though his mind was somewhere else at the time.

[i]‘’Ketill,’’[/i] a voice said. It was… a man? No, it was a woman. [i]‘’Ketill!’’[/i] it said again, this time louder, and slowly the darkness lifted as he opened his eyes. In front of him was Najla, standing closely to him yet… far at the same time. They were still in the forest. Was this real? Suddenly, the space around them began warping, and transporting them through the path they had travelled. Past the Hoffburgt, past Coedwin, past the desert homestead where Ketill had taken the rings and cloaks, through the rolling desert dunes and to the Golden city. Najla was now standing there, on a balcony, overlooking the vast desert landscape. [i]‘’I can take you there,’’[/i] she said to him, though it was cryptic, not sure where ‘there’ was. 

But it seemed that in this drug-induced vision, there were no limits to what could be shown. The very fabric of space was being torn as the desert began to disappear and, in the distance, what looked like a city was becoming larger and larger. At the center of it was a large, tall square building that looked like a tower of sorts, something akin to the keep on the Sawarim golden city, a crown jewel but… more impressive, almost. If the Sawarim capital was ‘’the golden city’’ then what was this city? It shone brighter than the Sawarim capital, and was surrounded by more green. The rivers meandered across the city, the trees were alive, and not the liveless husks that were so prevalent in the desert. 

[i]‘’It could be yours,’’[/i] Najla suddenly said, and with a loud bang and a white flash, he was standing on top of the tower. The breeze of wind rustled his hair, and he could see the majesty of the city clearer now. In the distance was a shrine of sorts, a giant pedestal with a gigantic statue of what seemed to be the sun. People were there, clad in white cloaks of cloth, walking circles around this gigantic sun. Some of them were laying on the ground, collapsed from the heat, and the others just walked past them. Priests walked around, and handed out food, and everyone that received this food walked up to the giant statue and touched it, then touched their forehead and touched the statue again. Despite the incredibly far distance, and the drop of several hundred meters Ketill would have to survive to come close, he could hear what was said almost as if he was standing there. 

[i]‘’Oh Zun!’’[/i] the voice boomed, hurting his ears with its’ incredible ferocity. [i]‘’We thank you for your boon!’’[/i] Almost instinctively his hands went to his ears to cover them, and he stepped back from the edge of the tower. [i]‘’Zun! ZUN! ZUN!’’[/i] it echoed, and then it cut out. The people disappeared, and Najla stood there, at the edge of the tower.

[i]‘’Come,’’[/i] she’d say, and Ketill would do it, for there was no other option. [i]‘’Look closer.’’[/i] He stared at the statue and then noticed what she meant – the sun itself, it was pure gold. If it was solid, it would’ve cost massive amounts of gold. These people must truly be rich. [i]‘’I can bring you there.’’[/i] Then… he felt a push in his back, sending him over the edge tumbling towards the ground.

With a sharp inhale, gasping for air, Ketill came back to the forest. He grasped around for solid ground, and found himself staring at the fire that still blazed. It seemed he had fallen asleep, just like the others, although the mushrooms had continued working and sent him into a drug fuelled vision. Or, perhaps, it was the Gods, who were showing him what to do. Najla… she had been there too. Perhaps the boy had been wrong, and Najla was a Völva after all. A magician, she could’ve placed a curse on him, to curse him with terrible visions that steered him from the gods and into her open arms, waiting to plunge a dagger into his back. 

He glanced around and, in the light of the flames, that flickered with every lick of fire that shot up before being pulled down again, he saw Najla laying there. She was asleep, and Ketill had the thought cross his mind to push her into the fire, to get rid of her now, to end the madness. But it wouldn’t work. What if the gods wanted him to visit these lands. The vision would be the truth then, and he’d need Najla. That also meant he could not dedicate her. But the gods needed a dedication, Audrun needed a dedication. His eyes shot to Najla’s right, where Yasamin was, a few meters between them. 

[hr]

The next day most people would awake early in the afternoon, when the sun had already passed its highest point and was moving down again, being chased by the wolf that was doomed to forever chase the sun. The mushrooms had run their course, and now the height of the event would come to bearing, with several gódi’s coming out to a ritual stone in a flat area in front of the giant tree. On it were carved runes, which had been prepared the day before with red ochre pressed onto them, ‘painted’ again to more clearly define the runes. In the stone was a deep groove cut, leading from the middle to the sides, then to a corner where the stone had been punctured entirely. Underneath the hole was a bucket, ready to catch whatever was there. 

There was little time to waste that day as it was quite a big celebration, for northern standards. Ketill had woken Basim and Najla both, then taken them to the gathering, where people were stood in a big crowd around the stone. [i]‘’What’s this?’’[/i] Basim curiously asked, looking upon the stone as if it were some artefact from long ago. Perhaps not entirely untrue. [i]‘’Those pictures look like nothing I’ve ever seen,’’[/i] he added, his reference to pictures being the runes.

[i]‘’Not pictures,’’[/i] Ketill hissed. [i]‘’Runes given to us by Audrun. Just watch.’’[/i]

It started with animals – a bull was led out alongside a cow, placed side by side with buckets underneath their heads. The crowd began talking then, seemingly excited, as the gódi raised a ritualistic knife in the air and showed it to all those around them. Then, with a vigorous and fast movement he slit the throat of the bull, who reared heavily and had to be restrained by the rope around it’s neck. Whoever had ‘donated’ these animals was surely a wealthy man that was trying to earn the favour of the gods, or perhaps to enhance the prestige of his name. It was the only option there was as further north, the traveling tribespeople did not have cows or other animals, and among those south near the mountains in the regions they were in now, there was simply not enough wealth to have many animals. 

The crowd erupted in cheers and even Ketill himself raised a fist into the sky as the bull was killed, and as they cheered the gódi moved to the cow, and slit her throat too, catching the majority of the blood in the two buckets. When most of it had been drained, the blood in the buckets were combined and set aside for future use – although, to Najla and Basim, the purpose was much unknown. 

[center][youtube]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6loWrABr8gA[/youtube][/center]

It was only then that the merchants’ son made a reappearance, dressed in a fine white tunic that had clearly been washed a few times over, as it seemed to be as white as the snow in the mountains. He had his hands held out sideways, representing a cross, as two gódi’s flanked him and held on to him by his wrists, although it seemed that the man was not going to run regardless. He had a look of stern dedication in his eyes, and the moment of his appearance everyone else had gone silent. It was very clear that what was going to happen now was, by far, the most important thing. 

The gódi’s brought him to the ritual stone with the runes, and now Najla and Basim would see its’ true purpose. [i]‘’Is he a priest?’’[/i] Basim asked then, subconsciously pushing against the man standing in front of him in an effort to see better. [i]‘’Then why was he with us? Isn’t he too young to be a priest?’’[/i] 

His question was soon answered, as the son laid down on the ritual stone. His eyes were teary but he had a smile on his face, and when the gódi’s helped him out of his tunic there was a rune drawn onto his chest, the same one Audrun had drawn on himself, with ochre. It was a sign of dedication to the gos, and Audrun in specific. Again, the nearby gódi held up the ritual knife, but instead of cheering, people bowed their heads or looked at the dedicated man with a level of sternness. Ketill, too, looked at the man with a stoic gaze. Dedicating yourself to the gods required a lot – sacrifice, bravery, strength. These were all traits that were respected in the Northern societies, no matter what tribe or homestead you visited. All of them were equally fond of these traits. It was therefore no surprise that a dedicated man held a lot of respect, which was worth a lot in the eyes of the gods. It was certain that the son would go to Sjeahalle – no doubt. [i]‘’Not a priest,’’[/i] Ketill finally answered, [i]‘’a sacrifice.’’[/i]

The flash of the blade was the only warning they received, as the cut was made quick to prevent the man from changing his mind – once dedicated there was no way back – cutting open his neck from one side to the other. As the man gurgled in his own blood, drowning in it as it filled his lungs through desperate attempts to breathe which only caused him to inhale more and more blood, his fingers clenched around the stone he was laying on, grasping at the edges. His knuckles and joints in his fingers turned white from the strength he was exerting in his final death throes, and his leg tried to rise up to gain footing to move, but it was futile. 

Rather than cheer, it was deadly silent, making the last gurgles the man made even more audible. For a moment time stood still – as it usually did to Ketill when important events occurred – but he was brought back by a splatter of liquid in his face. He flinched, raised a hand and smeared it away, only to look at his fingers and see blood. He looked up again and saw that a gódi was going around with the buckets of cow and bull’s blood, and used a bushel of twigs to dip it into the blood, and then splatter the blood onto the crowd. Basim and Najla would, of course, follow a similar fate – to deny it would have been a mistake, as the blood had been blessed by the speaking of ancient words of power. So when Basim raised his hand to wipe it away, Ketill quickly grabbed the boys wrist and forced him to leave it on.

[i]‘’It gives you strength,’’[/i] Ketill remarked, looking at Najla first before his eyes turned to Basim again. While the one gódi went around splattering the people in this blood, the other gódi took the bucket under the hole in the stone and began carefully rubbing the blood onto the runes, mixing it with the ochre. People began talking again, as if it were second nature to them that someone had just been sacrificed to the gods. Ketill took one last look at the, now dead, man on the stone before a cry in the background forced him to turn around. 

Behind them a woman with dark hair was being led to the tree, also dressed in a white gown. She was struggling slightly, but seemed malnourished or just weak. Even then, the two men leading her there were obviously strong men and thus they had no problem holding her down when another gódi fastened a noose around her neck. [i]‘’Ketill,’’[/i] Basim silently started, looking as the noose was fastened and the woman stopped resisting. [i]‘’What are they doing?’’[/i] 

Instead of an answer, the sound of drums beating rhythmically erupted from around the tree. The men beating the drums began chanting in a strange language, presumably the same in which the Northerners said their prayers. The gódi standing next to the woman spoke some words to her, and she finally calmed down completely, and the two men who had constrained her earlier were now moving alongside the tree, and threw the long end of the noose around a branch, then prepared to haul it up. She was clearly being hung – but before that, once more, the gódi flashed the knife again and with a razor sharp cut slit her throat. Instantly the woman was yanked into the air, the blood spilling down onto the pure white gown, running down her clothing along her neck until drops of blood started dripping from her feet onto the ground.

At the same time, other bodies were raised into the air too, hung from the world tree. The crowd began moving in the shimmering light of the moon that was starting to appear, exchanging itself with the sun that had started to settle and dip below the horizon. There were torches spread around the world tree, illuminating the area and shedding an eerie, flickering light on the dead bodies that were dripping blood, all clothed in white gowns. 

[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/RFQDvKE.jpg[/img][/center]

The group approached the world tree, where the gódi who had cut the womans’ neck held the bucket of human blood from the dedicated man. [i]‘’With this blood!’’[/i] he began, his voice echoing through the entire area, the people listening on in awe. [i]‘’And with these sacrifices!’’[/i] A wide gesture followed, gesturing towards the bodies that were hanging from the trees. There were a good amount of them, and they swung eerily in the wind, the flickering light from the fires only adding to the eeriness. [i]‘’We feed the tree and ask for its’ blessing and that of the Aldafadr and his daughters and sons!’’[/i] Then the gódi splashed the blood onto the ground next to the trees roots, and the people cheered again, before everything devolved into the same manner of festivities as the night before. Immediately mushrooms were handed around and ale was consumed, and people retreated back to the other areas to avoid having to sit amidst the corpses of those who had been sacrificed. 

Ketill himself, however, did not leave yet. Instead he remained there, staring at the bodies that were hanging there, watching carefully how the blood seeped down their gowns and dripped down their feet to the ground. This place felt so powerful, with the echoes of hundreds of years worth of history thumping in his head. He wasn’t sure if the others felt the same [i]history[/i] but everyone could tell there was something in this place, something that held a power. Whether it was real or not was another matter – it could’ve just been the combination of the cold that didn’t seem to bother the northerners, the eerie wind, the flickering lights, and the mist in the distance that covered the forest, seemingly rolling in from the nearby bogs and swamps. 

[i]‘’Aldafadr,’’[/i] Ketill muttered under his breath, looking up at the woman that had been hung. [i]‘’I have rejoined you. The offering will please you – in return, grant me the strength I need.’’[/i] As if on queue, the wind picked up and the body of the dark haired woman swung side to side, twirling slowly. When it had come around fully, both Ketill, Najla and Basim could see the face – one eye was missing, and the features of the face left little to the imagination about who it was. Yasamin. 

Basim almost reared over and had to work hard to control his stomach to keep the contents inside – the combination of mushrooms, alcohol, blood and dead bodies left him with very little control. All that went out the window the moment Ketill spoke up again, without even turning his head to face Najla. [i]‘’That was meant to be you. I don’t know who or why, but the Gods favour you. It seems there is more to your story than an untimely death. It’s a shame your fate is tied to mine.’’[/i] It seemed that the thought of the noose being intended for Najla was too much for Basim, and now he completely let himself go, splashing the contents of his stomach all over the ground.

Ketill turned around and faced towards the area where the rest of the groups had gathered and, instead of gathering in a multitude of smaller groups, had now formed one big group. In the center there was a giant pile of logs and, the moment Ketill turned towards it, it was lit up – as if on command, it almost seemed magic how it lit up specifically when he turned round. With the light of the fire on his face, reflecting off of the rings in his beard, it almost looked like he was a whole different person from when Najla had first met him. The only remembrance of that time were the three red dots on his forehead that would, allegedly, never fade. [i]‘’We’ll leave tomorrow. Enjoy this night, because it’ll be the last time you get to enjoy your time here. In the north, everyone earns their share of the meal, so you two had better learn to pull your weight, and fast.’’[/i]

Perhaps it had sounded like a threat, but a singular glance around the environment made it clear that there was no joking around. The area was cruel and unforgiving and they had yet to even get prepared for the winter, which would be even more cruel and unforgiving. If Audrun did not grant Ketill’s request for his strength, then the winter would be the end of their tale. 

As they rejoined the group, Ketill leading a bit ahead as he’d left Basim and Najla behind while Basim recovered from his sickness, they were immediately handed more mushrooms and ale to wash it down. Ketill was not going to deny them now, and shoved a hand of mushrooms down his mouth before taking a big gulp from a horn of ale that he was handed. The rest of Ketill’s evening and most of the night was filled with more mushrooms and ale. It was, to him, a welcome release from the years spent under Sawarim rule as nothing more than an object. But, even after escaping their tyranny, he was unable to feel truly at ease, at least until now, when he felt like the all-father, Audrun, had accepted him into his fold again.

The rest of that night was a blur, occurring so fast that there was little time to remember or even recognize what was happening. All Ketill could remember the next morning was an innate, new feeling of being at home. It was like a missing part inside of him had returned to it’s place and fit in without a problem. 

The rest of the morning was slow, as it was for most people, who struggled to gather their items after the festivities. For Ketill, it was as simple as retrieving Najla and Basim for where ever the had wandered off to, and forcing them to the horses. Although Ketill normally held his alcohol rather well, the continuous drinking throughout the night had given him a splitting headache, and as a result, he wasn’t really in the mood to argue with Najla or Basim. In the event that they refused to cooperate, he’d simply force them by grabbing them and pushing them, although for their own sake as well as his, he’d hoped they would cooperate on their own accord.

After mounting up on their horses, they would make way to the east, towards the coast of the Crashing Gulfs, the ocean that laid to the North of Broacien, and slightly east of the North before it transferred into the Frozen Wastes. To travel all the way to the coast would have taken them many days, up to even a week, due to the terrain being unforgiving. Perhaps unluckily for them they did indeed go all the way to the coast – or close, at least. It was a calculated effort by Ketill, who understood the intricacies of the Northern land better. Although he was not aware of the recent politics and so forth, he knew the best areas to farm, or live all together. Living near the coast was one of those places, with good land, access to the sea, and forests to hunt in. The problem was, however, that the winters grew colder here too as the frozen wastes crept into the bay and, similarly, the land froze over and heavy snowfall stopped any and all activities for most of the winter.

It was more or less suicide to head there now without a place to call home, but never the less Ketill seemed intent to go there – despite not having any food to even make the journey. This meant that they were confined to foraging for food along the way – something Ketill was decent enough at, and Basim picked up on quick. But it certainly wasn’t a princely meal, and there were many days where they went to bed hungry.

It was notable that the forests got thicker and thicker the further along they trekked, which was something that Ketill had only hoped for. They would finally stop upon reaching an open lake, in the middle of the forest. It was quite a large lake, but not large enough to the point where you’d not be able to see the other side, which was a large benefit to Ketill. It was evident that they were further north, as they had left the original mountain ranges behind and these instead had made place for a new, smaller mountain range, that was however still impressive in it’s own right. 

[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/Uk9M9tF.jpg[/img]
The mountain range, with the forest in the foreground[/center]

This, as would soon be shown, was to be their encampment for the winter. It didn’t seem like much – there was little shelter… [i]yet[/i]. Ketill dismounted his horse, and tied it to a nearby, smaller tree, then turned around and walked a short circle in the area, inspecting it for a good place to build their ‘shelter.’ [i]‘’What are you looking for?’’[/i] Basim asked, tying his horse up too while curiously glancing at Ketill, who seemed to just be staring at… nothing. 

[i]‘’Home,’’[/i] was the only answer he received.

[i]‘’Home? Here?’’[/i] Basim asked again. [i]‘’This is no home. This is wilderness. And it’s.. cold.’’[/i] 

[i]‘’You’ve never worked a day in your life, have you? Any home starts from nothing. A good home will keep out the cold.’’[/i]

[i]‘’Isn’t there some city here where we can go, and stay there?’’[/i]

[i]‘’You’d be lucky to find a single home. The people here don’t usually stay in one place – there are few merchants and farmers that do, but they try to stay close to the mountains, where it gets less cold and the crops have less change of dying. We are… on the border area, here. You could farm here, but you need to have good luck.’’[/i] He looked up at the sky momentarily, and decided against telling Basim that even luck would be dependant on the gods. Farming here would require many sacrifices. 

[i]‘’That’s… no cities…?’’[/i]

[i]‘’Yes, no cities. Go out and find something to eat. And look for animal tracks, because we’ll need to eat something other than stale roots and berries soon.’’[/i]

It was a fools errant to send Basim off to forage, [i]and[/i] look for tracks, but it’d probably have been even worse if Basim was left to build a fire and shelter. Basim hurried off to do as he was told, walking at his own pace and taking in the area around them. Curiosity still seemed to drive him, as opposed to his sister, whose driving forces were more hidden than those of Basim. [i]‘’Najla,’’[/I] Ketill started, as he worked on chopping down some smaller trees that were still growing. [i]‘’Go collect firewood.’’[/i] No longer did he ask her to, no, it was an order. [i]‘’And make sure to collect the dry wood. Not the wet ones. Unless you want to freeze to death.’’[/i]

Once she too had wandered off, no doubt with every intention to not do as she was told, Ketill continued constructing the shelter. It was small, too small in fact, for three people, but it would have to do as the cold was beginning to set in. Things were moving slowly – but steadily, at least – up until Ketill was alarmed by the sounds of approaching footsteps. It didn’t sound like Najla or Basim – over the course of the trek up to this location, as well as the previous years, Ketill had gotten used to the sound of the both of them, but this sound was.. different. Heavier.

He turned around and, to his surprise, was met with the sight of an unknown man, holding an axe in one hand. It was a primitive, stone axe, but it looked lethal none the less. Out of instinct, Ketill’s own hand reached to the axe on his belt, forgoing his sword in favour of something a bit more wieldy in this area. For a moment the two men were silent, staring at each other waiting for movement. 

[i]‘’Who are you?’’[/i] the man finally asked, his glare spelling out distrust. Ketill could not blame him, as he himself would likely distrust strangers in the area too. 

[i]‘’Ketill Grimhildrson.’’[/i]

[i]‘’I don’t know a Ketill. Or a Grimhildr. What are you doing on this land?’’[/i]

[i]‘’Whose land is this?’’[/i] Ketill replied, taking out his axe and moving it around in his hand to get a comfortable grip on it. Just in case.

[i]‘’Mine.’’[/i]

[i]‘’How did you get this land?’’[/i]

[i]‘’I inherited it from my father.’’[/i]

[i]‘’And he?’’[/i]

[i]‘’Inherited it from his father.’’[/i]

[i]‘’And he?’’[/i]

[i]‘’He killed for it.’’[/i]

[i]‘’I’ll kill you for it.’’[/i]

These were the laws of the lands – that was, there was no law, except that of the gods. Ketill would be within his right to kill the man for his lands, if he had wanted to. The man glared at him, looking him up and down while adjusting his position to prepare if it came to blows. In the distance, Ketill could see Basim and Najla both returning, and he silently prayed that they would spot the man before he spotted them. The one way to mess this up was to add more people and more confusion to the situation.

[i]‘’No need,’’[/i] the man finally said, [i]‘’I’ve no quarrel with you. You can stay here for the winter, if that is what you intend.’’[/i]

To this Ketill only nodded. It was his intention to stay here for longer than that, but he had no intention to tell this man that. [i]‘’And your name?’’[/i]

[i]‘’Björn Styreson.’’[/i]

[i]‘’I am sure we will meet again, Björn.’’[/i]

[i]‘’As am I.’’[/i]

Without wasting more words, the man took his leave, pushing past some bushes. He headed back to what Ketill supposed was the mans’ homestead – though not many people lived in this area, as it was particularly rough for both hunters and farmers. For the hunters, there were not enough animals during winter to survive, and for the farmers, the ground was too unfertile and they were forced to add fish to their diet, adding the burden of fishing to their already full plate of duties. This made Ketill’s decision to live here all the more strange, but none would question a man that was stranger to them.


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