[h1][u]Act Two: Scattered to the Winds[/u]____  __  _   _[/h1]
[h2][u]Chapter Two: Rough Men[/u]_________  __  __   _   _[/h2]
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[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/WV1wfQo.png[/img][/center]
[hr][hr]It was morning, and a glacier - a great white mountain of ice - drifted past the harbour of Meldheim. It had begun its journey, some months prior, in the lands of everwinter, and now that the water was warming in earnest, the current had carried it here: to the capital city of a people known as the Eskandr. By the Hours of Mother, the first few boats had already approached it, and soon people were crawling all over it like ants over a dead bird. By noon, they were picking away at the great white corpse with picks and hammers. Sheets of ice slid down its faces into the deep, cold waters that surrounded them. At least a dozen boats had hooks and ropes in it now and, with the aid of the Gift, for some had brought wizards and warlocks, they tamed the giant and brought it gradually towards that part of harbour near to the lumber mill. It was the season for ice harvesting, after all, and Meldheim's inns and boarding houses had filled with the rough men of the surrounding countryside who were often in search of seasonal work. 

Once ashore, chunks of the behemoth would be coated and combined with sawdust from the mill to make them last through the coming warm months. Carved into blocks, they would reside in cellars, caves, and cold-houses, preserving the foodstuffs of the people who lived here until the cold returned. Of course, the ice was ancient and, once in a while, some treasure or odd thing of the past would be found inside of it. Indeed, some of the water frozen inside was many thousands of years old. Last it had been exposed to the lands of men, there had been no city here, no grand temple where the gods were worshipped, and certainly no fight over what those Gods looked like or what their names were. There had been no such people as the Eskandr, the Parrench, or the Drudgunzeans. Perhaps, the next time that it reached this place, there would also be naught but a memory of those peoples. It was difficult to say.

There was a great deal more happening in the harbour, however, even with the great berg being a subject of idle observation and conversation for much of the day. News of the war in Parrence had begun filtering back. Last night, some longships that it was rumoured had been sent by the king had slipped into port, and they now had guards surrounding them. There were whispers of a great bounty of treasure that had been brought to Hrothgar's reserves and those of the raiders who had won it. Word circled that the underking Kol, ruler of Sturmreef, had led he delegation back and was even now in town, along with the storied ranger Vali, the Twice-Born, and an embassy from Kressia. Indeed, it appeared that rich plunder was to be had from the lands of Green Parrence, and not-inconsiderable was the number of people who began wishing they had joined the expedition. 

It was precisely noon when the delegation from the Kongesalan made its way into the Market-on-the-Hill. With hammer and nail, a scribe made known his writing upon the great wooden obelisk in the center of the square. As few could read, however, it was up to the royal crier as he stepped onto the dais surrounding it. For a moment, the bustling activity of the market stilled and faces turned his way. Among these was Trygve, who had lived much of his life in and around the great city. He leaned against a post, arms crossed, waiting to hear what would be said.

"Hear ye, hear ye!" the crier shouted, blessed by Mother with a voice that carried loud and clear. "I bring to you people of Meldheim news of our brave warriors who fight even now against the Parrench encroachers!" Business paused or concluded quickly and the crowd around the obelisk thickened. "This previous night, a delegation from the green lands returned to us, covered in glory and heavy with riches." Voices rose in excited conversation. A couple of burly men hauled a large chest up to the platform and left it there with a thud. The crier reached down and, with some effort, pried open its heavy lid. His hand filled with treasure and he let it spill down like a waterfall as he lifted it. People flocked to get a look, a quartet of guards forming a perimeter in front of the raised area. It was a fool's show, Trygve knew. He had been on the same island as the raiders during that storm and he had seen the sea people. There was no way they wouldn't have taken at least half of what had been left aboard the ships.

The crier was storytelling now, spinning tales of the great heroes and villains - the latter all Parrench or Lindermen, of course. He spoke at length of the epic clashes, the cruelty and craftiness of the enemy, and valiant fighting of the Eskandr. How they had broken out! How they had taken two Parrench for every one of them but how many Parrenchmen there were! There was no mention, of course, of Relouse still standing. Why, even now, five great armies of Eskand were racing across the rich green countryside, looting to their fill, eating, drinking, and merrymaking. It was a place of opportunity, that Parrence. Legends were being made and land was being claimed. The enemy was doughty, though, and fighting back hard, so perhaps the great army could be convinced to let in a second wave of recruits. 

Trygve sniffed and pawed at his nose. During his years away, he'd grown more accustomed to the Parrench climate than he'd have liked to admit. The crier was good. He was a performer much blessed by Sister... or Ipte and Chune in equal measure. Sometimes, the old gods still came to the convert, easily to his thoughts and his tongue, but they were false gods - mere stories, even if nice ones - and he had never felt their power like he had that of the Pentad. He shook his head to clear t and pushed off from the wall. "Are you going, greybeard?" asked an eager youth from nearby, and it took Trygve a moment to realize that the boy - for that was what he was, in truth - was talking to him, for he was a man of nine and thirty and not so old in the grand desiin of things. "There is much to be won!" The fool continued. Perhaps he could tell by the scowl on the older man's face, though he was likely misplacing its origin, that he needed more convincing. "You will either end up a rich man or else make it to Gronhalle after all!"

"I am not much of a fighter," Trygve said simply, crossing his arms. His size, musculature, and a handful of noticeable scars easily put the lie to his words, but the young fool did not press any further. "You are missing out!" he called back, winding his way to the front of the crowd. Trygve leaned his head to the side and spat, pushing off from the wall he'd been leaning against. His people were determined to reject the light of the Pentad and so they would suffer in darkness instead. Were he braver - but he was not - perhaps the veteran warrior would've spoken for the true gods then and there. Perhaps he would've challenged the crier on his lies. That would have served nobody well, though, and if he were tortured, his resolve might fail him and his tongue might let slip matters that needed to be kept to utmost secrecy. His portion of their agreed-upon information gathering complete, he began making his way back to the Dragehale Inn. 

The others, it had been agreed, were to spread out and begin scouting. Gerard, in the guise of a Kressian pilgrim, was to acquaint himself with the Grontempel, for it was Trygve's understanding that the Parrench wished to plunder it as their own churches had been plundered. Svend was to appear before Queen Astrid in the Kongesalan with an offer to outfit three fine drakkars for the raid, but he was to make demands designed to lure her or at least one of her two older children to Rigevand, where they could be kidnapped and later ransomed. After great effort from Osanna, it had been communicated to the mossy-haired girl, Nettle, that she was to accompany Lazy Eye Jacques and investigate the docks before splitting off to seek out the Parrench captives recently brought ashore. It would not be easy to break them free, but she had been tasked with seeking out the weaknesses of their prison and devising the fundaments of a plan to bring back to the rest. There were rumours that, for some reason, the Gift was unresponsive in that area, and this was also something that she had been asked to look into. The Black Rezaindian, meanwhile, was to stay with Svend in the guise of a servant girl and tutor offered to Astrid. The hope was that her obvious status as an outsider, her skills and apparent guilelessness, and her status as a gift would allow her to work her way into the queen's service. She was to render Astrid and any remaining children unconscious following Svend's reappearance, so that they could also be spirited away. There was more that they had assigned Nettle, as well, but Trygve did not know it, and even Jacques' continued mission was also a mystery to him. A few of the Parrench had talked late into the night in hushed tones and he had made the trek down to their accommodations with Maud, who was simply to remain in the market as a beggar and listen in on what people were saying while sweeping the city for any unusual buildups of energy or mobilization of soldiers. He supposed that they could not be too careful. That was why many of the others were to remain in and around Rigevand, nondescript, out of the way, and playing the role of the usual pirates or plunderers. Such rough and common figures would do little to invite the locals' attentions.

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Konge Kol had told Ulf enough that he had thought it wise to bring back to his mother immediately and, once she had finished with the Kressian ambassador, she had spoken at length with the Sturmish king and Vali. "My son," she had told him, late in the night, "you will go with Vali and thirty of our soldiers to Rigevand tomorrow in the midday to investigate reports of pirates and smugglers."

Ulf knew the reputation of that 'fishing village' well, and he would do much more with his father's soldiers than simply 'investigate' some pirates. It was long overdue that the notorious hive of scum and villainy was brought under the king's justice, and even more urgent that the Quentics who hid out there were dealt with. He had been given Vali: a powerful warrior, and one who was unlikely to use hiis right to override the youth due to his quiet nature. Ulf would be a fool to waste this opportunity and, to that end, his mother did not need to know the extent of his plans. She would forbid him from pursuing such decisive action if she did. Caution and prudence: she always counseled these things and he increasingly found that it grated upon his nerves as he grew older. That was the problem with women, he supposed: they had been made to create life and, even when blessed with great power, were naturally overcautious and far too forgiving. This would be a man's job, and Ulf was nearly a man grown, after all. 

Prove himself fully enough, and perhaps he would be allowed to leave with Kol, Vali, and the new Æresvaktr to join his father in Parrence. There was still Snorri back here as the spare heir should Ulf's time to join Gestur in Gronhalle come early. It would not, though. Of that he was certain. The gods had made him strong in the Gift and so it was clear that they had great things in store for Ulf Hrothgarsson. He merely needed to reach out with faith and strength to seize them.

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Inga stood beside her mother in the courtyard, the last of the morning dew disappearing from training dummies, railings, and the ground as the rays of the resurgent sun reached out for it. She knew that, within minutes, Onkel Kol would join them. She knew that he was to evaluate the two new Æresvaktr who'd been chosen by her father and induct them into the legendary group of warriors. In truth, Inga was not much of a fighter, but she had still grown up with the sagas and the Æresvaktr had long played a prominent role in them. She still imagined herself a great huntress, shaman, or shieldmaiden at times. That was folly, of course. Her job was to marry into another kingdom and work to bring it under the sway of her father or, someday, Ulf or Snorri.  There were many ways other than brute force to conquer. 

For now, she watched the yasoi at his practice. Arne'altan'jaros was his name, and she found it a pleasant mix of her own culture and his. The way that he struck so blindingly fast and how he simply appeared in new places, attacking his targets so differently from humans: truly from three dimensions. She liked it. She thought that he would do well and that Kol would like him too after sparring with him. The process was supposed to be a formality. As one of the Æresvaktr's senior members and a lesser ruler himself, the King of Sturmreef was merely there to add a stamp of approval and lend weight to proceedings and Inga imagined that he knew it. Still, he could [i]technically[/i] refuse should circumstances come to absolutely demand so, and the induction of a filthy creature like The Skygge would serve as sore temptation to invoke that right. Why father wanted her - a vile sorceress who experimented on human bodies - for such a noble group was beyond Inga, and she reflected that perhaps even her great father, the king, was not always right in his judgement.

Then, presently, Onkel Kol arrived. Before yesterday, she had not seen him for two years and she always found herself impressed with the size of him. She knew that she was to accompany him on his rounds today, so she hurried up to him, even as the yasoi ceased his training, and both of them bowed. "Good morning, your majesty," she greeted him, to her mother's approval, "the first of your new recruits awaits." She gestured at Arne. The yasoi twirled his weapons and regarded the Sturmish king eagerly.

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Snorri's job, he knew, was to watch and learn for the eventuality that he might one day rule. On his last birthday, mother had confided in him that she thought Ulf a fool, and the younger boy had agreed, after some consideration. Also after some consideration, he had told her that he did not think it wise that such a fool should be given command of thirty soldiers and sent to deal with what Onkel Vali had reported were pirates or smugglers seeking refuge from the laws of the land in Rigevand. She had cryptically replied that sometimes you needed to give a fool the right tools and then you would benefit instead of him.

As he moved another piece on the chessboard, Snorri thought about this too. He was doing his job, the boy reflected. It is your turn, Jarl Sturmfeld, he thought, but he did not say it. This Kressian was ambitious and a little obsequious at times, but he was not stupid. "They say you drank the water of the Grontempel," the prince began. "What was it like?" He tilted his head to one side and could not resist a further question. "Do you feel it was really necessary?" He would not have much time to take further measure of this man and to learn both of him and from him. Truth be told, he was also just curious, as many nine year olds are. In particular, he wished to learn of how the Quentics had spread their faith for, vile as they surely were, they were effective. 

Soon, Snorri knew, they would join mother at court as she received supplicants, petitions, and news. He was to be Jarl Sturmfeld's shadow as the Kressian observed her in matters of state and gained a feel for the legal workings of Eskand. Then, they were to sit down for their own negotiations over dinner. The prince knew that he was likely to be sent to bed at that point, though he secretly hoped it would not be so, and mother sometimes allowed him to join the adults when she was pleased with him. Snorri hoped very much to please her but, secretly he also wished his foolish brother success. If he was to win the throne from Ulf somehow, someday, he hoped that it would be a fair contest against a competent rival. Such strength would bode well for the future of his people.

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It was, Maud estimated, some two hours past midday and, since arriving at the market early in the morning, she had overheard little but gossip and speculation from the godless heathens that were supposedly her people. They signed up so eagerly to kill and be killed that she could not help but judge them collectively, culturally insane. They believed so blindly in their gods and in their king that she'd had to work to keep a scowl off of her face more than once.

The youth had found much to scowl about over the past little while, though. Shortly after the sun had peaked, she had sensed a gathering of some thirty-two people leaving the fortified longhouse that sat beside the Kongesalan. Not yet wanting to cause a panic and confirm, in everyone's minds that she was no more than a useless, crippled little girl, she'd held off on raising the alarm. She had instead followed the soldiers' energies as they'd wound their way down from the hill and even as they'd collected briefly in the marketplace. There were many things that they might be doing, she'd told herself, but now they had reached the outskirts of the city and the cold feeling in her gut congealed into certainty. They were headed for Rigevand and those left behind would have to either hide or confront them. The latter course risked everything. 

So, she had sent the agreed upon signal to Birger, Osanna, Svend, Gerard, Jacques, and Trygve: two sharp little pinches behind the ears. The first of those allies would know to prepare and the others to head stealthily back. The last of them was to meet her by the inn and carry her. Truly, Maud was grateful for it. The harsh wooden braces and leather straps bit at her legs and the crutches at her armpits as she hurried along, making an awful, awkward racket. It was, she reflected, the opposite of stealth, but it could not be helped. Matters had taken a turn for the worse. 

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[hider=Action Opportunities]Feel free to take any of the actions listed below, in addition to following those more obvious prompts that are included above for your characters. Please also make sure to read the entire post and pay attention to how others' actions may affect yours.

1) All Parrench-aligned players have a wide scope of opportunity and creative freedom to uncover things as they snoop. Be aware that your allied Eskandr generally do not know of your plans to burn the city. Lazy Eye Jacques, posing as a Drudgunzean mercenary, is looking for suitable pitch and oil to help with the arson for when the time comes.

2) All Eskandr-aligned players are accompanied by one of the royal children: fourteen-year-old Ulf, twelve-year-old Inga, or nine-year-old Snorri. You also have a fairly wide breadth of action and creative freedom to explore your options and advance storylines. Just try to be wary of metagaming in terms of discovering the identity of the Parrench and their true goals.

3) This chapter does not necessarily need to end in an out-and-out conflict. In fact that is likely not to be a desirable outcome for both sides, as the Eskandr are outnumbered in Rigevand (there are about seventy other Parrench there and some sympathetic locals) but the Parrench risk having their entire operation blown open if they fight.

4) I strongly encourage some collaborative discussions and even collaborative storytelling this chapter. When we reach the point of confrontation, I will play the parts of Ulf on the one side and Birger and other NPCs on the other.

5) If Osanna investigates the strange dead spot in Gift use, she will find the stories to be true. With enough luck, skill, and persistence, she may find a strange, carnivorous seal-like creature called a skrigendsæl contained in a large pen beneath an obscure section of the docks near the prison. It is fed the corpses of prisoners who 'expire'.

6) When Kol goes to recruit the Skygge, he will find her in a special prison a little ways out of the city in the shadow of the Eldfjall. She will not want to duel him, thinking it stupid, but she will impress upon him her power nonetheless. She will be rude, aloof, and challenging, but not outright confrontational. This is something Id like to collab on, if possible.[/hider]
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