L O C A T I O N | XX
I N T E R A C T I O N | AA [@], BB [@]
I N T E R A C T I O N | AA [@], BB [@]
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Wolfieh
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eternally terrified
he/they
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Ti,
Fallenreaper
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Bio
Alternate titles include:
- certifiable mess
- afraid of people
- just doing my best
- (but hey, at least there's pizza)
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Coming soon, posted with GM permission. Check Summary for quick notes.
L O C A T I O N | Eskandr Camp
I N T E R A C T I O N | None
I N T E R A C T I O N | None
There was no honor on this field for Vali.
The start had been good—the rangers’ assault on the Witchwoods before Kol’s arrival had broken ground for Death’s Hand to sow. But from the point he left those trees and made for St. Defrois’ Rock, the battle had been terse.
He had some fuzzed memories of being pulled out of the mud and tended to. What the Eskandr remembered of the fight did not bode well for him—and he knew an enemy’s mercy is all that kept him from Gestur’s table in Gronhalle, if he were even worthy. Blood had stained his armor and cut pieces had to be replaced following the battle. It was his eye, though, that told the story best.
Vali Twice-Born was fortunate enough not to lose it, though he was told it was a close thing. Mud and blood were a poor combination, and infection can set in rapidly—but binders could set to right many injuries. Still, the fresh-healing wound was sensitive to light and kept covered in a cloth when the ranger didn’t need it.
Though still recovering, The Silent Hunt took every opportunity to do just that—providing food for his people was something Vali could do well, even with his sight somewhat hampered. He leaned more on The Gift, aiming with energies more than vision.
He prayed, too, and thanked his Gods for the protection of himself and the survivors, for the honor of those who went to Gronhalle, and for the victory Eskand saw in breaking the gates of Relouse. He spent much time alone, with either his gods or his bow, in part avoiding his companions for shame in his performance in this new kind of battle.
Eskandr moved on, though—the war was far from over and he could hear Bróðir’s beckons still in the voice of Hrothgar, King of Kings, bidding the hunter to follow his Bloodbrother back to Meldheim to speak Bróðir’s words there too. He was glad to be boarding a ship with Kol, who had been with him for the fight against the Yasoi. He was less happy to be on the sea again, knowing how sick it had made him the first time, but would do as his gods bid him.
Bróðir called, and Vali—as he always had—listened.
The immediate aftermath of the revolution passed in a blur for Kaspar. By the time things had slowed down enough for the boy to fully process, he was preparing for an evening bath, finally having the chance to wash now-dried blood from his skin.
Much of what followed his and Felix’s encounter with Don Quintana had been met with the boy’s typical stoicism. He’d cleared his face of the tears shed when the two boys learned the truth of their mutual life, and maintained that calm as they learned more truths.
Warden Ortega was dead.
Kaspar had not said anything when they’d first been told, but he knew this turn of events was troubling. It would be harder to get the Duke to trust the Refuge and agree that the tethered deserved freedom—something the Helbahnese noble still believed strongly to be true. The path forward was difficult, but one he thought was worth walking.
Then there was the matter of Felix—the true Kaspar Elstrøm von Wentoft, the boy who a child named Alaric had once replaced. The boy who supposedly died eight years ago, alive and clueless to his past in a Tethered Refuge countries away from the parents who wanted to be rid of him.
Idly, slipping into the waters of his bath, he recalled the conversation he had with Ayla about who he wanted to be. The answer was, perhaps, cloudier than before. He did not know yet what Felix wanted—and even if he did not want his life and identity back, could Kaspar continue to be Kaspar?
He had to make a choice he could live with, but he did not know yet which one that was. But there were others who he would talk to; Felix, because the Afortunado deserved the conversations he might want—and Willa. She had trained him, never quite understanding the idiosyncrasies of the boy he was and the one he became. But she knew him and cared for him as the person he was—and not the person she wanted to be, as he worried might be the case with the Elstrøms.
For now, though, as he scrubbed flaking blood from his chest, there were more pressing concerns than his choices for his future. Rather, dealing with Dukes and Wyrms and ensuring that he, as well as the others here, would have a future at all.
LOCATION: The Naranja Tree
The Naranja tree provided some shade from the afternoon sun, and Kaspar was grateful for any moment to escape the tree. He sat among the roots, looking at the detail in the bark and committing it to memory for later drawing. It was nice to have some time away from the bustle of their business here, though the last time he had been at the tree had been less than pleasant.
Hot. This whole place was hot and dry. With no shade from any trees, she couldn’t get cool unless she retreated inside one of the Yanii buildings. All that horrible artificial confinement wasn’t quite the welcomed refuge. There was really only one place that had natural shade and she quickly decided that would be her sanctuary here. After a day of being here, Casii looked forward to having a tree she saw during the tour all to herself.
As she rounded the bend to see the view, she found one of the students having the same idea as her. At least it seemed so. Yaniis often didn’t have an appreciation for the natural so she had her doubts seeing her classmate there. It didn’t deter her from approaching and without invitation, she continued right past him sitting on the other side of the tree without a word.
Plopping down, she sighed, nestling herself up against the bark. She thought about making another tree for herself but there was something beautiful about the defiant tree growing in this place. ”Somethin’ ain’t it?” She broke whatever silence the pair of them had maintained up until now. She couldn’t see him but knew he was still there. ”One tree in the whole lot of this place, growin’ like it ain’t nothin’.” She didn’t have her Jamb’ysp in her mouth but the temptation to pop one in her mouth was growing.
Kaspar glanced up curiously as someone else approached, red eyes briefly following Casii as she made her way towards the tree. Once he was sure she wasn’t looking for him, his gaze returned to the roots as he traced their shape mentally. He barely noticed the silence between them, nearly startling when her voice broke it. The noble had to agree with her point, though. “It is. The desert is hot and hostile, but this tree is a welcome sight. I’m hoping I remember enough to draw it, when we return,” he replied.
This Yanii wanted to draw a tree? She didn’t think they cared enough. In fact, why did he want to remember it? This had her curiosity enough to press this. ”Yer into drawing trees? I ain’t think Yaniis like that sort of thin’. I only ever hear of the cities you build and the land you crush underneath. You ain’t much like other Yaniis.”
Kaspar’s eyebrows lifted a little at her comment, but he couldn’t argue against it. “I started drawing when I was young, and plants were always my favorite. We don’t have this kind of tree where I’m from, so I hope if I draw it, I might remember enough to study it later,” he replied, glancing up at the spreading branches.
Casii slumped, finding it possible for the first time since she arrived here to relax entirely under the shade of this tree, shared with a Yanii of all people. ”Never thought I’d see the day.” She muttered, more to herself but loud enough for Kaspar to hear. She had spent so long hearing about Yaniis and their cities, certainly not in the most positive terms, and here was one of the first she’d ever talked to actually admit he favored plants. Man after her own heart.
Casii reached into her bag, withdrawing a small white seed. She ran it through her fingers in quiet contemplation for moment before finally deciding. She tossed it behind her, letting it land to Kaspar’s side. It didn’t sit for long as Casii reached out to the white seed and channeled her mana to influence the seed. It sprouted, roots found and dug into the ground while a lush green stem rose lifting a bulb. The bulb continued to grow, tips whitening before a touch of crimson crept in and then in the next second it the blow broke apart, expanding into a bell-shaped flower, dangling from a sturdy stem.
”I’m a Greengrowth so I can do that. You wanna have a tree of yer own?” She quietly offered and not lightly considering her tone. She just never quite expected this.
Kaspar’s eyes turned to the seed as it landing near him, head tilting in curiosity. When it began to grow, his eyes widened and he watched raptly. He knew it was certainly more than possible to grow plants so rapidly, but the boy had never encountered it personally. He watched it grow, wishing he had charcoal and a notebook on hand. At Casii’s offer, he straightened, and for a moment to accept readily. After a few seconds of thought, the boy replied, “I would be very grateful, but… I’m not sure I have anywhere to… ‘keep’ a tree of my own. Though I think the campus could benefit from one, if the climate were a better match.”
The Yanii raised a good point and oh boy, did he sound hooked. He couldn’t hide the slight elation her large ears picked up. ”Yer quittin’ too soon, Yanii.” She mused. ”Back home me’n mine were… are famous for growin’ all sorts of plants we found from all over. Each one could be stubborn but we figured ‘em out. My grand na tells me that at one time, you’d find every known plant growin’ at home.” She drifted off for a moment, trying to picture just what her grand na saw back then.
”So how about it? One for you’n one for me?”
He had to admit, her home sounded fantastic. The boy could get lost in a garden like that, and quite happily so. Trying by nature not to sound too over-eager but likely failing, he responded, “Ersand’Enise could certainly use a few Naranja trees. You seem like you’re more than capable of making it happen,” he agreed, mind already drifting to chances he might have to sit a sketch one from reference in the Arboretum.
”Okay.” Casii nodded as her hands reached into her bag to shuffle through the seeds in there mindlessly. ”But I ain’t doin’ all the work. You gotta chip in.” She withdrew one of her hands and gave a root a tap. The tree groaned and made noised, leaves rustled but the whole tree was renewed with fresh life as the leaves grew freshly green, the trunk seemed to thicken and the roots seemed to wiggle in delight. The distinctly colored fruit grew on the branches, fresh and ripe. Seeds safely stored inside.
”Help yerself. I’m closin’ my eyes for a bit.” She offered, ending with a satisfied exhale through her nose, shuffling in her spot and cuddling up in the shade for a nice nap. Slight smile cracked on her lips.
Kaspar watched the tree, mesmerized by the way it moved and rejuvenated. As Casii prepared herself for a nap, he quietly stood, reaching a hand out and delicately plucking one of the newly grown fruits. He sat back down, working on the peel, and bit into one of the ripe, juicy pieces. Each seed he encountered was tucked carefully into a pocket for safe keeping—plenty more than they would need, but never more than they could use.
LOCATION: The Courtyard
Kaspar glanced at the tethered watching him, pushing down the nervousness creeping up his throat. He was offering lessons today, teaching the basics of using Binding Magic casting for protection, and converting other forms of energy as he knew how long learning to draw properly could take—and how dangerous untrained drawing could be.
All who were attending were older and more experienced, though relatively speaking many of them were still fairly green.
"The nature of Binding Magic makes it different from all others," he began. As he explained, many of them nodded and seemed to understand—and he could only hope this was earnest, and not simply students feigning understanding in embarrassment.
"One of the most practical uses for Binding Magic as low levels is for creating structures and barriers. I find it helps to visualize what you want to make, and how the energy in your manas will become it." He paused, drawing in energy—focusing on Arcane and Kinetic energies rather than material, and converting it inside his blood.
He turned, pointing his wand at an empty space in the courtyard, and channeled the potential energy. A wall of sandstone blocks appeared, constructing itself by atoms more slowly than usual, to allow for observation.
One student, Mira, raised a hand as Kaspar finished, and he turned, raising an eyebrow but inviting her to speak. She was one of the youngest in the group, at his guess no older than thirteen. She shifted, looking suddenly unsure, but the girl beside her—a few years older—put a hand on her arm and nodded softly.
"Does it have to be sandstone? C-could it be something else? Like… l-like bread?" Her voice squeaked on the last note, and the girl buried her face in embarrassment, clearly having panicked and suggested the first material that came to mind.
But Kaspar walked softly over to her, placing a hand on her shoulder. "Any material you can think of," he answered, adding, "A wall of bread is a fantastic way to feed your loved ones." Mira glanced up, eyes lighting up as she saw the small lump of bread forming in Kaspar’s outstretched palm. With a nod from him, Mira grasped the bread, nibbling on it as Kaspar stepped back, now addressing all the students.
"Binding Magic can create things of any shape and any material," he explained, gesturing to the bread Mira was now breaking into pieces and passing around the group. "Some things are more difficult than others and take more practice, but for today—We try to make anything at all."
The bloodchild spent the next several hours coaching his students in creating barriers with Binding Magic—many of them seemed to grasp the basics, though things like size and efficiency would require much more practice.
But this was a solid start, and just one of many things the Tethered would be learning in the coming days.
LOCATION: The Outer Walls
Kaspar was well and truly sick of sand. Staring out from the Refuge walls, it was all the boy could see—and it just went on and on for miles. Part of him wondered how the occupants didn’t get tired of it, but the rest knew that they had far worse things to contend with.
He wasn’t even meant to be on watch—his range, like many of his classmates, was no match for any of the Tethered. But his doppelganger was on lookout, and the immediate aftermath of a revolution had kept them both busy. The noble adoptee had meant what he’d said, though; any questions Felix had, he would be willing to answer—and he was more than willing to be like a brother to the child he’d unwittingly replaced.
He was still getting used to seeing a face that looked so like his own, but Kaspar met his eyes briefly and flashed an awkward greeting smile—more in line with awkwardness at conversations generally than at the particular individual he was approaching. Clearing his throat, the red-eyed boy murmured, “You mind having some company?”
“Already do,” Felix joked, leaning slightly over the edge and gesturing with his chin the direction of a pair of scorpions fighting in the shadow of the wall. “Little buggers have been at it for hours.” He sniffed a bit and rolled his neck. “Wouldn’t say no to something a bit more interactive, though.” His eyes flicked over to Kaspar and, along with them, a slight grin. “You are more interactive than a scorpion, right?”
Kaspar’s eyes followed Felix’s gesture, head tilting as he observed the pair of scorpions. Fauna was not his specialty, but it was nevertheless something he probably wouldn’t see often in his life. At Felix’s question, he leaned forward and rested his arms against the wall, well away from the scorpions. [color=#B8041A][b]“...That might depend on who you ask,”[/color] he answered after a moment, sounding almost amused. [color=#B8041A]“Most people don’t find me to be very… talkative.”[/b][/color]
Felix snorted. “How’d mom and dad explain that one?” he asked. “Only reason people think I’m not a motormouth is ‘cause of Luisa. Bless her heart, that chick can talk a mile a minute, and she’ll hold your attention for it too.”
A small smile crossed Kaspar’s face, hearing about the friendships (and more) that Felix had made. “They… never really had to. I wasn’t allowed to see many people. Mostly my tutors, and they were hired after,” he admitted, voice soft as he mentioned the isolation.
“Sounds peachy,” the tethered remarked, “by which I mean ‘fucked up’.” He shook his head, letting himself down onto the chair he’d had brought up. He set his crutches aside. “They kept us sheltered from the outside world here too,” he admitted, “though once I became part of the Afortunado, I started to learn a bit.” He furrowed his brow momentarily. “Kinda got the impression kids were mostly just tools to noble families, or accessories. They serve a purpose or they bring you shame.”
Kaspar didn’t show much emotion, but the small smile on his face seemed to drift away completely as Felix talked. “They did what they had to, to raise me,” he said quietly. “I used to think they were different, and wouldn’t just get rid of a kid who they didn’t want to help,” he murmured, glancing up at the tethered. [color=#B8041A[b]]“But I was wrong. I guess I’m a bad judge of character, huh?”[/b][/color] He snorted, only really half-amused.
“Shit,” snorted Felix, glancing up at the guy he’d decided to call ‘brother’. “Guess that means I am a total asshole, then.” He smiled faintly, reaching into his pocket for some chicle and popping it into his mouth. “Want some, by the way? Swear I’m not trying to get you addicted. Just considered polite around here.”
Kaspar reached a hand out to accept the chicle, giving his brother a side-eye. “If other people think you’re alright too, you’re probably good,” he joked. “But, you do keep trying to hook me on this stuff. Gonna have to make sure I’m stocked up before long, or I’ll have to keep taking yours.” A smirk pulled at his mouth as he teased Felix, putting his own piece into his mouth to chew.
Felix made sounds of appreciation and then they settled into an easy silence, sweeping the desert with their senses. The rain clouds had faded and the dunes and crags fairly hummed with life as flora and fauna alike took advantage of this rare opportunity. Eventually, it was the tethered who broke the silence. “Truth is, bro,” he began, “I got questions, just like most normal people would, but they’re just so many and they’re so… pointless.” He shook his head, chewing the last bit of flavour from his gum. He twisted to look Kaspar in the eyes for a moment. “I don’t remember them, I don’t really care for them, and I’m not that interested in ever seeing them.” He spat, and the wad of chicle sailed over the stout wall and out into the desert night. “Not even bitterness or anything. They’re just not relevant to me.” He shrugged. “I have Luisa, who I spend every day with. I have some friends.” He let out a long, easy breath, or at least it seemed so. “And now I picked you up too.” He managed a slight, crooked smile.
Kaspar was good with silence, though he could’ve done fine without looking out at more fucking sand. As Felix began to speak, he turned with rapt attention. As the boy went on, something almost… peaceful, seemed to curl in Kaspar’s chest. That Felix seemed genuinely happy at this moment, despite all he’d been through. An involuntary smile broke his face at the last sentence, and he looked away sheepishly. “I understand. I have many questions, too, but… They’re not ones you can answer,” he replied, looking back before continuing, “But, if you ever do want to ask any questions—about anything, it doesn’t have to be them… I’ll be willing to answer.”
Felix flicked an appreciative smile Kaspar’s way. “Thanks, brother. Now,” he continued, taking in another breath of the for-once not parched air, “What do you say’s the over-under on that big ugly worm coming by tonight so we can take its ass out?”
Kaspar furrowed his brow in thought. “That would be convenient. Has anyone sensed it yet? It might take some time to find us, even once it’s gotten closer.” He thought for a moment more, then grinned and added, “But if we start a betting pool… There’s one good way to get the fucker to show up on time.”
“Hah!” Felix let out a bark of laughter. It faded easily. “But you’re right. It might wander for days still.” He popped another wad of chicle into his mouth and offered his brother one perfunctorily. “Really, that’s when we should take it out: while we can hit it and it can’t hit us.” He began to chew. “I think that’s the plan, actually. All your fancy magic school training might not even get put to use,” he chuckled.
Kaspar sighed wistfully, taking another piece of chicle. “My fancy magic school hasn’t trained me to fight a sand wyrm, yet. You’re more than welcome to kill it before I even get a look at the thing,” he retorted. “If we’re lucky, Jocasta might get sick of waiting one night and take it out while we’re asleep. Not sure how I’d manage to thank her for that one, but I’m willing to figure it out.”
“Heh,” Felix managed. “Yeah, that one. She’s… something else.” He shook his head slowly. “I only knew her for a year, but she was a teen and a ‘nado, and I was just some kid. She scared me… still does,” he laughed. “Truth is,” he admitted, “Ii was kind of hoping to go there - me and Luisa - if it’d be possible.” He half-scowled. “It's just a pipe dream, and now I’m starting to wonder, just from how I’m hearing people talk, if it’s really worth it, if the world out there - and I haven’t seen much outside a mission and a half - is actually as bad as magpies always said it was.”
“I didn’t really meet her before the day we were sent here,” Kaspar added. “She scares me, too. What we felt in the desert… I’d go the other way, if someone asked me to fight her.” He listened to Felix talk about the outer world, and held back a discontented sigh. “...You could come back with us to Ersand’Enise, if you wanted. Use it as a jumping point, if you want, but I know someone who could give you a place to stay, if you and Luisa needed one,” he offered, turning to look at the boy. After a second, he added almost too hastily, “If it was something you wanted. The world isn’t… It’s not the greatest, sometimes. But at least now you have the choice.”
“Yeah,” agreed Felix, his face turning thoughtful as he gazed out across the active solitude of the desert - his home, now, in truth. “I guess we do. Thanks.”
LOCATION: The Staff Patio
Kaspar was quick to get ready when the news reached him via Laëlle pounding on the door and shouting through the wood. He splashed his face with water, affixing his hair into something presentable and putting on a light tunic, tucking the loose hem into his pants.
As he approached the Staff Patio, well ahead of the time Laëlle had given, Kaspar looked the picture of stoic nobleness. He had not spent much time dealing with politics, but the boy knew one key lesson: show no weakness.
L O C A T I O N | St. Defrois' Rock
I N T E R A C T I O N | Kol, Death's Hand @Th3King0fChaos, Lyen'Ivhere'Zulc @Tackytaff
I N T E R A C T I O N | Kol, Death's Hand @Th3King0fChaos, Lyen'Ivhere'Zulc @Tackytaff
It was hard to hide on an open battlefield; he could feel the yasoi pushing toward them, approaching St. Defrois' rock. He’d hoped the large stone would provide enough shelter for he and Kol to regroup, but he felt the way it started shifting as a tree-dweller took control. He reached out, grabbing his Bloodbrother by the arm in a warning before the ranger rolled backward. Debris began to fall, but they managed to avoid it.
Vali was already nocking an arrow as he came out of the roll, senses reaching to find their attackers. Unwilling to wait for a proper strike before he countered, the ranger loosed an arrow, Force energies curving it around the rock toward the forward-most yasoi. He felt it connect with flesh and heard the cry of pain, but the crumbling stone of St. Defrois did not halt, battering his furs and leathers as he stalked farther back, away from the rock.
A few feet away, iron spikes shot out of the ground, reminding Vali of the tree roots lances he’d encountered in the Witchwood. Finding a better viewpoint, he spotted a one-legged yasoi—and even in these few small actions, he could sense the power on her. She needed to be dealt with. She seemed too strong to take on single-handedly, but Vali knew how to throw an opponent off their rhythm. He channeled his Gift, Force magic manifesting in disembodied but rapid footsteps approaching her from behind.
Another nocked arrow was loosed to sink into her spine, but the tree-dweller released a powerful burst of energy that flung it away without even turning to face the distraction behind her. He heard the snarled threat behind the blast, “Next one's not gonna be a little shove, human. It's coming for your head.”
The ranger couldn’t help but smirk at her anger—she seemed powerful, but she was far from the only one. He was an expert in hunting powerful beasts.
But then she was rushing forward, faster than his eyes could track, like a whirlwind of energy through his awareness as he drew from it instinctively. He dodged backward, but felt a blade sink into the flesh of his shoulder despite the leathers covering it, spilling warm blood down his chest.
He reacted with a sword of his own, swinging Blodløst Sverd at the woman’s torso, but she was already spinning away, attention drawn toward Death’s Hand and the yasoi who seemed to be no match for him.
He heard his Bloodbrother’s voice offering mercy, "If you leave with her now, then the wounds will not get worse." The one-legged tree-dweller seemed unflinching as she spoke to her companion, offering an escape. As the injured yasoi stood and seemed ready to flee, Vali was surprised to hear his brother offer him a similar choice. "Vali, same to you. Flee if you must, this one is mine to dance with."
He balked at the thought of fleeing. This battle was tough and strange, but he was an Eskandr raider—he could not simply flee. Yet… Kol seemed hungry for battle with this yasoi, and there was a trail of blood to follow. He pulled back, tracking Lyen back around St. Defrois’ rock.
He stalked around the landmark following the spilled blood—but the ground beneath his feet turned soft, sucking the ranger into the dirt. Frustrated, he loosed another arrow towards the damned yasoi trapping him in the mud—but it vaporized mid-air.
The tree-dweller approached, laying a hand upon him, and Vali felt the barest sense of exhaustion trickle through him, but he shook it and the hand off. Drawing the energy of the shifting ground around him, he released it in a pulse that pushed him out of the now-solidifying ground and pushed Lyen away. The yasoi stumbled, but the rock beside them crumbled violently again, shattering rock against the ranger’s face.
He hit the ground, face and head pounding and slick with blood. Unwilling to give up and still able to track the tree-dweller with Force and Essence energy. He swung his sword but it didn’t connect. Instead, a hand pressed against his bloodied face, "You shouldn't have shot me."
Vali’s head clouded again, and he could feel his consciousness swimming away, falling quickly into the darkness. Holding onto his awareness, he swung one more time with his sword—it was futile, barely a swing in earnest, but the ranger couldn’t even tell as he sank into a cold abyss, limp and bloodied against the dirt.
LOCATION: The Refuge
INTERACTIONS: Felix and Don Quintana, @Force and Fury — Mentions of: Ayla @Ti; Jocasta @Force and Fury; Yalen @pantothenic; Zarina @YummyYummy
LOCATION: The Red Tower
LOCATION: Wolfieh's Mind
L O C A T I O N | The Witchwood
I N T E R A C T I O N | Kol, Death’s Hand @Th3King0fChaos
I N T E R A C T I O N | Kol, Death’s Hand @Th3King0fChaos
Chaos seemed to reign supreme as the fighting in the Witchwood grew earnest; Kol’s arrival was a welcome one for the ranger and his kin, but it changed the nature of the fight entirely. Flames took hold—the King of Strumreef so loved his fire—and it seemed every element of nature was being grasped by one hand or another. Vali couldn’t even tell if it belonged to his people or the enemy, and suspected it might be a healthy dose of both.
He’d found a half-hollow tree to brace in for a moment, trying to realign his senses to the battle at hand. It seemed that he’d done well to harry the opponents while they awaited Death’s Hand, but the strategy sank the moment Kol’s forces arrived. He was unsure where the rest of the rangers were now, but those who were still alive had likely joined the fight in the manner they saw fit.
He sensed a change, subtle but hating, in the energy surrounding him. Not even knowing what he was evading, Vali leapt and rolled forward as the very roots of the tree seemed to sprout lances, lashing out to stab whatever poor soul was caught unawares. He rolled, avoiding a second strike, but heard cries of pain around the forest—not a targeted attack, but a widespread one. Something that spoke to a great range.
He pushed to his feet, moment of respite well over, and let his own senses roam. The forest was full of movement and blood, the constant nature of it reminding the ranger of his time on the sea. He was searching for one collection of energies in particular—one which he would know even in a writhing hellscape such as this.
He moved swiftly through the trees, footsteps silent on the muddied ground he traversed. As he neared the edge of the trees, he could see some of the openness beyond it, Kol’s energy among it. Vali grinned, preparing himself to join the fight, a bolt of lightning brightening the vicious hunter’s blue-green eyes.
And then a force expanded, loud and bright and fast toward the Witchwood. Vali reached out, grasping the energy approaching him and slicing through it like a knife, pulling it into his blood—but there was more than he could negate. It blasted him backwards, though he’d managed to reduce the blow against him by half. As he landed, the ranger drew that Kinetic energy as well, feeling his manas swell as he hit the ground softly.
His ears were ringing and the shockwave continued past, but Vali had interest in but one quarry now. Feeling the energy of his Bloodbrother approaching the forest again—seemingly still alive—the ranger pushed to his feet. He didn’t need to worry about dodging bouts of fighting as many warriors, Eskandr and Perrench alike, had been knocked off their feet by the blast. The Silent Hunt put many arrows in the throats of prone enemies as he raced to intercept his brother, using this opportunity to shrink the enemy forces ever more.
As he neared the hulking mass of Death’s Hand, the ranger called out, ”Kol!”. He appeared at the edge of the trees, bow drawn and aimed to fire at anyone following the King, but finding nothing. ”Let us take this battlefield together, Brother,” he intoned, grin toothy and predatory.
LOCATION: The Refuge
INTERACTIONS:
The door to Kaspar’s room shut again, though the boy did not begin trembling this time as he had the last.
He’d been trembling before he opened it; before they even departed the camels. Though he couldn’t recall it himself, the boy was sure Yalen could tell him he’d been trembling for some amount of the ride home.
The demons that haunted him now were not the same as the previous night, nor this morning. He was not beset with visions of his past and thoughts of unwanted children, trying to find the sense of where he fit in between those images.
What… the fuck?
Was this normal? His life as a noble afforded him safety that others often didn’t have, sure, but… This was nothing like he’d encountered or even heard of in the eight years that preceded it. In less than two full days—Less than one? How long have we been here?, his mind offered—he and his companions had very nearly died twice, and been endangered several more times. Not to mention the notion that had been vaguely working in his mind, quite possibly placed there by his classmates, that the students were not meant to survive this encounter. If he had less training in smoothing over his urges, he’d…
Well, he’d want Warden Ortega dead.
He took a deep breath, centering himself. What would Willa do?
A snort of laughter erupted from him, unbidden, as he imagined his tutor’s presence in this Refuge. If she knew the circumstances the Warden had put the tethered children in? A grand usurping, he was sure—and certainly no shame if the Warden happened to perish because of his own actions. If Kaspar (and, to a lesser extent, his classmates) had been endangered as well?
Nothing short of death in a manner most cruel and unusual, he imagined.
Gods, that woman scared him. He’d have to keep the shared details of this mission minimal, or she’d be liable to try and track down Hugo for a beating, too.
He shook the thoughts from his head. There was no use in imagining it now, when there was much work to be done. Someone had taken care to make sure he knew they would be meeting with Amanda tonight, though his mind lacked a clear picture of exactly who. Blonde hair—Yalen, or perhaps Jocasta?—seemed to prevail, but he was uncertain if it pertained to the message or simply to the ride back.
He was glad to see a bath had been prepared, and wasted not a moment more peeling the bloodied clothes from his skin. The water was still hot, and he sank into it gratefully. He was tired of heat, but this was a cleansing burn—the heat of the desert only served to soil.
Kaspar took care the scrub the blood where it had begun to stain his skin; his chin and throat seemed a mess, though he knew it was the nature of lip injuries to bleed and he’d not been damaged elsewhere. Other splatters of the crimson liquid lay on his shoulders and arms, his chest and stomach and thighs, and he was sure his back was tainted too.
Froabase blood, or that from his camel—the latter which had suffered a painful death, and the former which likely lived, but had lost a good portion of its face to his Gift.
He was glad to find a small selection of clothes available in the room; his own were likely ruined, and the boy was grateful that he hadn’t brought his precious cloak along. Though these articles were looser and flowier than his own, and lacked any sort of vest to go overtop the tunic, it would have to suffice. He wasted no time setting to the meal that had been left for him, handily cleaned of drugs by Jocasta’s quiet work, and finished it in mere minutes.
As Kaspar prepared to step out the door, he schooled his face into a neutral expression. There was much to discuss tonight, and likely emotions that would run high, but he would not let himself fall victim to the disturbances the Refuge had offered thus far.
Closing it softly behind him, crimson eyes sweeping the area just in time to meet with Jocasta’s gaze.
Turning toward her, he nodded softly and began to approach.
L O C A T I O N | The Witch Woods
I N T E R A C T I O N | Kol, Death’s Hand @Th3King0fChaos; Mentions of Nettle @A Lowly Wretch
I N T E R A C T I O N | Kol, Death’s Hand @Th3King0fChaos; Mentions of Nettle @A Lowly Wretch
Where Kol’s heavily armored form left its mark upon landing, Vali left nothing; his feet were light upon the ground, barely-there as he pulled the energy from the movement, practically instinct by now. His eyes scanned the cliff before them, senses reaching out with the Gift for any sign of danger among the rocks. Though these steep walls would make good shelter for seabirds, there were few that remained; with the scent of blood and storm on the wind, a few more dove, wings sweeping the air as they cawed raucously over the waves. He felt rather than saw them vanish into the darkening air, eyes already scaling the stone.
"Brother, go an take this group and scout ahead. Any hidden mages or groups will need to be dealt with."
Vali turned towards Kol, lips curving in a predatory grin. His blue-green eyes looked past the king, towards the men he was being given, and the ranger nodded sharply. ”Better climb quickly, Brother, or there’ll be nothing left for you,” he replied, gaze locking with the Death’s Hand. He slung his bow around his chest, seeing many of his rangers doing similar, and jogged towards the cliffside.
Looking to either side as his small force lined up against the stone, Vali barked out, ”Quick, but quiet! We don’t want to startle our prey.” He reached up, fingers digging into the rough stone, and began the ascent. Though Vali was known for using his Gift to sense and track while softening his movements, he was no stranger to climbing. More often trees than cliffs, but the strength was there—and was boosted by his Gift, letting him move a little faster and reach a little farther. He pulled a little ahead of his followers, though many of them were capable of similar feats.
Vali reached the clifftop and pulled himself over, staying low to the ground as he reached his Gift out across the small bit of open land that rested between the cliffs and the forest. There was nothing in that grass, the only nearby movement that of rangers pulling themselves over the cliffside onto their feet or their bellies, staying low and watching Vali for a sign.
”If they’re hiding, it’ll be in the woods. Spread out, but stay within sight of someone else. Kill any stragglers, but hold off on attacking anything larger than us,” he ordered, voice low as the Eskandr around him nodded. They crept forward, low but swift, crossing the grass and road into the first brambles of the Witch Woods. The mists of Eskand were at their back, but rain began to pour heavily upon them as they made it to the shelter of the trees.
The woods seemed to grow dark and darker still, and Vali halted. Was it a trick of his eyes, or some unknown Gift at work?
He breathed out, closing his eyes and reaching. It was faint, here at the edge of the woods, but the trees moved more than the should—swaying softly to and fro in the winds, but moving upward too, it seemed. The forest was thickening like something from a story meant to scare children.
His eyes scanned to the right and found the ranger on that side had paused, watching him. Vali gestured over him, and the woman on his left. As they neared, he stated quietly, ”The trees are not with us in these woods. Best not to climb them.” The pair watched him for a moment, glanced toward each other, and then nodded. The picked their ways through the bracken to either side, to pass the message along.
Vali continued forward, awareness spreading around him like a pool of water. He could feel the ripples of his own force. Occasionally, he would sense something else—some small group of fighters, perhaps lookouts or perhaps those who had simply strayed from the herd. Twice he saw them with his own eyes and twice ended them with his own arrows, but others were taken out further down the line.
The magic seemed to grow, much like the trees, as they made it deeper into the forest. The rain still poured, dampened by the canopy but seeming to only grow heavier. The ground was wet with every step now, but Vali did not splash in the rivulets that ran beneath him. He felt as though he could hear singing, just on the edge of awareness, but it was too hard to tell with the noise of the rain.
He sensed the edges of the encampment long before he would’ve been able to see them, and paused the advance once more. Pulling his flanks in, he explained the plan that would be passed down the line to either side.
They were to circle the force, staying hidden within the trees. Once the ends were in place, they would give a signal—following Vali’s own, the rangers were to open fire on the camp, staying hidden and staying in motion. The goal was to harry and confuse them, using illusions if anyone was skilled, and keep them guessing as to how many were here and on the attack. Keep them occupied and uncertain until Kol’s men—who Vali was sure would not be far behind—arrived and started the fight in earnest.
If the senses of the force in the Witch Woods were not keen, the only warning they may have would be a few seconds of birdsong before the rangers attacked; some might realize this was strange in such a storm, or that the birds were not native to Relouse but rather to the lands far south—but noticing this would only give them a moment to brace.
LOCATION: The Desert
The conversation with Ayla kept playing through Kaspar’s mind as the group traversed the sands of Torragon. Some part of him felt guilty to be so selfishly distracted when the threat for danger was so high, but the larger part of him couldn’t be bothered—there were nine others in the convoy, three of whom could sense farther with the Gift than he could ever hope to. They did not need him.
He wished he could say, at the very least, that his distraction had been productive—but the boy wasn’t sure that it had. He kept trying to imagine what it was he wanted, but found so much of this “ideal” life in conflict with itself.
He loved his parents—the Elstrøms—greatly, and he knew they loved him. He had more opportunities than would have ever been available to him Kerremand… But less freedom. The path before him was set as the heir of a noble family, and he didn’t mind terribly much most days. But there was an immense pressure, like an executioner’s ax hanging above his neck. Above his whole family—above the lineage he purported himself to be from.
If it was discovered that he was not the legitimate, blood-born heir, it would have dire consequences for the Elstrøm name and family. Even if the discovery was centuries from now, it could throw into question the continuation of this family.
By right of blood, the Elstrøm line would die the day he took the title of Marquis. No child he sired would be legitimate; no blood of his, no matter how distant into the future, would truly belong in the seat of the Marquis. This was the true danger of his past, the reason why this secret needed to be so closely guarded. The last morsel of knowledge of his past would need to die with those who knew it now. No written history, no great secret passed to another, no matter how deeply he trusted them.
For the first time since he had arrived at Ersand’Enise, Kaspar found himself longing for Willa. Not even the tutor knew the truth of him, but she had consoled him from nightmares he could not explain many times in his childhood. She may not understand why he needed the comfort, but she would provide it nonetheless.
But… there were others capable of that, too. Ayla had seen his stricken face earlier and offered him comfort though he could not tell her what had shaken him. She had offered words of encouragement and kindness.
He wondered if she would be as kind if she knew he’d lied—that his whole life was a lie. If she knew how dangerous he was.
His eyes scanned his collection of classmates, and with a sharp jolt of pain in his chest, Kaspar wondered if they could ever forgive him, were they to learn the truth. For being so dishonest, for impersonating someone of importance when he was anything but, for being a monster who had nearly killed because he had lacked control. Would they forgive the blood on his hands, when his own birth mother could not?
He shut his eyes tightly, breathing as deeply as the stifling air would allow. There was good reason he could never reveal the truth to them—not even to the kind and bright Ayla. It would be the undoing of his family, and the undoing of himself.
Choking down the pain and forcing his mind to other things, Kaspar Elstrøm von Wentoft continued on into the sands.
By the time they had stopped to eat, Kaspar was on edge, focus so tightly coiled that he felt like it might burst. The halassa had been a less than welcome sight, reminding him of the charcoal one he’d left on the wall of his room—with double the fighting force they’d had the previous night, the boy had faith they could handle it. But stopping to fight among these sands would undoubtedly bring trouble of its own kind.
He’d been relieved when Escarra had scared them off with the rifle, though his mind wondered what sort of attention the noise would attract, if any. Did sound travel well here in the desert, or did the wind and the sand choke it before it truly got a chance to live?
The rhinodon was a surprise to the boy. He didn’t know much of desert wildlife, and all that knowledge stemmed from the previous night’s experience. He steered his camel out of the way, pulling on his knowledge of riding horses, but the movements were strange to Kaspar and he hadn’t been reacting as quickly as he hoped to, feeling off-balance.
He’d noticed Zarina’s attempts to distract the creature, and was grateful even if they didn’t seem to have much effect. He managed to avoid the first charge, narrowly avoiding a nasty spill off the back of his steed, and had tried to move himself out of the way of the next charge—until the beast suddenly gave up its quarry, making a brisk retreat.
Kaspar at least knew that it wasn’t a good sign, his fears being confirmed heartbeats later when the ranger called for them to flee to the safety of the hoodoos. As he had spurred his camel toward the cliffs he saw the great wall of sand approaching and felt his throat tighten. It had reminded him of the snow squalls that would sometimes pass through Wentoft in the coldest months. While this sand squall would likely be free from the dangers of hypothermia, he could only think of the abrasiveness of the particles—far rougher than that of snow.
They’d found shelter enough among the hoodoos, and the sand squall had revealed a good enough shelter to rest.
As he ate, trying to let his mind rest for a time, Kaspar was grateful for the shade. The heat out here was monstrous, and part of him thought a snow squall might be refreshing now. He certainly preferred the harsh chill of Helbahn to the hell that was this desert, but knew there was no real point in wishing for something that was a continent away.
Lunch was a quiet affair for the noble; he preferred to observe conversations most of the time anyway, and the classmates who might try to drag him into one all seemed occupied with their own discussions. It didn’t bother him, though a piece of the boy was curious to know what they talked about as words failed to reach his ears. That was, perhaps, by design—noting this, and not wanting to intrude unless invited, the Helbahnese spent most of his time passively watching the card game, occasionally glancing up to observe Escarra’s movements.
Kaspar could not say he was pleased to be moving again, as they shuffled away from the ruins and back into the sand, but he pushed his growing discomfort away in favor of focusing on the task before them. He did not have long to contemplate the potential success of the journey, as the tethered among them finally noticed the aberration. Despite the heat in the air, Kaspar felt a small shiver go down his spine.
They moved further along the cliffs, and there was no room now for distraction; his crimson eyes were constantly scanning the movements above, the froabases looking for any opening to swoop down upon them. As they rode, Kaspar drew from the sands around them, letting something of a reserve build up in his manas in case he needed to act quickly. Quietly, his fingers slipped into the pocket of his vest and he clutched his wand in one hand, preparing for the peace to rupture at any moment.
When Marceline finally rode back to tell the majority of them that a wyrm had been sensed a mile off, it felt in some ways like rainfall after a drought. The threat was known, and though it had not yet attacked, Kaspar felt the anticipation bleed from him. He nodded, unsettled but prepared. He followed Escarra as they made for the rocky ground near the cliffs, senses on alert but breathing calm.
But the calm could not last, and as the tension, thin wire that it was, snapped into chaos, Kaspar’s heart beat into his throat. Some of his companions may be able to hasten their beasts with the Gift, but he had no such talent—he arrived at the rocky outcrop among the last of the convoy, barely outpacing Zarina despite her detour to save the supply camel that had spooked.
For a moment, they were safe among the rocks, but it could not last—not after the wyrm had stirred up the sands and the creatures of Eshiran’s Throat. As blood began to spill and soak into the sand, Kaspar felt his camel startle and tensed with expectation.
He’d enjoyed riding horses over the past five years at Wentoft, lessons frequent—but he’d first been put in a saddle at eight, shortly after he arrived there. The boy still remembered walking around the training yard, clutching tightly to the mane of the horse as he rocked back and forth, legs already aching. It had been merely a harmless garden snake that spooked his steed, but enough to send it galloping across the yard in a panic, poor Kaspar unable to keep his grip as he slid from the saddle, landing harshly on the ground and barely avoiding the back hooves of the beast. Willa had consoled him then, too, holding his hands as he’d sat in the grass and sobbed, startling every time the horse snorted from a few dozen feet away.
He felt a similar sense of helplessness now, as his camel bolted from the scene. Try as he might to control it, the noble couldn’t calm the beast—and though he was unhappy with its behavior, he could not say he blamed it.
It would not be enough to save them, though. As he felt the froabase descending, shadows of its wings upon the sand, Kaspar turned in his saddle and swung his wand out, a barrier of stone slamming into the creature.
It was closer than he had expected, though, claws already grasping at his camel. He felt a pang of guilt at being unable to save the beast, but his life was more important. He pushed off, sending himself one direction as his steed was ripped from underneath him, horrific screeches coming from both it and its predator. He hit the sand and rolled, more by force than by choice.
Stopping on all fours, teeth bared and bloodied red from biting his lip and tongue in the fall, there was something wild in the face of the boy. As another predator swirled in the sky and dove toward him, he reached out with his manas and pulled.
It was like the creature’s face had burst, but there was no flesh spraying out from the impact—blood spilled on him and the sand around him as it screeched, and Kaspar felt the pressure building in his blood as a harsh spear of rock appeared in the air, only half-conscious of his casting it. The froabase rolled to the side mid-air and took the jagged weapon only half in the throat, tearing at the flesh but not outright killing it.
It circled, preparing for another dive, and Kaspar felt the pressure building again—but this time, he was not the one drawing.
With a start, he realized his attacker had stopped moving, hanging from the air like one of Ysilla’s puppets against a darkening sky.
He would’ve hit his knees if he were not already on them, and his blood-soaked hands came up to clutch tightly to his head, nauseous from the immense pressure. He felt like he was going to explode, and for half a second wondered if this was the price of using Blood Magic.
Then it stilled, and turned stranger still—Kaspar glanced up, expecting to see the Paradigm himself among the sands, but instead saw Jocasta in the air, emanating power in a way he’d never felt so directly. And the froabases were gone, and he questioned if they’d ever been there at all.
Jocasta dropped to the ground, but Kaspar fell forward onto his hands, fingers digging into blood-soaked sand as he panted out harsh breaths. When he finally looked up again, blood dribbling down his chin, Jocasta was being tended to.
Curiosity prickled at the boy, but he could shove it aside easily enough. Right now, he didn’t care what sort of forbidden magic she had tapped into—it had saved their lives. He hardly had room for judgement or disapproval, given his own attempt to escape death, though an internet in her and her abilities would certainly grow from here.
Kaspar pushed to his feet, blood-splattered and looking worse-off than he actually was. His mouth tasted of copper but the wounds were not terrible; bothersome, but they would heal up fine. As he made his way to the group, exhaustion settling deep in his bones, the boy noted who had been lost. None of his classmates, thankfully, but two of the guards—it was sad, though he couldn’t spare the energy to be truly upset by it now.
Much of the journey back was a blur, Kaspar’s awareness shifting in and out. He found a camel somewhere, though it was definitely not his own. He wasn’t sure if he was dozing or simply losing awareness from the stress, but when he truly noticed his surroundings again, the blood on his shirt was dry and it flaked from his chin and throat. The walls of the Refuge were in sight, and for a moment a sense of safety overwhelmed him.
It was tamped down by a bitter, amused remembrance of what had happened the previous night within sight of those walls. There were nearly done, but Kaspar would not truly believe it until they were well within the walls.
And he doubted he would truly feel safe until they were back in Ersand’Enise, far away from this hellscape.
L O C A T I O N | Northern Eskand
I N T E R A C T I O N | None
I N T E R A C T I O N | None
Several Weeks Prior
The pale sunlight dappled over Vali’s eyelids between the swaying leaves, and he groaned awake. Rolling away from the harshness of daybreak, the ranger reached a hand out in search of his waterskin, palm pressing into cool grass as it slapped against the ground. He groaned again, stretching further out but refusing to open his eyes and search for it.
He felt a pouch of leather kicked into his hands and heard a laugh from somewhere above. ”Searching for this, O Great Hunter?” a woman teased, finally plying the ranger into opening his eyes.
He rolled over, staring up at the dark-haired figure framed by the deep green of leaves from the forest floor. ”I see you’re up with the sun, Estrid,” he remarked groggily, bringing the waterskin to his lips and drinking from it.
She crouched, smirking down at him. ”One of us has to be. Our camp won’t uproot itself.” With that, the woman turned, stepping towards her own bed of furs across the burned-out campfire.
Pushing into a sitting position, Vali watched her begin to roll the pelts and tie them. The leathers of an Eskandr ranger suited her, though he knew she hailed from the Drudgunzean midlands. She’d gone North with some of the raiders, despite much preferring to hunt animals—and as the roving horde had turned back south, fracturing as their collective purpose came to an end, she had followed him in hopes of some worthwhile hunts.
They’d only been traveling as a pair for a few days, having finally departed from a small hunting party seeking elk and their ilk in the great green forests. Yet, she’d been much more comfortable with conversation since then. In many ways, she reminded Vali of his Bloodsister, Hildr the Red—Drudgunzean and good with a spear, but quiet in many situations.
Still, he knew there was nothing sisterly in the way Estrid felt about him.
He hoped, as they wandered farther south into the cold homelands he dearly missed, that she would turn tail and retreat to what she knew—or simply find a more appealing hunting partner.
He did not dislike her; in fact, Vali found her company to be quite agreeable. But he knew what she wanted of him, and he could not offer it to her—so he hoped someone else might, or that she might choose to search for it elsewhere.
As the sun rose, their horses ambled along the dirt path beneath it. Conversation was light as the hunters surveyed the land around them. They’d been perhaps six hours out from one of the northernmost cities of Eskand when they’d stopped the previous night, and Vali hoped to resupply and set out before sunset. He wasn’t fond of cities and preferred not to spend the night in them, instead seeking the comfort and quiet of untouched land.
Lunch was an affair eaten from horseback, tough-smoked meats and hard cheeses that kept well in a pouch. In truth, this was a common meal for the ranger; he could barely cook a meal for himself—not for lack of trying—and if someone wasn’t feeding their fellows, he’d often be eating trail rations.
He didn’t mind so much; he was used to the taste and texture, and found something in it comforting after subsisting on it for so long. It wasn’t as good as a fresh roast and full cups with his Bloodbrother and Bloodsister, as in the years past, but it held its own kind of home.
The day was at its hottest, though it held nothing against Parrench lands, when they rode into the city. It was alive in a way Vali had not expected; more than simple buyers and sellers or the denizens of the place. There was steel and leather, horses and weapons being gathered by Eskandr warriors. He wondered if another raiding party was set to go North and harry the Greenlands.
He questioned a merchant, having dismounted to lead his horse through the stalls. ”Are our armed brethren setting out for Parrence?” he called softly over the drone of the street, palming some cheeses out of a basket and laying them out on the wood for the seller to see.
The man, fair as an Eskandr but growing old in years, barked a laughing response. ”Soon enough—But first they’re South to Meldheim. Hrothgar the Black has called his banners,” he offered up, laughing at the blatant look of surprise on Vali’s face.
”Hrothgar’s called his banners? He’s marching on Parrence in earnest?” the ranger replied, something nearing hesitancy in his voice as the merchant counted the cheese and muttered a sum.
He looked up, holding a hand out for the payment, and smiled something wicked. ”Truly. To burn out the damned Pentad and reclaim what Bróðir calls for.”
Vali fished the coin out of his pocket and dropped it into the cheesemonger’s hand. ”How long ago did he call?” he asked, voice quieter but pale eyes far sharper.
”We heard it here only two days past. Most look to set out on the morn of tomorrow, but they’ll be leaving for weeks to come.” There was something in the face of the man that told Vali he’d not yet been dissuaded from joining the march himself, and a kindling of fire sparked in pride for the Eskandr blood they shared. He grasped the man’s wrist, squeezing tightly as he felt fingers wrap around his own skin. ”May Systir watch over you, my friend,” he said, voice soft but sure.
”And Bróðir you,” he replied in like, the connection flashing between them before Vali pushed on into the crowd.
He didn’t hear Estrid’s voice until the fifth call, as she pushed her shoulder into the haunch of his horse and shoved it toward the empty and narrow side road they walked past. Turning around, he found her much closer than expected, and raised a brow. Hesitant, she stepped backward, her own horse tossing its head.
”Did he say Hrothgar is going North?” she asked, nearly breathless. Vali nodded, but before he could offer any explanation she exhaled sharply and hissed, ”Gods, I’ve… I need to return to Drudgunze.”
It was not surprising, but the words stung at something in Vali, though he nodded. ”You should be safe, so long as you stay out of the fight. But your family may have need of you at home,” he said, smile sad.
Estrid studied him for a moment, something flickering through her eyes, before reaching out and grasping his forearm gently. ”Vali… Come with me. Help me protect them,” she whispered, voice desperate.
He sighed, feeling the sting grow into a prickling pressure in his chest. ”Estrid… I can’t. You’re a friend, but Bróðir calls me to Meldheim. I will not ignore him.”
Faster than a conscious thought, as though she didn’t mean to, Estrid snapped back, ”Hrothgar calls you. Not ‘Brother’.” Her face went pale as Vali recoiled like she’d slapped him, eyebrows furrowed. Hurriedly, the woman added, ”Vali, this is war. It’s not a raid. They’ll fight back. They could kill you!”
”If I’m called to Gestur’s table, I will not ignore that either,” he replied slowly, something guarded in his voice now.
”Damn your heathen gods!” Estrid hissed in frustration, her grip tightening on his arm.
”My Gods have kept me so far,” Vali snarled, yanking his arm out of her hold.
”I could keep you, too,” she whispered, guard dropping in desperation as she stepped closer to the ranger. He backed away, keeping a cold distance between them, and scoffed.
”Not near so well as my Gods. Go home, Estrid. I will not follow you there, no matter how you plead,” Vali said, voice measured but low and dangerous. ”Leave this city and head straight for the border. Don’t talk about gods until you’re safe at home in your Greenlands, if you have any wish to make it there.”
Vali Twice-Born turned, face stony and cold, and marched into the streets, already plotting the path he would need to ride to Meldheim. He’d leave within the hour and arrive long before the packs marching at dawn—and travel much faster as a lone rider.
He did not bother looking back to see Estrid standing there, tear tracks on her blessed Quentic cheeks.
L O C A T I O N | Meldheim
I N T E R A C T I O N | Hrothgar the Black @Force and Fury; Kol, Death's Hand @Th3King0fChaos; Ulfhild Ulven @Salsa Verde
I N T E R A C T I O N | Hrothgar the Black @Force and Fury; Kol, Death's Hand @Th3King0fChaos; Ulfhild Ulven @Salsa Verde
The grounds where Hrothgar’s army gathered were busy, though Vali knew many more would be arriving over the coming days. He found many faces he knew and even more he didn’t, but feasted and drank with those he could count on as brethren, strong warriors who had followed the same voice that called to him.
It didn’t take long for Kol’s message to find the ranger, as his renown made him that much easier to hunt down in the crowd—even if it was not so great as his brother’s, or his host’s. Vali had never doubted that the Death’s Hand would join the crusade, but felt a keen spark of excitement at the confirmation. It had been too long since he had seen his brother in the flesh, and longer still since they had fought side by side.
Vali didn’t spend much time in the planning—though he had a connection to Hrothgar through Kol and Hildr, it was not nearly as strong. There was a respect for the man who had killed Mørkt Fjell, and he hoped the king harbored a respect in kind for him, but Vali was not partial to the tactics of all-out war. Still, he heard that Ulfhild Ulven had made herself part of the discussions, and was pleased to hear she too had answered the call. He hoped they might find time for a hunt before the longships left, but knew she may be too preoccupied.
It was news of the King of Strumreef that interested him most. When he heard that Kol’s ship was docking, Vali wasted no time in heading to the shore, seeking out his Bloodbrother for a joyous reunion. Their time was short, though, as the Death’s Hand needed to make for Hrothgar—and they would have time enough to speak.
Over the following days, as the plans became concrete and made their rounds among the growing Heathen Army, Vali chose to attach himself to Kol’s position. He was unaligned enough, having left his home over a decade prior and having no lands of his own, and archers would be useful from any angle.
Vali cherished the feasts, drinking, and merriment to be found with the gathering army, an apprehension brewing for the upcoming voyage.
And as the longships set sail from Meldheim, he tried to reflect on those memories of happier times.
Sailing had never quite agreed with Vali—though he bore it often enough to see Kol, who was often kept by his duties to Strumreef. For one who had spent so long training his Gift to sense the magical energies of movement, the constant output of the ocean was overwhelming enough to be nauseating. He was adept at tuning out the signals he didn’t need to read, but it was much different when not even the ground beneath your feet stayed still.
It took several days for the ranger to find his sea legs, all the while trying not to show his displeasure at the journey. He knew Kol would likely notice regardless, and harass him in the good-natured way his Bloodbrother did, but sought no such treatment from any other warrior around him.
It was just as he was beginning to feel almost normal that the storm hit—pelting them with rain and waves alike. Despite his aggressive sickness, Vali took a station by the railing to draw the force energy of the water and lessen the impact of any waves that struck them broadside. He was sure there were others doing similar work, but couldn’t remember anything but the cycle of water sweeping across the deck and him aiming to vomit away from his boots, the mess always being swept away by the next set of waves.
By the end, the ranger wasn’t sure if he had spent days or mere hours drenched and throwing up on the deck; if he’d taken shifts or spent the whole storm out there; if he ate, or drank, or relieved himself at all during the ordeal. He simply knew, when he woke up in a gently-swaying hammock and didn’t feel sick immediately, that it had passed.
Or he’d drowned and was arriving to Grønhalle by longship—a prospect that was not terribly disagreeable, if the Gestur’s waves were this gentle.
But as he emerged into the moonlight to see his Bloodbrother standing strong, Vali imagined he was not on his way to Grønhalle just yet.
L O C A T I O N | Attack of Relouse
I N T E R A C T I O N | Kol, Death's Hand @Th3King0fChaos
I N T E R A C T I O N | Kol, Death's Hand @Th3King0fChaos
Vali had never prepared for a war of this kind.
He imagined it would be closer to hunting than to raiding, if one considered the kind of beast who fought back.
The ranger would be following his Bloodbrother, to victory or Grønhalle, and understood their purpose well. Still, an apprehension stirred in him greater than any he’d felt before. He was accustomed to a single large target, or a pack of less than a dozen—not to a mass of men with faculties similar to his own, numbering more than he could ever hope to count. It was a daunting prospect, but Vali reassured himself that he was not alone. A hunting party greater than any he’d ever traveled with would break the shores of Relouse.
While Kol tended to his armor and readied himself, Vali sought the quiet darkness of the hold and a moment with his Gods. He had no offerings for them now, having given those on the night before their voyage started, but had prayers.
He prayed to Bróðir, the God of War, of soldiers and raiders, who had called for this crusade. He prayed to Faðir and Systir, who also kept watch over warfare—and over rangers like Vali and Ulfhild, in the case of Systir. He prayed to Móðir, who watched over harbors and the seas, for her blessing as they ventured ever nearer to shore.
At last, he lit a fresh candle and prayed to Gestur, the soft light dancing in the darkness of the hold. The moons would rise soon, and Vali prayed that he would protect them in the night.
And for those who could not be protected, Vali prayed for honor and open arms in Grønhalle.
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