The Winds of Ysgard - Part One

[Ireth]

Rikhard tilted his head, then shook it. "Old wounds, that's all." Too many to bear the burden of remembrance.

He opened his mouth to ask about Vas Gethen, but closed it again when Farrun's attention turned to Ari and Troia. No point in disrupting their talk.

 

[Tom]

Troia looked down fondly at Ari, whose eyes were closed with happiness as Farrun scratched his neck. "Aye, he's one of my sled dogs. My father taught me to train and drive them. They're good, hardy animals, and even though they're fierce when they have to be, they're really just big saps at heart."

She bounced her eyebrows meaningfully at Ari. By now, his mouth was splayed open in a goofy grin, pink tongue hanging out.

While Farrun patted Ari, Troia turned to Rikhard. "Were you going to say something?"

 

[Ireth]

Rikhard glanced at Troia and nodded uncertainly. Being invited to speak freely and ask questions was a privilege he was still getting used to, even after months of travelling with Caradoc and Eoran. Looking at Farrun he said, "I just wanted to ask, who is Vas Gethen?"

 

[Nimue]

Farrun laughed, stroking Ari's ears with both hands. He had dog hair and horsehair all over his tunic now, but didn't care a whit. "Sounds like a dragon I know," he said, and winked. Thoros was still fast asleep, or he'd have heard a distant grumble at that. He gave Ari a parting scrub on the head and rose to his feet, glancing back at Rikhard with a crease to his brow that betrayed his distraction.

"Old wounds can still use some healing," he said, casually enough. "I can ease that ache, if you want me to--enough for you to give that spear a proper spin." He raised one large hand, and the glow of magic gathered around his fingertips, no brighter than candlelight.

To give Rikhard time to consider it, he answered his question. "Vas Gethen's one of the great smiths in the city. Doesn't do soldier's stuff, necessarily, his work is more individual than that. He...He's half-elf," Farrun said finally. "Yvalhyn cut his tongue out, but he kept his life long enough to get here." Just like the rest of us.

 

[Ireth]

Rikhard nodded slowly. He knew a very little about elves, and the name of the Yvalhyn; his mother had alluded to them more than once, but whenever he questioned her further she'd changed the subject. They seemed to be a subject of much fear and dread.

"Why do humans mistrust elves?" he asked softly, forgetting for a moment the offer of healing. "They can't all be evil slavers, can they?"

 

[DMThaane]

Loke paced around the armoury, his eye glancing over the various weapons arrayed. They were fine pieces, weapons he would've envied in his younger years. Now all his weapons were made for his own hand. Balanced to his liking.

"Scarce a day goes by where I do not practice with axe, sword, spear, and shield. I would struggle with the other polearms, I would think, but my skills are otherwise fresh. I also know a few techniques the Raiders developed over years of fighting."

He found a sword with a runic script running along the blade. It translated as: 'Men with swords don't need words.' Clearly a blacksmith with a sense of humour. That brought out a chuckle.

He took a spear and examined the wood, the grain of it, its strength. "Aster is a master with the spear. The way she can twirl it about you'd almost swear she was dancing. There'd be no better teacher, if she wasn't likely passed out in the back of a supply cart on its way to the front."

He heard Rikhard's question and turned. "You could walk from one side of the Kingdom to the other and every man or woman you spoke with could provide a different tale of elven cruelty. There is a sickness within the northern elves." He turned back to the weapon, running his finger along the spear's edge. "A sickness of cruelty. And it turns those tainted by it against those who remain pure."

 

[Nimue]

Farrun stood for a moment, even as Loke spoke behind him. The muscle in his jaw tightened. "I don't mistrust elves as a whole," he said, his tone unusually grave. "The Iridheen have done no wrong to us. But the Yvalhyn... Perhaps there are good among them. But if all you meet in your life is malicious, ice-faced bastards, you begin to wonder if the breed can run any other way." He gave a mirthless half-smile, then shrugged. "Old wounds, I suppose," he said, echoing Rikhard's words. "You always remember them that gave you scars."

He looked over his shoulder at Loke. "Aster?" he asked, hoping that would lead them in a brighter direction.

 

[Ireth]

Rikhard turned as Loke answered his question, and shivered at the response. "All of them? That can't be, can it? Is their cruelty really that infectious?"

 

[DMThaane]

"Oh, a dear friend," Loke replied. "My oldest and most trusted companion. We founded the Raiders together but she could never stand still, never stop moving. She was there at the… what are we calling it, the celebrations, the Choosing? Anyway, she was in the crowd but only to see the dragon." He smiled. "She found you quite dashing."

 

[Tom]

Troia swallowed, listening to them speak of the cruelty of the elves. What, she wondered, had Einan landed himself in the middle of? Certainly he would be mistrusted and feared on this journey, perhaps even by their own companions.

But then, Einan had an edge of advantage. He'd been a slave himself as a young child, so he could relate to these people...couldn't he? Not for the first time she wondered if he was really as human as he acted. Sometimes it seemed that something flashed under his surface, something he'd been born with and carried all through his life, that deep down belonged to the elves.

 

[Nimue]

Farrun blinked at the unexpected comment, and laughed despite himself. "Oh? Does she like trained bears in fancy tunics?" He almost asked how she looked, but stopped himself. A cup of wine and a cup of mead was enough to warm him, but it wasn't enough to loosen his tongue.

He cleared his throat and glanced over at Rikhard. "You'll learn soon enough, I think," he said quietly.

 

[DMThaane]

"Oh, I'm very sure it was merely the splendour and the dragon that caught her eye," Loke said, smiling to himself. "After all, she only favours women."

 

[Ireth]

After a moment Rikhard opted to remain silent, as everyone seemed to be talking over one another. He was used to being silent anyway. He turned away from the others, trying to process what he'd been told.

 

[Nimue]

"I knew my hair was getting long, but that..." Farrun shook his head, grinning. He noticed Rikhard's return to silence--he'd have to ask about healing again when there were fewer distractions, and maybe fewer people to witness old wounds.

"Anyone looking for a bow?" he asked, to change the subject, then glanced out the doorway. "Are Addison and Einan back yet? I've asked for a few rooms to be prepared in the north hall. They won't be luxury, but the beds are good."

 

[Legendary Sidekick]

Addison had been shown to her room. She carefully displayed her weapons on an end table and removed her backpack and cloak. She insisted that the attendant--A man. Was I not clear?--wait outside her room, but before heading in to strip out of her armor behind closed doors, she'd need to decide what to change into.

"I'd like to have a bath drawn," she told the man, "and if you don't mind me saying I'd rather a woman as me attendant even if I'm to bathe without being gawked at. Ye seem kind enough, and likely, you'd keep to your own side o' the closed door; I'm just careful is all. After me bath, I'd like to thank the wolf-queen personally for the invitation. If that can't be arranged, no offense taken if the queen's gotta be careful in her own way. I'd respect her boundary."

Whether she would take her sleeping furs or her anaconda qipao would depend on the attendant's answer.

 

[DMThaane]

Loke paced around the army, admiring the different kinds of weapons and trying to remember which of them he'd used to kill elves. "Oh, what a fine billhook. I killed a sorcerer with one just like it." He turned to Farrun, smiling. "Well, as enjoyable as I find this room, I have preparations of my own to make. I'm sure we'll all have an… interesting journey to look forward to."

Loke bowed his head and left. He had weapons and supplies to gather, a horse to prepare, and perhaps a bath. He would also need to leave everything in order. It had been years since he'd last travelled properly. He was almost surprised how much he was looking forward to it.

 

[Ireth]

Rikhard stood motionless, still lost in thought. Could an entire nation be wholly evil? That didn't seem right. There were good men and evil men, whether they be Folk or Dun or Caernish. And the Iridheen elves he'd met in person were good, but that didn't mean they all were. So why were the Yvalhyn supposedly the rule without an exception? Perhaps there were good Yvalhyn, only they were overshadowed by their evil kin, unable to convince the world that they even existed. Or maybe there weren't, but Rikhard could still cling to that hope.

 

[Nimue]

"Good night 'pon you," Farrun called amiably to Loke, then took stock. They were all set here; they'd likely catch Einan and Addison in the courtyard or the hall.

"Let's head to those rooms," he suggested. "I'll show you the common hall where you can take a proper supper if you're hungry, and break your fast in the morning." He turned towards the door, and saw Rikhard's immobility, hands slackening around the spear. He reached out and put a hand on the young man's shoulder, lightly enough. Damn, he was thinner than he should be. "Come, Rikhard, you'll have a good room tonight."

 

[Ireth]

Rikhard spun around and jumped back as a hand came down on his shoulder, years of instinctive terror overtaking common sense. His back hit the wall of spears, and he stumbled forward again, falling to his knees. The pain was enough to jolt him back to reality, but the memories of the past prowled at the edges of his mind. Shaking his head to disperse them, he breathed deeply and tried to orient himself again.

"Did you say something?" he managed at last, looking up at Farrun.

 

[Gryphos]

In his chamber, Bendalitz hunched over his desk, scribbling away on parchment his observations on his soon-to-be comrades. Personality, tone of voice, mannerisms, even the way they dressed, all to be brought together in his mind in the form of a picture, an answer to a simple question. Could they be trusted? 'Hopefully' was the answer he settled on. But he would see.

The dagger had been a discomfort against him as he sat, so it now lay on the table, occasionally catching his eye as he wrote. It was fine weapon, one of Bendalitz's most prized possessions, almost as long as some swords, subtly curved, like a sabre-cat's fang.

Spoiler: Bendalitz's dagger

On the blade Bendalitz had engraved a simple phrase in runes: You deserve to die. Nothing remarkable. No epic poem or snippet of grand tale, just the wisdom of Bendalitz Agrippen.

He'd given that wisdom to many people in the past. Elves, dwarves, humans. Men and women, nobles and peasants. They all, of course, deserved to die.