Open Chronicles Aftermath

[Ivar]

Loth-Holm - Outer Blightlands

Ivar wrenched at the hilt of his great-ax, forcing the half moon blade free with a sickening squelch of flesh.

His head slowly turned upward, surveying the battlefield. Corpses littered the ground around him hundreds upon hundreds of bodies. He could see Orcs, Northmen, Wargs, even a giant or two that had joined the fight at some point. The Crows did not seem too picky about which flesh they consumed, and all over he could see black wings slowly fluttering.

In the heat of the blightland the stench was already starting to be nearly unbearable, but men and women both still walked among the field of corpses to pick clean anything that might be of value. Ivar frowned for a moment, watching them with distaste as he turned back towards Loth-Holm.

The ancient fortress still stood, though barely. It's walls had been battered down by Menalus' siege engines, and the great tower that had once stood at the center of the Keep was now all but rubble. Yet most of the citizens had survived, even if the soldiers had not. It was the fourth time in a hundred years that the Fire Giant had tried to take one of the last free cities in the Blight, and it was the fourth time he had failed.

If only barely this time.

Were it not for the intervention of the northmen the Blight Orcs might have succeeded, a fact which was sure to anger the ancient ruler of Molthal.

Ivar stared at the broken ruin of a city, and then slowly began to trudge back towards it. Pyres were being built, and he could hear songs being played as a celebration of victory began. It was a dour thing, tinged with those lost. Yet the people of Loth-Holm had a reason to cheer, it was another day they would survive, another year that they might yet go on free.

That was something.

By the time Ivar reached the city gates the party had already started, as meager as it was.

 

[Ianthe]

Cheers went up as Ianthe strode down the main market street.

What was left of the city were out in full force pulling down boards which had been nailed across windows to protect the glass, hurryingly hustling out all the good chairs from inside so the elderly could sit but still enjoy the festivities, or fetching out whatever food was left inside the cupboards to add to the growing feast. People were laughing with neighbours and kids had appeared in streets that had lain deserted for days, hurtling through the crowds chasing one another without a care in the world. The cheers, of course, were not for her though they were directed towards her. What they were really cheering was the site of the pathetic looking cart the equally pathetic looking mule behind her was pulling. Six large barrels of good whisky along with tobacco, dried meats, cheeses, and a range of luxury goods were stuffed into the back.

War might have been a bad time for many - and it had been once for Ianthe - but now? The worse the war the greater the profits.

She raised her hand in greeting to those who waved and answered calls about where she was setting up her trade in the town. There was already a steady stream of people walking beside the wagon though they wisely kept their hands to themselves - enough people had learnt the hard way the smuggler was not the forgiving type when it came to thieves. It wasn't long before the street widened like the mouth of a river to spill out into the market square where the main festivities as much as they were were taking place. Ianthe led her mule to her standard spot and made a show of taking her time unhooking the wagon and setting her mule up with its feed; the bigger the crowd the more people would haggle. Once she was done in her own time she turned to the gathered townsfolk and took her first bid with a grin.

Oh yes, Ianthe had certainly learned the joy of war.

 

[Ivar]

Loth-Holm was a port, or it had once been a port.

The docks were now a smashed ruin with only two or three ships being able to come to them. Luckily most of those ships had been carrying supplies. The Northmen of course had come from the river, their longships having been able to go further inland.

That was how they had gotten behind Menalus' forces, and how they had actually managed to win the day despite their smaller numbers.

"Ivar."​

The Berserker looked up from the fallen monument he had placed himself on, a stone running along the half-moon edge of his ax. One of the other Northmen was standing there, leaning on his sheathed Greatsword and with a wide beaming smile.

Behind him stood a few others, though they were half engaged with the crowd.

"Get down off the rock, join the revel, there's even an auction or something going on. Come on, you deserve it after that fight."​

Ivar let out a grunt. "We just earned the coin, Thorst, so eager to spend it?"

A smile touched his face.

"Oh aye, might not live to spend it once Menalus hears about this."​

"Well, can't argue with that logic." Ivar said, hopping down off the monument and sliding his ax onto the slot on his back. His shoulders rolled, and then he motioned for Thorst to lead the way into the revels.

 

[Ianthe]

"Did I hear five gold pieces!?"

Ianthe had had to climb on top of the cart to pass out wares but also to hear over the crowd that had gathered. The whisky had gone first, as it usually did, bought by the commanding officer and declared to be for everyone gathered. There was a twisted emotion in her stomach whenever she saw such an act of kindness from a Commander and she couldn't help searching the soldiers for their leashes. But mortals fought because they believed in it, or for coin, not because they had no other choice. She'd become less uneasy when they had moved away and she was free to haggle with the commoners.

Tobacco had gone next, as had herbs and spices that she had bought up from the Wilds. Next went the fresh fruit and vegetables, meat and cheese. Now she was on to the more luxurious items like bolts of silk, dresses from the Tundra and books. At five gold pieces she passed down a lovely parcel of blue fox fur.

"Next we have this fae talisman! Said to protect you against spells and sorcery!"

 

[Ivar]

There were some 'oos' some 'ahhhs!' but the Northmen only rolled their eyes.

Though most of them were not from Kjos, but they had heard the same stories that he had. The Free Cities were not filled with fools.

Ivar stood within the crowd, surrounded with his kin. All of them knew the stories, the tales of the Fae. They knew better than to take anything imbued within their magics. The stories weren't specific of course, but such things were a gamble at best, always.

Of course, that didn't mean much at all when two fifths of the crowd simply hailed from the city itself.

"Five gold!"

"Six!"

"Ten!"​

The crowd seemed to go wild for the idea of something that would make them immune to magic. Memories of Menalus' sorcerers were strong, and the bidding war continued to drive the price up and up. "Some fool is going to end up in chains."

Ivar commented gruffly.

"Old wives tales, Ivar. You should be more adventurous, FIFTEEN GOLD!"​

The berserker rolled his eyes as one of the northmen threw in his bid.

 

[Ianthe]

"FIFTY GOLD!"

Ianthe couldn't believe the stupidity of Men. The talisman she held up so that it caught the light was a simple thing made out of silver and woven into the image of a polar bear's head. It would protect people from weak magics, maybe even some spells from lesser fae but it certainly wouldn't prevent spells that intended to kill. Not from anyone with real power behind them anyway. Still, she hadn't miss sold it. Not really. Though she hadn't mentioned the cost...

Small print.

Her dark eyes swept the crowd for the man who had hollered such a high price. People were turning or moving out of his way as he marched towards the cart. Ianthe felt her lips twist somewhat when she saw the gold and jewels that encircled his plump fingers; perhaps a tiny part of her had hoped someone more deserving would get it even if it did have its limits.

"Anybody else?" she called, deliberately holding it out of his reach before he could grab at it.

 

[Ivar]

"Sixty fi-"​

As the Northman spoke Ivar grabbed his shoulder.

Fingers dug heavily into the man's skin, the Berserker slowly shaking his head. The Northman opened his mouth as if to say something, and then slowly snapped his jaw shut. A loud sigh escaped the massive man's mouth, and then he put down his hand.

Ivar didn't know what it was, didn't know the feeling in the pit of his stomach, but it was there.

His father had always told him stories. Without a mother the responsibility had fallen to the old man. Tales of the fae, the bargains and the totems that they offered. He could remember them now, even standing there.

They were silly children's tales, but something in the pit of his stomach churned.

Ivar didn't know what it was. He couldn't have said it if asked, but he knew that there was something...off here. He looked up at the great Northman that was ready to throw his entire months pay away. His head shook, and that seemed enough.

"Agh. You have a way of ruining the mood, Ivar."​

There was a slight roll of laughter from some of the others.

"Ye best be paying for my next drink. Fuck, my next few drinks."​

Ivar smirked. ”Aye, at least the next two.”

 

[Ianthe]

Ianthe's eyes had darted quickly to the large Northerner who had begun to bellow his counter offer but when he was cut off they quickly slid instead to the man who had stopped her earning 65 gold pieces. Her stare was flat and heavy, her brown eyes looking almost black from the distance between them. For a second, her eyes narrowed and her lips twisted with obvious irritation, before looking back to the jowly man in front of her who held out his hand expectantly. Her face changed to a smile, though the tightness around her eyes would show it was forced for anyone studying her, and she quickly plucked the small coin purse from his hand before distributing his purchase with her other one.

As the fat man made his way back into the crowd her eyes sought out that man again.

Trouble.

Abruptly she jumped down from the cart.

"That's it for now, you'll be ripping the clothes from my back at this rate!" there were disappointed cries and muttering but the cart was thankfully near to empty anyway. She intended to be back on her ship and heading far away from that man before they had finished the first barrel of whisky.

 

[Ivar]

"You shouldn't be so focused on the material." Ivar said, fingers tightening once again on the shoulder of his companion.

There wasn't any doubt for Ivar. He knew the stories, knew the tales. The Fae were not something to be troubled with, even if their trinkets were passed along through generations. He smiled, despite that dark thought, and then thrust his friend in another direction.

"Other things are more important." The Berserker urged. "Like life itself."

"Or whores!"

One of the other Northmen shouted, though as his words echoed through the square Ivar only rolled his eyes.

His own wants were not of such things, but the southrons were something of interests to the others. He took in a breath, and then simply shoved his friend forward in the street. There wasn't any point in sticking around, particularly when the crowd was breaking up. "Yeah yeah. Let's get you that drink."

Ivar said with a shake of his head.

 

[Ianthe]

Ianthe was just pulling the piece of weathered linen over the back of her cart to protect the rest of her goods from the elements when she felt the bulky presence of someone moving up behind her. She didn't react and instead pretended to be engrossed in deftly tying the knot in front of her, whilst she slipped a long thin bladed dagger down her sleeve until the point rested in her palm. It wasn't long before the man behind her put a hand much too close to where her head was, against her cart. Her lips pressed together briefly before she turned. Her height meant that very rarely did she have to look up much at men this far south and it put her 'guest' on the backfoot when her dark brown eyes levelly met his piggish green ones.

"No returns," she cut in before he could speak. The man floundered like a fish for a few seconds before regaining his composure and offering what some women might describe as a charming smile.

"You don't need to be leavin' so soon, surely Ianthe?" For all his composure, Thomas absently fingered the ring on his finger his mother would protect him against elven magic. She smirked.

"Other towns to see, missions to go on," the kelpie replied flippantly and turned as if to go back to her work when Thomas reached out and took a hold of her arm.

"C'mon, one drink?" he pleaded but let go when Ianthe wrenched her arm back and had the decency to look somewhat apologetic. She still couldn't work out how mortal men worked. Warily, she eyed him up and then slowly nodded.

"Fine, but only because I want to see Jaks before I go," she sniffed at Thomas' grin but followed after him towards the inn.

 

[Ivar]

Ivar and his fellows were already drinking.

Not drunk, but definitely drinking.

The Tavern that they had chosen, or rather the first one that they had come across, was called the Tipsy Maiden. The sign outside had been painted with bright yellows and half a dozen other overly gratuitous colors that eyes could have done without.

Ivar and his ilk had taken over half the common room. The northmen were loud, obnoxious, but apparently beloved. Dozens of others had gathered around them, cheering, singing along with songs that they did not understand.

There was a party within the Inn, a party lead by Ivar and his friend.

"DRINK DRINK DRINK!"

The words echoed out as Ivar downed a mug of what someone had called "rum" though just what that was Ivar had no idea. He drank, and drank, until the world became hazy and the mug was sent smashing against the nearby wall.

"Next!" He shouted to great applause.

 

[Ianthe]

Thomas ducked as a mug smashed against the wall near his head and Ianthe's lips twitched into a brief smile. The violence and chaos of mortals drinking was, ironically, an atmosphere the kelpie was far more used to than the peace they lived in during the day. She left Thomas to go and give a piece of his mind to whomever had thrown the mug and beelined her way to the barkeep who was muttering under his breath, no doubt about losing so much percaline. He was a grizzled fellow, one who not many would dare to stand up against which was probably just as well in a bar, but his beard and hair had streaks of grey and Ianthe knew his right hook wasn't as strong as it had once been.

Jaks had been a young man when Ianthe had first come to this town many moons ago. Thomas, his son, was now the age he had been. Still the old man had a rare, if disturbing, smile for the blue-haired fae when she perched herself on one of the stools.

"I thought the air would already be fillin' yer sails lass. I heard it was a good haul today," Ianthe gave him a grin that would have disturbed most men but Jaks only laughed and poured out a good measure of the fiery whisky she favoured and pushed it towards her.

"I thought I would see how my old friend was doing and let him know I nearly took his sons arm off him earlier," the barkeep gave a low growl and glanced over to where Thomas was shouting something at the Northmen - it was hard to make out over the din even with her hearing.

"The lad has a lot to learn if he wants to go off 'adventuring' - I blame you for that, girl."

Ianthe just laughed into her cup.

 

[Ivar]

"AYE AYE, LISTEN UP LAD. IF YE WANNA FIGHT, THEN GET A LITTL' BIGGA!"​

The words echoed out through the room, and Thomas quickly yelled something back. What he said seemed almost entirely lost in the din of laughter from the Northmen. It ran through the room so loudly that it threatened to shake the windows.

Ivar leaned back in one of the corners, head in hand as he squeezed the bridge of his nose. "Oderth bless."

The Berserker said.

"You'll get us all killed." He shook his head.

"Killed!? Aye these lads couldn't even handle some orcs!"​

Another loud and raucous cheer echoed throughout the entire room. Drinks were slung around, and behind them were angry stares. The men who were not of the north quietly watched, simmering, smouldering as their honor was besmirched.

Ivar took another drink, but his muscles seemed to tense. He knew how to read a room, even when he was half drunk.

 

[Ianthe]

Jak grimaced in the direction of the Northmen and Ianthe studiously kept her gaze on the barkeep. The electricity in the room was like a drug to her. Chaos, after all, was what kelpies thrived on. It was why they were drawn to bloodshed and battles, but she could satisfy enough of her desires by just being near things like bar fights. When the need rode her too hard she would end up going back to her new King but doing so would end her freedom and that was not something she had any intentions of doing just yet.

She almost whooped when the first punch was thrown.

It was hard to tell just how the fight had started and who was to blame if anyone was at all but once it started it was like a match thrown onto a dry hay stack. Jak groaned and then picked up an axe from behind the bar and despite his age, vaulted it with the nimbleness of a young man.

"GET OUT MY PUB, D'YER HEAR?!" he collared one person and waded on into the chaos. Ianthe in the meantime, turned and watched it all with a dangerous smile. Perhaps, maybe, she let a little magic slip to just amp up the chaotic emotions running wild already.

 

[Ivar]

The room seemed to explode.

Ivar was sitting back in his corner, head resting against the wall, mug of ale still in his hand. A loud groan escaped him, fingers tightening slightly as he let out a breath.

Just as he breathed his sigh of relief there was a loud crash as someone was tossed onto the table in front of him. The crack of wood echoed out even above the din of the crowd, the sound carrying as a mark of just how brutal the fight had become.

"Fuck me." Ivar said.

Then someone reached for him.

A hand came up, grasping at his collar and doing it's level best to drag the Berserker to his feet. Before he could Ivar slammed the mug of ale into the man's wrist, the bone snapping with a hard crunch as Ivar grabbed the back of the man's head and slammed it into the wall.

There was a crack and then figure tumbled to the ground.

 

[Ianthe]

Ianthe glanced at the man sprawled at her feet and then up at the man who had put him there.

Despite the pure chaos that seemed to rage over every inch of the bar, the spot around Ianthe seemed calm. Like the eye of a hurricane. Calmly she sipped at her whisky as she watched this one or that one meet their fate for the evening. More than a few made her snort and one even made her laugh. She'd been so focused on one fight Thomas had found himself in resulting in the lad ending up hung from the candelabra itself, that she hadn't noticed Ivar's fight getting uncomfortably close.

Her eyes looked almost black when she glanced up at the Northman. Recognition flickered in those depths and for a moment she pressed her lips together, debating what to do next. Then, slowly, she lifted an almost full mug of ale one of the men had left on the bar to go join the brawl.

"A drink?"

 

[Ivar]

There was something about this woman had made Ivar's hackles stand up.

He couldn't have said what it was, some unseen quality he couldn't quite pin down. Lips thinned for a brief moment and he opened his mouth to respond. Just as he did, a loud roar escaped from the left of him.

A fist came dashing forward, striking the hulking Berserker across the jaw. The loud crack of fingerbones breaking echoed between the Faerie and Ivar, the man who had struck Ivar letting out a scream.

The Northmen grimaced, wiping blood from his lips. Then like a viper he grasped after the man and dragged him onto his feet. A solid smash of his forehead against the man's nose sent him sprawling onto the ground. "No thank you."

He breathed, glancing at Ianthe one more time before he turned and shouted.

"Torsten! Gellen! Pull yourselves the fuck together." There wasn't much of a city guard left in this place, but he had no intention of getting involved with whatever number came to deal with this brawl.

 

[Ianthe]

Now that was interesting.

Ianthe eyed the man who lay curled up in the foetal position nursing his broken hand with the kind of considering look a cat might give the mouse it had been playing with for the last few hours. As far as she was aware, that wasn't the normal reaction to punching a human. The fae gave a subtle sniff of the Nord and then scrunched up her nose. Distinctly human but there was something... other there. She might have suspected one of her own kin if it didn't smell so... mechanical. Whatever it was wasn't from one of the pure races.

"Really, it looks as though you could do with one. And it doesn't look like your men will be finished having fun for quite some time," she sipped at her own stout glass and waggled the tankard of ale in his direction again. Even if he didn't smell particularly pleasant, he was a curiosity she didn't know the answers to. Her eyes flickered meaningfully to the men whom he had shouted to; Ianthe hadn't known their names but the taller, bulkier Nords were easy enough to pick out amongst the locals. One had some poor lout by the collar and was shaking him with one hand whilst drinking out a tankard with the other, and the other one had just smashed a man's face in and was now busy talking to a pretty waitress. She wondered if he knew it was Jak's daughter.

That would certainly be entertaining once Jaks had done with subdueing the rest.

"I promise, I won't try to sell your men any more trinkets," the last word was almost a sneer but she dressed it up with a lazy, feral smile.

 

[Ivar]

"Torsten you fuck!" His voice boomed out around those around him, but it was lost in the din of the crowd.

Even on their worst days the northman were fierce fighters. One of them was equal to three of the southrons, a fact that they were incredibly proud of. Trouble was, even they couldn't take down an entire city if they stood up against them.

A fact which only Ivar seemed aware of. At least so it seemed.

There was another crack as someone was thrown to the floor directly in front of where Ivar stood, Ianthe's voice echoing out as she spoke with that feral smile. Ivar whirled on his heel to look at her, peering at the Fae for a moment.

His lips turned to a grimace. "Trinkets or mug of ale."

The Berserker mused.

"Don't matter much what the bargain is, eh?" Not at least according to the story. All of them were apocryphal of course, just simple things you told the children around the fire. Yet truth often lay within those tales. Close enough to it anyway.

 

[Ianthe]

Ianthe's face was the perfect picture of confused innocence. Her brows were half furrowed and her lips turned up at the corners into a cat like smile without the sharp teeth on show. She shrugged a single shoulder and set the mug down beside her as if it wouldn't bother her should he not take it.

"I was merely offering you a drink somebody else is too bloodied to enjoy. Jaks does not like his ale wasted anymore than he likes his business smashed up," there was a not so subtle point at the end of her sentence. A glance around the room and it wasn't hard to see most of the damage had been done by the much larger Northmen. Even if the locals had started it. For the most part it seemed to be dying down. The majority of the patrons who had crowded in were on the floor unmoving in puddles of piss or blood, and the other half were leaning against walls, tables that weren't broken, or one another whilst nursing fresh new bruises. Now the tension had been broken there was that odd air of comradery and desire for drinking that came after men had purged themselves of their violent nature.

They weren't that much different from Kelpies in that regard.

Ianthe downed the rest of her drink and slid off the bar onto long legs.

"If there's no company to be had I'll be on my way," she set down a foxheaded silver on the bar for Jaks and then strode for the door.

 

[Ivar]

Ivar's shoulders rolled.

The room seemed to quiet down around them now, the sound of a brawl dying down to a quiet gurgle of blood and men groaning in pain. They were familiar sounds, troubling as that thought was. The great Berserker pulled himself upright.

Most of the Northmen were still standing, though one or two had gone tumbling onto the ground.

It was difficult to tell if that was due to the fighting, or simply the drinking that they had done before hand. Ivar glanced around, watching for a brief moment as he took in the sight around him. His head shook, and then he sighed.

"Aye." The northmen said. "So best we."

Ivar's voice sounded more annoyed than anything else. "Torsten, drag Callei to his feet and lets get the fuck out of here."

Elsewise they'd end up with the orcs.

 

[Ianthe]

There was a suspicious amount of people heading back towards town from the direction of the docks, Ianthe thought to herself as she led her donkey down the path towards her own vessel. Several of the men clapped one another on the back and made jokes about the Northmen. She caught the word selkie more than once which made her smile in the shadow her hood cast over her face. Imagining any of those half-wits as a fae, even a selkie, was a joke she would have to share with her own kind. For now, laughter didn't come.

Not when she could smell smoke.

The scent grew thicker and then the scent of flames and burning wood joined that of simple ash. The donkey at the end of its tether began to panic as she rounded the final corner to find the Northern boats aflame. Ianthe cursed and dropped the lead, running for her own ship. Docked all together soon it wouldn't matter which boats the drunken idiots had intended to set fire to and which ones they hadn't, they'd all be up in flames. Already the fires licked and spread from one deck to the next. Ianthe was simply lucky hers was at the furthest end.

 

[Ivar]

Ivar and the other northmen arrived only seconds after Ianthe.

A sobering moment washed over them as the smell of acrid flame rose over the docks. A few men made sounds of shock, anger, disgust. Others simply shook their heads. Ivar stared, his lips thinning to a curl as he worked through what this might mean.

"SAVE THE SHIPS!" There were near enough a hundred northmen within this city.

They had been enough to turn the tide of the battle, but if their ships were burned? There was no doubt in Ivar's mind that retribution would be sought. The men who had once fought side by side would seek blood, and the Berserker knew it was best to avoid that eventuality.

"You!" He reached out and grabbed a boy of sixteen, dragging him into the action. "Fetch water! There's silver in it for you."

He hissed, the boy nodding. "GO!"

Ivar shouted, the lad running off as the Northmen rushed towards their ships to save what they could.

 

[Ianthe]

Naturally, the being of water was afraid of fire.

Ianthe gave another curse as the fires leaped to another ship. Ten of them were fully ablaze already but there were still five that stood between her ship and its certain death. The creatures which helped her sail it whispered and slithered across the deck out of sight when she leaped over the side. A few words and those invisible fae begun to quickly gather themselves and help. Ropes were loosened, the canvas of her sails undone. In the meantime the kelpie went to the side closest to the flames.

She didn't like to show her magic, especially not close to the shore, but elemental magic would draw little suspicion with her pointed ears. The fae were nothing more than stories after all. With a deep breath she closed her eyes and the waves began to bank and swell beneath the docked ships. Her hands rose as if willing the water to follow her palms up towards the sky which they did in twisting, almost black, thick ropes. They hovered for a moment like serpents listening to the flute and then rushed forward as Ianthe directed them.

Water crashed across the decks of the effected ships.

 

[Ivar]

Water cascaded down onto two of the ships twelve ships that the Northmen had come by. The flames quenched in an instant, but the others still raged like infernos.

Most of the Northmen were rushing forward with buckets in hand, some of the local boys coming with the same. They fought the fires as much as they could, but it quickly became clear that such a thing wouldn't be enough.

"You!" Ivar stalled on the docks, glancing down towards Ianthe. "Save our ships!"

Or whatever the hell was left of them at this point.

One of them, on the far end, was already little more than a ruinous husk of what it had once been. The others were soon to follow if something was not done quickly.