Quest Southward [A Tundra Tale]

[Arnor Skuldsson]

Arnor was no stranger, in an ironic sense at the least, to the idea of somewhere new. But this place was new, and also, familiar. Like something had pulled him back here. The past few days were at least, on a cosmic sense, supposed to 'set him to rights' and 'give him purpose'. That was the point of coming home, wasn't it?

So why- did the Spine feel more at home than among his own people?

It was the first time that Arnor was able to bathe, and much to the chagrin of most around him, with his particularly-well-packed delectable floral soaps.

Arnor never cared for the arcane or the religious. He was a practical man, and the idea of wasting one's time building large buildings and temples for Gods who really- in Arnor's experience, sent the creepy stuff after them to be a waste of time.

But at least the statues were nice. He walked in the valley of the Svalen, great monuments to great Nords. He supposed, if his father had been less of a fool, he might have had the slim chance of ending up here. But like Arnor, all the good that he did was brought down and cast away.

He paced around for a while, dressed down. A shirt from the East, near Vel Anir. Black, with rouge trimming. Black slacks, and hardy riding boots from the Spine. He missed his horse, and the boots were a good reminder of Rhi. He decided to go see the Queen herself, moving aside the collection of priests and students, finding them useful, but annoying.

"Thought of what your statue is going to look like when yours ends up here?"

 

[Maude]

Arnor Skuldsson

The Queen was still resting in bed, but had found herself inundated by missives from the capital. Fresh reports of Blod'valhar on the move, leaving scouts and Rangers and Hunters dead in their wake. It was enough to make her call off this journey and turn back, but she knew she couldn't. The capital was in safe hands with the High Priest - he who she likened to the late King Iordahn in many ways. Aether would respond appropriately and, with luck, they would find something that would help them in hunting down this insurgent group.

Tired green eyes looked up as Arnor entered the room, a wilting smile offered to his question as she let the current letter in her hands settle on the pelts over her lap. She sighed, feeling the weight of their travels still pounding in her head right behind her eyes, a steady war drum that beat and beat until she leaned back into the headboard.

"No," she replied, all manner of internal concern showing through the lines along her brow, "an unmarked boulder for my blundering rule will suffice I think."

~~~

Brenna

Tasked as she was on this journey for the reason of sharing her flourishing lexicon, Brenna was given time to rest and recuperate from their trek before meeting with Priest Remmir. The last day of travel had been pushed through a persistent snowstorm along the open slopes of the mountains. The winds had been merciless and the snow ever mounting. Here, in the aged stone halls of Kiringsaal, the storm might've seemed a world away.

The winds outside whistled through open slits in the walls but the firepits crackled along the great hall where the occupants of Kiringsaal congregated to feast and meet.

Brenna was approached by an Acolyte not much older than she, the young man gently cupped a hand on her shoulder to get her attention, "Priest Remmir will see you now."


Nordenfiir (Anyone who wants to interact)

Outside along the Path of Kings, Ranger Estrid made the walk through the skeletons of old stone pillars and the statues of past Nordenfiir leaders. They stood mighty and fierce in their silhouettes against a midday sun, the oldest of them sporting the green lichen as if a noble robe, the newest still capped in snow and ice.

She paused at the one farthest along the path, the stone hewn so new that she could still make out the marks of scars from the man's long and prosperous rule. Iordahn's Svalen was one of the few that did not stand in a manner of might or beastly strength, but ruminating with his wise gaze lingering toward the distant southern shores. Estrid lowered herself to her knees at the King's feet and gently placed small offerings among a collection of those now long covered by snow.

 

[Solveig Odasson]

Most of the journey to the Kiringsaal Solveig spent barely alive or coherent. His mind wandered in fever like dreams and visions. Most of it didn't make sense, even once he woke. Fragments and slivers of a reality he couldn't quite grasp. Eventually they would arrive, and someone would entrust him to the care of a healer priest and his gaggle of Acolytes and assistants. By this time, he was aware of the outside world in flashes of moments, but was still so hollow and weak he couldn't speak or move.

Came a moment shortly after arriving that his eyes opened inside a small but cozy like dwelling. Sweet smoke filled the air, filtering out a natural chimney in the top of the ceiling. Herbs hung over the fire, by turns drying or burning, lending their fragrance and properties to the burning of whatever wood lay in the hearth. Here and there were shelves, sapling wood lashed with sinew and the like, that held clay jugs or glass jars and even just bundles of herbs and concoctions.

He himself lay on a low bundle of furs in a corner, with more heaped on top of him. Water and a rag lay a small distance away. But he could not smell nor detect anyone else near. Going to rise, he came up sitting with a mighty series of coughs, which had him wipe what felt like spittle from his lips and the bandaged hand come away with streaks of blood. That concerned him, the bandages.

After catching his breath, he decided against too much movement and leaned against the wall of the hut he was in. Slow progress began to remove one of the bandages, and eventually all of it. What he saw surprised him, and worried him. The flesh was whole... But...

The sound of the door opening had him hastily re-applying the bandage. A weathered old priest came in, supporting herself on a staff of wood smoothed with time and polished bright. Behind followed a pair of young acolytes, twins from the looks. Boys just into their teen years. The woman smiled as she sat a stool, eyes filmed with age but still sharp by how they moved to focus on him. Without words, the twins set to task at the hearth, cooking it would appear.

"I see you removed the one bandage. Don't worry. There's no damage to that arm, or the other. But calm yourself. We need to talk about what happened. And soon enough, I suspect you will be restless and want to walk about. Your strength should return swiftly."

 

[Brenna]

It had only been when they had made camp and allowed themselves a reprieve that Brenna had noticed the wound on her leg from the creatures claws was more than just a simple scratch. A sickly black and dark purple colour had began to spread its way up and down her veins like shadowed spiderwebs. She had tied her belt tight just below the knee to slow the circulation in order to stem the spread but it had made the final two days of trekking exhausting and painful. Despite her sweet and soft disposition not once did Brenna complain or allow herself to be a burden. Her chin stayed high and she had attempted to keep spirits that way too.

But still, she had been more than relieved when their destination had fallen into their line of sight, and even more relieved when the Priests had assured her they would be able to save her leg. Despite her exhaustion and the troubles they had faced along the way Brenna had been unable to stay confined to her rooms for long. Kringsaal with Legend. It held here secrets her heart had yearned for since her father had first sat her on his knee and told her their peoples legends. So she had spent her days of 'recuperation' exploring every nook and cranny she was able to. Occasionally she had found herself in the company of another from her party but it was rare; they were all tired.

Shadows were smeared beneath her bright eyes as she waited to be summoned. Her nicest copy of the Lexicon sat on her lap and she fought the urge to rifle through it once more, instead turning her gaze to the window and the weather beyond. She was lost in thoughts about hidden murders and the hints of war as her thoughts often turned when she found herself alone, when a young man gently pressed his hand to her shoulder. Her eyes found his lips, taking in the words before raising to his eyes and giving him a smile that gave off nearly as much warmth as the great fire.

She collected her bits and followed after him as her heart began to race.

 

[Hugi]

Hugi had cleaned himself in the snow after the battle. As well as he could anyway. His clothes were stained by the ichor that the beast had seen fit to decorate him with, and his helm had remained off for a time after, his nose still tender to the smell that had made him lose his stomach.

The travelling group had been tired when they reached their destination, and Hugi had kept close eye over the queen while they had been moving closer. At least from afar he had been. Silent and troubled once more, he had found piece walking among the statues of those since gone. Honored in stone and respectively etched to embody their lives.

He spared a glance to Ranger Estrid paying tribute, his own path taking him by her in the trek back to clear his mind. Thoughts swirled around the future. An agreement he had made, and one he worried would not come to pass if their leader fell again.

"You honor them. Not only with presence, but offerings. It is good to remember those who came before." He let his voice carry over the snow, eyes wandering the statue.

 

[Arnor Skuldsson]

"Heavy lies the crown so soon?"

Arnor said, getting more comfortable on the bed she was laying on.

He could feel the tension in her body, the aching dull pain of stress lingering in the dusty recesses of her mind.

"You should think about a vacation sometime. I hear the middle lands are quite nice this time of year, if you can stand the heat."

Arnor's personal experience with the Summer Lands was a trove of alien experiences to the Nordenfiir- mostly in a negative way.

Travel did make for an interesting man, however.

 

[Talus]

Talus sat on a stone a little outside of the camp, a frown on his face as the oddly heavy blade he'd had been given sat between his legs. A whetstone slowly ran over the edge of the blade, though Talus ensured that he did not sharpen it too much.

Fingers tightened slightly as he watched the others mill about.

Most now offered him a pleasant, if still rather weary, smile as they walked nearby him. It seemed that saving the Queen had warmed some of them up to him, something he was rather grateful for. This land was still more than a little strange, and Talus couldn't help but feel that.

He knew that he was a stranger in a strange land, but he tried not to let that feeling settle too much into place. Mikaela had been more than kind during his time here, and some of the others had begun to show that as well.

Perhaps he was growing on them.

The thought brought a smile to his face, and he wondered what some of the Proctors would say if they saw him now.

 

[Magrin Kor]

In Kirinsgaal Magrin Kor was restless.

Solveig Odasson was laid up, mending from his injuries after their arrival so there was no need for Magrin to to tend to the man further. Up to this point he had fulfilled his role and ensured that the Smith lived. Still, the Nord visited his apparent ward on occasion to ensure he was getting on well enough. Most of the time Solveig had either been unconscious or incoherent, Magrin wasn't complaining.

Magrin spent the majority of his time otherwise either in the taverns or inns around Kirinsgaal testing the svalen to various feats of strength. Despite the fact he was not a Nordenfiir, he had no svalen himself it didn't seem to matter. The Nord drew strength from a different source which could make him more than a match for most of the Bear Shifters, it surprised many when they found their arms pinned to the table while the sullen Nord stared across at them.

------

Today was different, the sun rose and touched his brow while a cool breeze assailed his features. The Nord had found a rock to sit on. Gripping his axe in his left hand, his strong fingers curled tightly around the haft he'd turned the weapon over his thigh. A whetstone was held in his right hand and he'd glide it across the crescent blade of his axe slowly, ensuring the blade was sharp; the better to plant it in the skull of one of his enemies when the time came.

In his mind Magrin had gone over a request he planned to make to Maude when she was well again, likely at journeys end. The Adventure of this Quest was reward enough for him but there was something more that he wanted, he may have found it back in Frostpeak Outpost...time would tell....

Either way the Nord was vigilant, waiting for the next leg they'd embark on.