Fable - Ask The Coldest North

[Kol]

Port of Aith

There were no cities in the Lost Isles, not like there were in South. The most one would find within the land of the Nordwiir was towns like Aith. A few thousand of their kind gathered at most, small huts made of stone and bare docks crafted thousands of years ago with wood stolen from distant lands. A few others like it existed, but Aith was the only one on the Isle of Valith.

It was also the 'great port of the lost', or so most called it.

Aith was where most Nordwiir sailed from, where most warbands met up before they launched their raids southwards. It was in Aith that the ships were built and blessed. It was in Aith that much of of their people traveled through at one time or another, where knowledge could be gained and bargains could be made.

It was also the latest conquest made by Kol.

The Jarl of Aith had been a foolish man, a greedy man. Always pawing at women and grasping at whatever gold he could. There had been no vision to his ways, no real thought. He had refused offers of peace, of calm transition and even more wealth than he had himself.

So the Dark Gods had brought him death.

The blessing bestowed upon him was rent from his soul, and the skin of his corpse now decorated the hearth of Kol's meeting hall. He stood before the great pyre at the center of the hall, his fingers clasped behind his back, flames crackling quietly as the smell of blood still stained his clothes. Outside celebrations rang out, men drinking, beasts howling, a cheerful day.

They knew what this meant. What blood would still come. The Dark Gods had whispered it to him, spoken of it, and he had shared that vision.

Even if he had not shared others.

 

[Sif]

The Harbinger of Misfortune, a young priestess of the Dark God Fritjof, had arrived in Aith nearly a month ahead of Kol's horde. She spoke of a disjointed catastrophe, one borne of blood and fire, that would consume the settlement in the coming days. Of course, only a small portion of Aith's denizens heeded her warning. It didn't take long before she was dragged before the Jarl.

He was a borish and stubborn man, one who cared little for the opinions and thoughts of women -- especially not those of an Unworthy. As far as the Jarl was concerned, there was only one use for a woman such as Sif, and he made sure to get his coin's worth from her while she was held in his custody.

The priestess was being kept in the dungeons beneath the Jarl's estate when Kol's forces arrived and seized Aith.

She knew what was unfolding beyond the iron bars of her cell, even though she had not seen anyone for two days. Fritjof whispered in her mind, assuring her that Fate had arrived. There were times when she could feel the Dark God's presence, as though a hand was running over her hair. She was never truly alone.

The sound of the dungeon's door being thrown open drew the battered woman's attention away from her thoughts. Two men that she didn't recognize stumbled into the dark corridor, howling with laughter. It was clear that the men were in good spirits and rather drunk.

These were not the Jarl's men... but of the Wolf. She wasn't sure why the image of a massive black wolf looming ahead of his pack came to mind, but Fritjof often showed her glimpses of the world that made little sense. All she knew was that the one who had conquered Aith was this Wolf of shadow.

"Oh ho hoo. What've we got 'ere?" One of the men drawled, moving over to the cage door of Sif's cell. He reached inside and grabbed Sif by the jaw, as if inspecting her he tilted her face from one side to the other.

Such treatment was nothing new to the woman.

"Uh uh, Dorin. That's one of them Seers of Fritjof. A Harbinger. Look at 'er eyes." The second make spoke, quickly grabbing his friend's arm.

Sif was surprised that the man recognized her as such. Many across the Lost Isles had never heard of her. A small smile touched the corner of her mouth. Fritjof was meddling again, she could see it plainly before her. He'd been the one to bring them here, one way or another. It wouldn't do to have his beloved wife starve in an empty cell.

Before she could utter a word, the door was opened and the man named Dorin roughly grabbed a fistful of her hair, dragging her to her feet. "Then we'd best take her upstairs." He growled.

A wolf wreathed in shadow in flame. The image seared through her mind once more. This conqueror was important, it seemed.

She grit her teeth as the two men dragged her up the stairs and back into the world.

 

[Skad]

The glorious cacophony of bloodied triumph raged around the port town of Aith, the violent merriment only truly beginning in what was a mark of the future. This victory was perhaps one of the largest made so far by the unified force forged under the banner of Kol and these men would holler, drink and fuck until they marched once more again

Skad was not a part of these celebrations, although the raider certainly intended on doing so later but instead chose to undertake a more important task.

She had sifted through the areas of battle, seeking out the bodies of all who were felled and ensuring that they had parted this mortal realm. The woman's blade did not discriminate from friend or foe as the Nordwiir silenced so many death rattles one-by-one. A small muttering in their native tongue was granted to those of her cause, acknowledging the ultimate sacrifice that one could grant to their Dark Gods.

For their enemies and those who resisted their cause, the very last thing they saw before her skinning blade could kiss their throat was Skad's crimson grin, condemning both their blood and souls as tribute.

Once the woman was satisfied that she had done the rightful blood-borne duty she made her way to the Jarl's former estate, where she would imagine that Kol would be. The journey she had taken with the man of many whispers had not been an easy one, as the Dark Gods sought to test their will and devotion with much hardship and death.

It made everything taste all the sweeter now.

Entering the hall, Skad closed the heavy wooden doors behind her, once again shutting out the raucous din that she had let howl in for just a moment.

Like the rest, she was appropriately bloodied, fresh stains of vitae coating her furs that would in time dry, crust and be painted anew like a dawning ritual. A few wounds littered her form, superficial at best and a welcome sacrifice of gleefully diving headlong into the melee that had brought to this place. Skad did not dream of letting the blood of others without being willing to part with her own.

Before the raider could speak, there came a second emergence into the hall. A woman dragged by two of their own, the sight of which caused Skad's hand to draw to the hilt of her knife in preparation to bring a swift end to another soul. One of the Jarl's concubines caught hiding down below?

No, she didn't seem to be particularly well treated.

“Who is that? One of the Jarl's cunts?” Skad inquired, wasting no more time thinking about it as her gloved fingers twisted around the hilt, her head moving to look from their new find to Kol through that single green eye.

 

[Kol]

The Dark God's whispered as they always did, their cheshire grins peering down at him with eyeless scorn. He could feel them, even if he never gave them a second glance. Since they had taken With the Gods had grown louder, more of them had come, but one in particular had tried to call out over the rest.

Kol had ignored them, sounded them all out as best he could.

It was a trick that he'd had to learn early on, to stave off the madness that should have come long ago. His eyes were latched to the fire, focusing on the crackling flames until he heard Skad's voice echo out besides him. Reality snapped back into place, the whispers returned, and he looked at the brutal warrior for a moment.

A mask of confusion flickered over his features for a moment, then slowly he looked over towards the woman that had been dragged in by his men. Lips thinned for a moment, and he noticed one of the cheshire grins hovering over her. An scarred and deformed brow rose suddenly, lips pressing tight as he considered the sight.

The Dark God seemed almost...concerned. "I don't know."

Kol answered truthfully.

Skad was of the faithful, prideful. Her belief in the Dark God's was like a pillar. Had he a thousand of her Kol knew he would have already conquered the Tundra thrice over. While the others celebrated, Skad had done the work that needed to be done. The Dark God's whispered seemed pleased with her, delighted in the slaughter that still clung to her flesh.

Slowly the Sorcerer looked to the other cheshire grins around them, noting their wide smirk as the woman was dragged before him.

One of his men gripped her chin tightly, pulling her head up so she would be forced to meet Kol's eyes. If she did not answer his questions, then she would answer Skad's.

"Who are you?" The one grin behind her seemed to flicker for a moment, showing more than just teeth.

 

[Sif]

A set of mismatched eyes peered up at Kol and Skad as she was forced to raise her gaze -- one iris of violet, the other emerald green. Her expression was impassive, the woman oddly calm as she was pulled into the middle of the violent revelry. Someone of her small stature should have been sniveling and pleading for mercy, as was expected by those deemed Unworthy by the Dark Gods... but this one remained composed and almost defiant in a way. There was the hint of a smirk at the corner of her lips, as if she knew something they didn't.

Kol and Skad wouldn't know the expression was commonplace for Sif, of course. Being able to see the interwoven threads of fate, the intricate patterns of one's life and the possibilities that lay ahead of them, had that effect on her.

Who are you was such a simple question, but one that could be answered in a myriad of ways. What was the answer he truly wished for, she wondered.

"I am called Sif, though I doubt my name is of any real interest to you. Perhaps you should ask what I am?" The priestess answered with a sardonic smirk. Sif was as much a title as it was a name.

The Dark God that seemed to hover over her grinned all the more, whispering into Kol's mind just as all the others did, though perhaps what he had to say was of some intrigue. May I present my wife, the catalyst of fate.

One of the men at Sif's side nervously cleared his throat, shaking his head. "The woman is a Seer of Fritjof, sir. Tricksters and harbingers of ill fortune, they are." He uttered, casting a glance out of the corner of his eye at Sif.

Another smirk touched Sif's lips. It was always amusing when people thought there were more than just one of her. She couldn't argue with the trickster accusation, the territory came with being a shapeshifter, after all.

The woman scoffed at the man's anxious declaration. "It is hardly my fault that people's decisions have soured their Fate. If ill fortune befalls those that cross my path, they have no one to blame but themselves."

Her gaze turned to the corpse of the Jarl and she nodded towards him, as if to prove her point.

Fritjof grinned behind her. She could practically feel his hand resting on her shoulder.

 

[Skad]

There was something peculiar in Kol's uncertainty that gave Skad pause. It was not so much that he didn't hold the knowledge of strange women that dwelled beneath the Jarl's estate, but because he was chosen and guided by the Dark Gods that made it feel precarious.

What whispers did he hear about her?

Thankfully, the woman obliged, more than happy to speak although in a manner far too smug for Skad's own tastes, who briefly entertained the idea of peeling off the prisoner's lips like a ruby-skinned vegetable. The very thought filled the raider with warmth.

As it turned out, the explanation of Sif was a lot more compelling than that of simply being a hole for the Jarl to fuck. Despite this, however, the blonde's one-eyed stare remained as detached as ever, that green eye simply looking at the woman in the same manner that one would look at absolutely nothing with.

The thought of her being a 'harbinger of ill-fortune' was not something that immediately worried Skad, with that same implication having been levelled upon Kol himself in more trying times for his cause. She would not judge this so-called trickster on that merit, in fact, she would not judge at all, believing that such deep-rooted mysticism was above her own station. The blonde was not capable of revelation with their Dark Gods, she merely served to the best of her abilities.

“What do you think, Kol?”

 

[Kol]

"Fate." Kol echoed the word as a whisper.

One of the voices and grown louder, a shout that echoed in his head again and again. It made demands, offered enticements, told of futures to be had and taken. He made introduction of his 'wife', and Kol almost immediately felt himself grow tense.

Never before had he heard such a thing. Never before had one of the Dark God's so willingly tied themselves to the living. His eyes cast over Sig's shoulder, lingering on the eyeless grin there before he slowly drew his gaze away back towards his most loyal follower as she asked him a question.

Another voice whispered more quietly in his ear.

It was near silent. So easy to miss, but with such conviction. The Dark Gods enjoyed playing their games. Enjoyed leading him one way before suddenly forcing his hand another. Fingers twitched for a moment, and then he looked to Skad.

"Build a pyre outside." His voice came suddenly, and he was not quite sure if it was his own. "A path of flame."

Slowly his gaze fell to the fire before him. "We shall test fate the old way."

One of the Dark God's began to laugh, but he was not sure if it was Sif's Husband or one of the others.

It was always so hard to tell.

 

[Sif]

Sif turned her head to the side, looking over her shoulder. A familiar shadow tinged with flames flickered at the edge of her vision. Fritjof had positioned his presence rather close to her. This was where he wanted her to be, but she could sense his tension.

Her gaze shifted back to Kol, the wolf, as he gave his order. There was something off about him. Normally when Sif looked at an individual, she could see the strands of potential fates drifting around them. Each chord was intertwined with the threads of others around them -- a physical portrayal of outside influence having sway over a person's future.

But when she looked at Kol, there were so many threads that each strand was indecipherable from the next. There were so many influences swirling around the man that she questioned his sanity.

The woman at his side, however, did not seem to bear the same burden. Her fate was so tightly interwoven with Kol's, it was clear that the warrior would gladly do anything asked of her, so long as it came from the Wolf.

Interesting.


Her head canted to the side as she looked up at Kol, watching her own fate slowly entangle with his. Several of the strands went dark and died, withering away in an instant as soon as they touched Kol's. Most of those shriveled futures were a result of Kol deciding to end her existence, it was simply a matter of time before he came to such a decision. Involving herself with the Wolf was dangerous and if she was not careful, would end in her demise.

Fritjof must have known this, but he wanted her here nonetheless. What was he playing at?

An invisible weight settled on her shoulder, a reassuring squeeze to remind her that she wasn't alone. Sif blinked and the tangled mass of future possibilities vanished. The room was dimmer now without their glow.

Sif bowed her head to the Wolf and his Second, clasping a hand to her chest as she did so. She could feel the weight of a small leather pouch that she wore around her neck, and she gently squeezed it beneath the thick layers of clothing.

Fate was not some predestined outcome. Her own destiny was always in the palm of her hand. She need only choose it. How many of those faded strands she'd seen had been at her own hand?

 

[Skad]

Skad nodded and immediately turned upon her heel, the knife returning to her belt as she did so. There was little point in any further questions or considerations upon her part as the woman did not feel it was her place. While she somewhat envied Kol's ability to commune with the Dark Gods, it never dampened her own sense of purpose.

She was the blade that sated the endless thirst.

As she burst through the doors, inviting the sound of revelry back into the hall the woman's voice boomed with a commanding presence that belied her relative youth.

“ELDHESTUR!”

The doors shut again and once more the noise was deafened, a muffled roar the only response to Skad's order of the flame for those still inside.

Those who had followed the path of the Twice Bloodied understood the significance of what was asked and despite their deserved merriment no man or woman shirked their responsibility in building the two rows of pyres for the ritual. Axes that split skulls were now found chopping wood as the construction began post-haste.

Not one of them had ever seen the act of Eldhestur take place, the ceremony one of hallowed tales that had been passed down from generation to generation. So they knew exactly what to do, and the fervour to see the trial take place was enough to make them all work the faster, Skad included.

Within the hour it was ready.

Twin pyres twenty feet long, separated by a scant distance of three feet creating what was in effect, a pathway of peril. The large mass of kindling and wood was ablaze, giving birth to roaring flames that towered over even the tallest of their kind. It spewed forth an unbearable heat that tanned the faces and ignited the furs of those who stood too close. However, despite this Skad and several other of the most devout of the Nordwiir cut deep into the flesh of their own palms before baptising the flames with their own blood.

The raider re-emerged without ceremony, stinking of fresh wood smoke and red-faced from her exertions.

“It is time.”

 

[Kol]

Eldehstur.

It was an ancient tradition, one that had been last used almost in sarcasm when a Chieftain had claimed himself herald of the gods. His village had tested the truth of that, and he had been found wanting. Half-way through the Chief had been burnt to a crisp, his body little more than ash by the time the Pyres burnt out.

Kol had never withstood the test himself, but as Skad returned into the Great Hall he couldn't help but wonder if he could.

He was a Sorcerer, a Prophet by many names, but were the Dark Gods truly with him? Their whispers echoed in his ears as the flickering light of the flames cast over his eyes. Lips thinned for a moment, and slowly he stepped off the dais of the throne.

Wordlessly he grasped Sif, pulling her away from the two Guards.

If she resisted him his touch would become forceful, but if she simply relented he would only guide her much as one would a bride across the altar. Slowly they walked, Kol glancing at Skad from beneath his hood as they passed out into the night air.

The heat of the pyres seemed to dismiss the cool night air, the light flowing from them as though the sun had touched the earth. Kol stared at the path of flame for a few moments, and then slowly pulled Sif towards one end of the great tunnel of fire.

Low chanting began to echo from the crowd that surrounded them, hundreds of Nordwiir watching a ritual that had not been seen in a generation. "I've often wondered."

Kol's voice was low, quiet against the roar of the fires ahead of them.

"Will fate consume me?" The question was not meant to be answered, though he posed it to Sif as they came to a stop before the flames. His gaze wandered around them, and then slowly he released the Priestess.

"ELDEHSTUR!" His voice boomed out. "A TEST OF FAITH!"

The crowd seemed to erupt in cheers, though the chanting all around them never died down. Kol did not regard any of the others, knowing that they were eager to see either faith or fate rewarded.

The Sorcerer turned his gaze to Sif, she would see madness in his eyes. "A test of truth."

Which truth? The truth of her words? The words of her Husband? The whispers that resounded within his skull. Kol himself did not think he knew. Not yet.

But he would.

 

[Sif]

Struggling against Kol was foolish, but her instincts screamed at her to free herself from the Sorcerer's grasp. She forced herself to stay still and to let him guide her through the gathered crowd to the front of the roaring tunnel of flame.

She could practically feel the disdain from the Dark Gods as such a powerful rite was invoked to test her. One who had already been deemed unworthy. Such a trial was not intended for the likes of her.

Madness had already seized the Kol's men and their fervor only grew with each passing moment.

She inhaled slowly through her nose as she stared at the churning flames before her. The light cast off by the pyre was nearly blinding. Sif could not make out the individual faces of the crowd, they were all one smoky mass of chanting blurs. These people had already seized victory, but she couldn't help but get the sense that they were ready for more bloodshed.

Nevertheless, this was the path Fritjof had led her down. So many of her visions had been of flame for the past few weeks. It was the first time she'd seen a glimpse of her own future, but she hadn't recognized it as such until the reality stood before her.

The moment was surreal.

As a Priestess of Fritjof, it was her duty to usher in the fate of those with whom she crossed paths, to herald in a new beginning or end. Tonight, it seemed, her own destiny had come knocking.

And then she saw a familiar form, one that she'd not seen directly for years.

A man of shadow and ember stood at the far end of the tunnel, watching her with glowing eyes. It was Fritjof, beckoning her through the flames. This was precisely where she was meant to be.

No one in the crowd seemed to notice the figure waiting for her on the far end of the pyre. Her mouth quirked into a faint smirk as she met the Dark God's gaze and she took a step forward. The God, her husband, smirked in return.

It felt as though the weight of the world had come crashing down upon her as she stepped into the tunnel of flames. Some of the Gods, it would seem, were furious that such a creature was being permitted to pass through this sacred trial unscathed. In the distance, Sif thought she could hear their shrill screams.

Fritjof held out his hand, the glow in his eyes growing brighter. The flames licked at Sif's form, but only seemed to enshroud her from the wrath of the displeased. This rite was a test of Fate, Fritjof's realm of control.

Sif's hand reached out to the Dark God as she stumbled through the pyre, the crushing weight that pulled at her form driving her to her knees just as she reached the other side. Sweat beaded on her brow and steam rose from her form, but she was unharmed.

The Dark God pulled his wife to her feet, brushing a lock of hair out of her face. Well done.

She heard his words echo in her mind and then he was gone. Breathing heavily, she turned to look over her shoulder, back at the Wolf standing before the flames, his pack at his heels. The vision from earlier clicked into place, but she did not know what would happen now.

 

[Skad]

No more of this ritual was her part to play, with the construction of the pyre Skad's only real input into such a test. All the rest was up to the Dark Gods, and the woman who would be tested by the infernos that blazed in their name.

The blonde stood in the crowd like the rest, although remained quiet amongst the feverish commotion around her, the cacophony of baritone roars and guttural cries akin to the horns of war. It was likely that the men around her wanted to see the smirking seer burn, simply for the spectacle of a new charred tribute.

Skad didn't care. If she perished then she did so as an unworthy vessel, garnering no fitter end and if she lived, then the woman was proven as chosen by divine hand.

Simple.

Positioned at the end of the trial with a collection of rowdy berserkers and raiders she observed as Eldhestur commenced, her solitary eye unblinking despite the ferocity of both light and heat from the billowing flame of ritual. For those unaware, she stood prominent from the rabble in her serenity with her faith in convictions an unwavering pillar of stone. Those who did know of the Kin-Slayer were more than aware that this was simply how she held herself outside of battle.

There was little fanfare when the seer emerged at their end perfectly unscathed, in fact, a great many raucous voices were silenced at her emergence upon knees, flesh steaming in the frigid evening air.

A few beats passed before a lone cheer emerged, giving birth to another and another until their prior celebrations now resumed with greater vigour than before. Most of these men had not only borne witness to Eldhestur for the first time, but they had also now seen what it looked like to be chosen and it only gave rise to further passion.

Skad remained unmoving, staring with that single studious eye as her expression remained an impassive mystery that concealed both thought and feeling.

 

[Kol]

Kol was not entirely sure how to feel.

Which voice had betrayed him? Which voice had lead him here? Which voice was the one that had to-His lips thinned for a moment as he saw the eyeless grin hover closer to him, shifting so that it was just above the pyre. It stared down at him, watching, waiting.

It whispered.

For a brief second Kol tilted his head, and then he looked down at the seer. More of the grins appeared, more of them watched him, waited.

Then a smile touched his own lips.

Kol slowly began to walk forward. He followed the same path as Sif had, her steps exactly. Yet as he moved the fires did not touch him, they did not even lick at his clothes. Each step he took there was a wisp of smoke as the flames were suddenly snuffed out in an instant.

Slowly he walked through the towering flames, each side extinguished within his wake until he stood just opposite Skad and behind Sif's naked and still smoldering form.

The cheers echoed even louder, breaking through the night's sky and turning to the raucous sound of worship as Kol looked down at the woman. "Skad."

He told the woman.

"Perhaps our artisan of Faith deserves something more private." The Sorcerer's expression matched Skad. "Let us speak to her of futures to come."