Garrod stuck out like a sore thumb in this place. Dark of skin, white of hair, and one eyed to boot. A man of the Summer Lands if ever there was one. And the people weren't too shy about giving him harsh looks for it either. Distrust and suspicion sharp in their eyes. But, he had grown accustomed to such things. Mercenary work and
monster hunting, after all, took one to far and away places, and required working with all sorts of folk. even those that weren't exactly welcoming. On this day, more than mere business had brought him to the settlement of
Faarin.
"Two weeks?" He asked surprised, as heat swirled about the smithy, the coals crackled and embers burned red hot and golden.
The old
Nordenfiir runesmith squinted down at Garrod from beneath his thick grey brows. His gaunt and wizened face kept a shortly cropped beard that was still mostly black despite the white hair on his head. "Aye, lad, and count yourself lucky it'll
only be two weeks!" he spat to the side, and handed Garrod back his greatsword. "Good work takes time, and I'm supposed to be in retirement," he went back to his work. pulling a hot piece of iron from the fire pot with a pair of large iron tongs. Upon closer inspection, Garrod noted it was the head of an axe, which the old man put to an anvil, set the tongs down and picked up a fat headed hammer. "Sides, if you weren't Sinn's ward, I wouldn't even be talkin to ya, now would I?" He brought the hammer down, clang after clang.
"No, I suppose you wouldn't," Garrod replied with a defeated smile.
"You're in luck though," the old man said between hammer beats. "You came round time for the Festival, the townsfolk will be in better spirits then, and you might get to learn a thing or two while your up here," he smiled kindly for the first time. And went back to shaping the metal.
"Not the first time I've attended, mind you,"
"Ah yes, what was that, some twenty years back?" The old man smiled. "You were even more of a whelp then, weren't you?"
"Suppose I was, Sigvind," Garrod smirked.
"You can lodge in my home, boy, and if anyone gives you trouble just give my name, should still carry some measure of respect round this town."
Garrod bowed his head in thanks to the old man. "I'm in your debt,"
"Ayy, that you are, " The old giant of a man agreed, and went on with his work.
----
It had been a week since he had arrived, and it was time for the ceremonies. He had managed to dawn some more local clothing, a thick cloak to protect from the cold, along with some well lined trousers and boots. Sigvind said they had belonged to his son, but that the git hadn't been back since he took to trading down in the summerlands. His loss was Garrod's gain.
"Here, take this out into the forest, will ya?" The old man asked of him, and handed him a long axe, the head of which was wound with intricate patterns and knots and depicted the game amidst the fields of the sanctuary, and a party of hunters who gave chase. Magick runes were inlaid there in too, and it was a fine thing that Sigvind had entrusted to the outsider. "Be sure you add something of your own to give, Garrod. Best not be stingy with the Pale King, you hear?"
The younger man nodded. "I understand."
Sigvind harrumphed. "I doubt it, but, i'll trust you to it still, despite my better judgement."
----
The walk out of town came with some peril. For the glares of mistrustful locals threatened and dared. But on he went, quiet and kept to himself as he contemplated what he could give this, Pale King. Coin did little for gods, and loathe as he was to admit, he still needed Belephus, the relic he had left behind in Sigvind's home, tightly packed away with his other things.
It had become easier for him to go without the gauntlet. Or maybe, he had come to notice how much he had needed it before.
Felt he needed it. And while the demon did whisper, loud and frequent those first few weeks,
his influence had waned some. His voice gone softer. He supposed he owed the mage for that, And he could not help but wondered where her travels had taken her to.
A hard shoulder shoved him out of his daydream, not enough to knock him down, but enough to have him drop the fine axe which had been wrapped in good suede.
"Watch it, you bloody summer lander!" a blonde haired Nordenfiir barked. He loomed over Garrod, and the strong smell of drink poured off of him as he swayed, and watched with an eagerness in his blue eyes. Cocksure as any cock in the dawn's light.
Garrod's brow furrowed, and he glared back at the larger, much bulkier man with his one green eye. "Yes," he growled, and bent low to pick up the gift he had been entrusted with. "how clumsy of me," he said as his hands wrapped around the axe.
A spray of wet snow and muddy slurry stung Garrod across the cheek as the drunkard laughed.
Those around gasped, but a few hollered and laughed along.
Garrod's blood boiled, and he not but smirked as he picked up the axe, and straightened up tall. He wiped the side of his face. "Right, now, if you'll excuse me." He said, stony and cold though violence and more called out from his belly.
"Beat his ass, Lolum!" Some rabble rouser cried out.
Lolum smiled wider, and obliged his fellow. Growling as he swung a large fist back and tried to take Garrod's head off with a looping haymaker.