"It's cold," Valthar stated.
"It's always cold here. You'd forgotten that?"
"I got used to walking in the heat of the south. Went from collapsing in the midday heat and crawling for shade to running through the worst of it. I didn't really think that would mean that home would feel so bitterly cold."
"This is mild Valthar Ardullsson. You shouldn't even need those gloves."
A mist hung low over the ocean. Moisture clung to his furs. Valthar turned his gloves over. The moisture had formed white crystals as it had frozen, they cracked and flaked as he flexed his fingers.
He shrugged at Indell. There would be time to become accustomed to the climate once again before the worst of the winter winds swept in. The ship rocked over a small wave, sending an ocean spray up to meet the mist. It smelled of home. Valthar had sorely missed the ocean.
"Still, we will find a nice fire for some good ale tonight," laughed Indell. He looked as if he enjoyed his food and wine. He had a powerful build, but was not so slim around the middle.
A large number of the passengers were merchants from the south. There were just a handful of Nordenfiir onboard. Indell had introduced himself on the first day at sea and had listened to every word of Valthar's story. Apparently he had heard of Valthar's father, though Indell had provided scant details on what he actually did in Nordengaard. He had an easy nature to him and it was good to talk of familiar things again with one of his own.
"There are the cliffs," Valthar observed. It was Eratejva, looming ahead of him. How much could it have changed since he left? He wondered. At first, talking with Indell had made the ache of homesickness even more acute, but now he could actually see the coast it turned into pure joy.
Objectively he knew he was wearing too many layers for the temperature. He had worn less in more frigid conditions. Would they see other changes from his year away? Sometimes it was hard to tell the colour of something until you held it close to another one you knew well.
"You'd best gather your things," Indell chuckled, turning to head below. "Get some hot food when we go ashore. You've still a long way to go. Bet it doesn't feel that way."
Valthar nodded. He was in less of a hurry. All he owned was already in a small pack. He had on his furs and his knife at his belt. He owned precious little else.
"I'm going to stay a while," Valthar said, gaze fixed firmly on the jagged shapes on the horizon.
The sea had turned choppy when Valthar eventually went below. He had wanted to watch the ship come all the way in, but had decided he could just bring his bag up onto the deck. Then he could jump ashore as soon as they were close enough.
He stopped when he heard a dull thud. It had sounded like something heavy and metal being dropped onto wood. He heard grunting, a shout and then a cry of pain.
Valthar rushed forwards. That was different about him, heading towards the danger instead of away. The noise had come from an open doorway. Indell's room. He felt the now familiar rush of adrenaline coursing through his veins.
The Nordenfiir was on his back, clasping at his own throat. Blood pumped over his fingers in waves. There was an almost graceful arc of crimson across the deck.
"You..." Indell croaked.
Valthar rushed to his side, dropping to his knees. He already knew it was too late. He clapped his hand over Indell's own firmly, but there was no stemming the flow. The air reeked of blood.
He looked around them. There was no sign of the killer, but Valthar had full sight of the door when there had been the cry. No one had left the room, but it was empty.
His knee brushed something cold and hard. Valthar looked down at the bloodied knife.
His bloodied knife. Reaching for the empty sheath at his belt only confirmed what he already knew. The moment he heard two sailors cry from the doorway he knew what would come next.
It seemed unfair to catch such a brief glimpse of his homeland. His cell looked much like any other in the world. Beyond one brief walk and hopefully brief moment of pain that was the last he would see of home before it was taken away.
The wind picked up, howling through the small opening above him. Valthar was grateful that it wasn't snowing. It would have come straight through that window to fall on him.
He had endured an entire year in the summer lands for this. Demons, humans, orcs, fae and all manner of foul beast. Fucking sorcerers too. For nothing. To die on home soil, he supposed.
No one cared to look too deeply into a crime. It seemed that the person whose murder he had been blamed for was quite important. Indell's profession was apparently a mystery that he would carry to the grave. Everyone
Valthar stood as he heard heavy footsteps on the crude stone floor. He watched the door to the corridor and waited for it to open. Keys jangled and it opened. The gaoler strode in and continued walking past his squalid cell without sparing him a glance.
"Not today then?" Valthar asked. He wasn't sure if he was glad or not.
"No," came the blunt reply. At least he could rely upon the blunt honesty of his own people. "And been another murder like that one. Not my job to decide what happens next though."
Maude
"It's always cold here. You'd forgotten that?"
"I got used to walking in the heat of the south. Went from collapsing in the midday heat and crawling for shade to running through the worst of it. I didn't really think that would mean that home would feel so bitterly cold."
"This is mild Valthar Ardullsson. You shouldn't even need those gloves."
A mist hung low over the ocean. Moisture clung to his furs. Valthar turned his gloves over. The moisture had formed white crystals as it had frozen, they cracked and flaked as he flexed his fingers.
He shrugged at Indell. There would be time to become accustomed to the climate once again before the worst of the winter winds swept in. The ship rocked over a small wave, sending an ocean spray up to meet the mist. It smelled of home. Valthar had sorely missed the ocean.
"Still, we will find a nice fire for some good ale tonight," laughed Indell. He looked as if he enjoyed his food and wine. He had a powerful build, but was not so slim around the middle.
A large number of the passengers were merchants from the south. There were just a handful of Nordenfiir onboard. Indell had introduced himself on the first day at sea and had listened to every word of Valthar's story. Apparently he had heard of Valthar's father, though Indell had provided scant details on what he actually did in Nordengaard. He had an easy nature to him and it was good to talk of familiar things again with one of his own.
"There are the cliffs," Valthar observed. It was Eratejva, looming ahead of him. How much could it have changed since he left? He wondered. At first, talking with Indell had made the ache of homesickness even more acute, but now he could actually see the coast it turned into pure joy.
Objectively he knew he was wearing too many layers for the temperature. He had worn less in more frigid conditions. Would they see other changes from his year away? Sometimes it was hard to tell the colour of something until you held it close to another one you knew well.
"You'd best gather your things," Indell chuckled, turning to head below. "Get some hot food when we go ashore. You've still a long way to go. Bet it doesn't feel that way."
Valthar nodded. He was in less of a hurry. All he owned was already in a small pack. He had on his furs and his knife at his belt. He owned precious little else.
"I'm going to stay a while," Valthar said, gaze fixed firmly on the jagged shapes on the horizon.
The sea had turned choppy when Valthar eventually went below. He had wanted to watch the ship come all the way in, but had decided he could just bring his bag up onto the deck. Then he could jump ashore as soon as they were close enough.
He stopped when he heard a dull thud. It had sounded like something heavy and metal being dropped onto wood. He heard grunting, a shout and then a cry of pain.
Valthar rushed forwards. That was different about him, heading towards the danger instead of away. The noise had come from an open doorway. Indell's room. He felt the now familiar rush of adrenaline coursing through his veins.
The Nordenfiir was on his back, clasping at his own throat. Blood pumped over his fingers in waves. There was an almost graceful arc of crimson across the deck.
"You..." Indell croaked.
Valthar rushed to his side, dropping to his knees. He already knew it was too late. He clapped his hand over Indell's own firmly, but there was no stemming the flow. The air reeked of blood.
He looked around them. There was no sign of the killer, but Valthar had full sight of the door when there had been the cry. No one had left the room, but it was empty.
His knee brushed something cold and hard. Valthar looked down at the bloodied knife.
His bloodied knife. Reaching for the empty sheath at his belt only confirmed what he already knew. The moment he heard two sailors cry from the doorway he knew what would come next.
It seemed unfair to catch such a brief glimpse of his homeland. His cell looked much like any other in the world. Beyond one brief walk and hopefully brief moment of pain that was the last he would see of home before it was taken away.
The wind picked up, howling through the small opening above him. Valthar was grateful that it wasn't snowing. It would have come straight through that window to fall on him.
He had endured an entire year in the summer lands for this. Demons, humans, orcs, fae and all manner of foul beast. Fucking sorcerers too. For nothing. To die on home soil, he supposed.
No one cared to look too deeply into a crime. It seemed that the person whose murder he had been blamed for was quite important. Indell's profession was apparently a mystery that he would carry to the grave. Everyone
Valthar stood as he heard heavy footsteps on the crude stone floor. He watched the door to the corridor and waited for it to open. Keys jangled and it opened. The gaoler strode in and continued walking past his squalid cell without sparing him a glance.
"Not today then?" Valthar asked. He wasn't sure if he was glad or not.
"No," came the blunt reply. At least he could rely upon the blunt honesty of his own people. "And been another murder like that one. Not my job to decide what happens next though."
Maude
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