Njord stood silently for a moment, trying to breathe his heart into a calmer state. He was pressing his booted feet into the floor, hoping to ground himself, hoping to regain the solidity in his center. He recalled his time in the hut of a woman he did not want. She had made him want her. Was Fireheart doing the same?
As placidly as he could he stated, "There may be many things we have to speak. First we shall speak of names -- my name and other names. What is Wintercrown? You call me this because my hair is like the snow? I have not been named this before. Why you do this?"
The Captain said nothing, at first. Instead, she simply gazed into his eyes with her darksome, deconstructing stare. Njord felt a shiver run the length of his spine, then back again. It was terrifying, the effect that she could invoke within him, with her merest glance.
What did she see when she stared so? It was impossible to say. The momentary silence seemed to stretch and elongate into a lifetime of quiet. It was as if he could hear the candle’s flame flickering, such was its totality, the sound of the wax slowly trickling down its white camber.
At last, she spoke. “Come,” she said. And turning about, began to stride away, deeper into her offices. He’d expected her voice to be something like thunder. Instead, it was gentle as the moonlight, atwinkle across the lone and level snows.
She pushed open the door ahead of her, revealing a hallway. He had been there before. It extended in the direction of the heart of the building. He wondered if they might be walking to her personal chambers. The silence threatened to engulf him, swallow him, until she dispelled it with a word.
“I am a woman of the olve, Njord Tholjorsonn,” she told him, continuing to lead him along the corridors of the building. Her movements were like those of a great cat on the hunt, soundless, terrifying in their predatory grace. “In particular, the blood of Í Miluipeni – ancient long before the sons of man tread the Oerth – courses my veins. Whatever I may be, I am ever the daughter of those that have gone before me. This truth is tattooed upon the skein of my fate as tangibly as the lines of my birth cross the palms of my hands. Aught comes to change it, forevermore.”
“Since my forebearers first tread the dells and glades, the forest floors and hills, of the Oerth, we have named one another not by the matter of one’s profession or pastime – by that which their character has revealed,” she continued. They passed the small armory within the structure, a room where copies of important documents were kept. The world was still a young place when the first one called Fireheart stalked the vast verdance of the wood men call Adri. It is said that he was amongst the greatest of our folk’s poets and the most terrible of its warriors, at once. He was given to the art of magic and the tyranny of steel; it was his to know the beauty within the sum of all roses, and to scourge his enemies with their thorns. He was given to passion unlike any of our kind before. And so, those that did so called him Fireheart.”
“So you see,” she said, pushing open another door before them. As it swung open, Njord realized it was somewhere he had never been before. They were nearing the center of the place, certainly. “Names are of great consequence to those of my kind. You should know that every soul that I have ever met – will meet tomorrow and thereafter, until at last Mother Luna bids me return to her side – I have dubbed with a name. These things, I keep secret, hidden. Yours,” she said, striding into the darkness, “I chose to speak aloud. And I tell you truly that I do not quite know why, myself. It felt…right, as it fell from my lips. I regret it not.”
Njord stood there for a moment in the darkness. The Captain had disappeared. Deeper within the room, he heard motion. The sound of metal briefly drawn across wood. “’Tis true that I have named you Wintercrown for your appearance, aye,” she said. “But as I said: Names carry much weight and consequence. They reach beyond that which the eye might seize...but take the measure of one's heart, instead.”
Lightning exploded within the room at the fickler of flint striking steel. A moment later, the Captain was surrounded in the gentle glow of a candle’s light. It made stark shadows dance across her features. Her blue eyes, like the wide and open sky in the springtime, met his in the half-light. The candle’s wan light had made the room a secret place – somewhere where aught but the two of them existed.
She seemed so very close to him. A trick of the light? “Do you believe me?” she asked.
"...Yes I know of her after all, interesting..." Sævil falls into silence.
After several moments of staring into space, he turns back to the Old Man, "Is there anything else you wish to say to me, I should return to our headquarters now."
The Old Man lifted a brow. “Eh?” he said. “I came because I thought you’d want to speak to me! I thought I’d give you the chance thank me for letting you tread the sea upon the Wayfarer at my side. For all the adventures and laughter, the moments when we were surely ready to die and those when it we knew – in spite of it all – we wouldn’t. All these things, all these things….” He startled to chuckle, but as summer gives way to autumn, his mirth slowly fled the air of the room. Eventually, it died altogether.
He looked down. Spat once again. Sævil watched him take in a deep breath, then exhale it in the form of a sigh. When he looked back up, he gave him a wry, awkward grin. “It’s been good to know you, boy,” he told him. “Do good by these folk, eh? And make me proud.”
The Old Man, worn and weathered by time and tedium, looked positively tiny in his chair.
Sævil stares, his mouth hanging open, "My old friend, I'll have more to ask you once I know more. I haven't even had a chance to look at this list of volunteers that was left for us! And surely we'll see each other again, you make it sound like this is the last.
"Of course I'm thankful for your friendship and the time you've taken to mentor me! We've coursed across the waves together and it's been a great adventure. Hells, I more than half expected you to want to come to our headquarters along with me. I'd be glad to have you join us for a time, and anyone who isn't willing to listen to your wisdom will get my boot in their ****!"
Sævil stares, his mouth hanging open, "My old friend, I'll have more to ask you once I know more. I haven't even had a chance to look at this list of volunteers that was left for us! And surely we'll see each other again, you make it sound like this is the last.
His smile had gained a faraway, wistful quality to it. “I have lived with the folk of Corus for many a year now, Sævil Dagsson,” he said. “I have only made your acquaintance recently, by comparison. And still, you know me better than almost any of their number. I am old,” he nodded again. “Little breath remains in my aged bones, now. Thus, I am not apt to waste it idly. This will be the last time we shall see the face of one another, boy. I know it just as truly as I know the countenance of the sea; I can feel is just as surely as the winter wind cracks the flesh.”
"Of course I'm thankful for your friendship and the time you've taken to mentor me! We've coursed across the waves together and it's been a great adventure. Hells, I more than half expected you to want to come to our headquarters along with me. I'd be glad to have you join us for a time, and anyone who isn't willing to listen to your wisdom will get my boot in their ****!"
“I wish that I could,” he smirked. “I would very much like another evening in which to tell my tales of the sea. Or at least to offer what I could to your journey to come. I’m afraid I cannot, though. Much still needs to be done before I ferry the Little One to her destiny. It has fallen to me to prepare the Wayfarer for your voyage, too. I have a few final duties to tend to. I would not be remembered for failing in these final hours.”
The Old Man stood. Now, so acutely aware of his frailty, for the first time he noticed the trembling inconsistency in his knees as he straightened, the way that his back bowed, as if under some great, invisible weight. The whole of the gesture took some time. After it was completed, he watched him dip his hand into a small, leather purse at his hip. “There is something I would like you to have,” he told him.
His hand produced a pair of copper coins. A quivering gesture placed them directly into Sævil’s palm. Cool to the touch, they were quite unlike any kind of lucre he had seen before. Once, he saw, they had borne some kind of minted pressing upon them. Both sides of the coin had been buffed clean, now. The way they shone, he could see that whoever had rid them of their original facings had only done so very recently. The images that now replaced them looked as if they had been carved into the soft metal by an incredibly fine blade. The artwork rendered upon them was lovely, painstakingly drawn.
Upon one side, Sævil saw the image of the Wayfarer.
On the other, his own face, frozen in profile.
“When you set sail,” the Old Man instructed him, “wait until you are well at sea. Wait until the waves froth and churn with anger and the wind lashes with fury. Then, I want you to take these coins in your hand and cast them into the waters, as far away from the ship as you can. Let the sea take them and hide them away forever – wherever it would keep its closest secrets.”
In the candlelight, the coins burned brightly. Sævil’s own eye seemed to wink at him, amidst a twinkling.
The Old Man made towards his door.
Outside, he could hear the wind pummel the stone of his home, slowly wearing its surface to so much sand. Scattered invisibly upon its raging wings.
Njord strode through the building behind her. It felt, however, like he floated along the halls, carried by her voice and grace. He pressed each foot to the floor, hoping to keep his balance and regain the steadiness of the earth. The entire place, solid wood and stone, seemed made of cloud-stuff.
When finally they landed in the midst of the structure, in near darkness, Njord again planted himself. As she continued to speak, he regained some of his foundation. He was glad for the momentary absence of light, as it allowed his vision to clear. When the Captain lit the candle, he was stricken by her azure eyes, each a firmament unto itself. Had not her eyes appeared a deep brown in the antechamber? His memories of her revealed only the brilliant blue before him. Had the rich nut-hue been a mistake of the light?
The words she spoke were like a poem he was never meant to hear: a fruit forbidden, but delicious once tasted. I Miluipeni? Fireheart? Wintercrown? All these names. Names? Yes, the names! Now he remembered: there was a task he was to perform.
She was close now, closer than ever before, and it was too much. He took a step back and rooted himself, folding his arms at his chest to create a barrier between them (or, perhaps, a shield for his heart?). The slight light-headedness began to wane. Had he not stepped back, he would have certainly fallen forward.
"Captain," the formalism lurched ahead to strengthen the blockade, "I...accept your name of me...this Wintercrown. It is strong name. But please know that i care not for king or queen, not for prince or princess." He nodded in affirmation of the gift.
"We have task to choose group of people to go with us to Black Ice. I have looked at list you brought to head-quarters. I have questions about some. Might you answer about these people?" He was relieved to have refocused his attention on the job at hand. "Or, it is that you recommend some of them?"
"Captain," the formalism lurched ahead to strengthen the blockade, "I...accept your name of me...this Wintercrown."
She never once looked from his eyes. In her azure deconstruction of his soul, she never seemed to blink. Certainly, she never stepped backwards, even if he were to stride in her direction. Even at ease, Captain Fireheart’s intensity was like that of an open flame. “This is good, then,” she said. And that was that.
"It is strong name."
She nodded gently. “It is,” she agreed. “It befits a man strong of spirit.”
"But please know that i care not for king or queen, not for prince or princess." He nodded in affirmation of the gift.
“It is, as the folk of your home would say, a kenning,” she replied. “An allusion; not a title of office. Still, we agree. I have little time for notions of nobility, as most understand it. I value names earned by strength of character as written in deeds, instead -- not by bloodlines or lineage. And one can be called king or prince by their fellows, certainly, would they earn that right.”
There was a silence for a moment between them before Njord addressed her again.
"We have task to choose group of people to go with us to Black Ice. I have looked at list you brought to head-quarters. I have questions about some. Might you answer about these people?" He was relieved to have refocused his attention on the job at hand. "Or, it is that you recommend some of them?"
Captain Fireheart nodded subtly. “I will,” she said. “And I have. It was I that put forth the names of Asranith Lasiniir, Lady Osson, Viscountess Fluss-Amberhill, Loja and Ravel to the Little One. Each and any of these would make fine additions to your expedition, in my opinion.”
The placed the candle down onto a table behind her. Njord imagined it was where it had been when they’d first entered the room. Its slight radiance still did not reveal the walls of the chamber in which they stood. Outside its reach, they yet swam in darkness.
Sævil gazes at the coins in his hand long after the Old Man is gone, his face pale and slack. He listens to the sounds of the wind outside, his face pale and slack.
At last he turns a coin to show Wayfarer again, and he smiles slowly. Color returns to his face as he steps out into the cold. He's only 50 feet on his way to Milleen's home when he begins whistling a nameless song of the sea.
Captain Fireheart nodded subtly. “I will,” she said. “And I have. It was I that put forth the names of Asranith Lasiniir, Lady Osson, Viscountess Fluss-Amberhill, Loja and Ravel to the Little One. Each and any of these would make fine additions to your expedition, in my opinion.”
The placed the candle down onto a table behind her. Njord imagined it was where it had been when they’d first entered the room. Its slight radiance still did not reveal the walls of the chamber in which they stood. Outside its reach, they yet swam in darkness.
“Which others would you know of?”
Njord began recalling names on the list. He was glad that there was accord between he and Fireheart about those that she endorsed outright. But he asked, "What of Ravel? Is not this taking him from marriage to Amelia? He is willing to make such sacrifice? They are willing?"
He then asked, "Of the many names, i have feel in gut these might be strong companions. Soren Stormcloud, Kelvan Farstrider, Slava, the Stonemilkers, Captain Ristolier, Milleen (for wolves), Altansarnai (for friendship to Milleen),..." Njord paused for a moment perceiving that the Tiger Nomad, whom he had never met, might not be the best travelling companion for himself. He continued, "Hjálmar Frjálsmaður, Nevin Stoutshield, Asila T'shanna, Faeranna Nightsky." There, Njord realized that he had completed his list of instinctual candidates.
"But information on any of names is welcome. Perhaps Dark One and Crow Jane are best not chosen. Though, having friend who can fly maybe is handy!" At this, Njord smiled slightly. He didn't realize it, but he also uncrossed his arms and his weight settled into his legs. "Are others on list you definitely not choose?"
The wolves began to howl long before Sævil arrived.
The Old Man had not exaggerated. The home that Milleen had claimed for herself was at the very edge of Corus’ perimeter, built directly against the stone wall that bound it. There was no doubting who it might belong to; a simple glance revealed that she who dwelled within it was certainly among the settlement’s strangest denizens.
Earth had been piled up against the mortared stones until it formed something of a sloping barrow-hill. Into the face of that immense mound, Sævil saw that a large hole had been cut. Large flat rocks served to line the walls and the floors as far as he could see inside. A few broad timbers framed the entrance and seemed to hold up the dugout’s ceiling – making it look almost exactly like the open mouth of a mine.
A mine, of course, that a man would have to crouch tightly into, just to enter. The ceiling of the doorless barrow was no higher than four and a half feet, at its tallest. Despite the notion that he would be terribly cramped inside, he found that the confines made a smirk spread across his lips.
On either side of the barrow, perhaps a half-dozen small stone shelters had been built. They all ran along Corus’ wall, too – in such a way that the northman wondered if they all might be connected. It was from inside these miniature caves that the howling emanated: Long, soulful canine cries that heralded his approach. They became louder, more frequent, the closer he approached. When he was finally within sight of Milleen’s home, he could feel many eyes falling upon him from within the dark recesses.
At last, he came perhaps within a hundred feet of the imitation of the mine. When he did, the howling suddenly, abruptly stopped. The sound of the wind, his labored breathing against the cold and the snow, were all he could hear. It was a truly eerie sensation.
Nearer now to the mouth of the barrow. Sævil could see the flickering of some sort of flame within.
Njord began recalling names on the list. He was glad that there was accord between he and Fireheart about those that she endorsed outright. But he asked, "What of Ravel? Is not this taking him from marriage to Amelia? He is willing to make such sacrifice? They are willing?"
“You do not understand,” the Captain replied, shaking her head slightly. “Know this: Two years ago, Lukasz Ravel was a stalker of men in the employ of the city of Greyhawk. A bounty hunter. It fell to him to pursue those individuals that had broken some law within the Free City and somehow managed to elude justice and flee its stony walls. One such criminal was a woman named Amelia D'Riggana,” she explained, “a rather-notorious forgeress who had made tidy coin of falsifying official legal documents in the region. When she learned that her identity had been exposed by an unscrupulous blackmailer, she left Greyhawk under the cover of darkness and used her sizable fortune to learn where she might hide from the retribution she knew would surely follow her every step. Unfortunately for her, young Mr. Ravel – full of determination far beyond his years – was set upon the task of returning her to the Free City’s constabulary. He dogged her every stride, only a moment behind her path all through her flight.”
“It might surprise you,” she continued, “but the forgeress was rather delighted by his pursuit. Their dance took long months, their paths ever-crossing across Perrenland and the Nomadic lands, and she came to rather admire his resolve. For his part, the bounty hunter respected her cleverness. By the time the two of them arrived upon the shore of Corus, the forgeress was prepared to turn herself over to Mr. Ravel’s care. Perhaps you might find some humor in the notion that, by then, he had no heart for the task. You see, the process of their lengthy dance had become something of a courtship. They were lovers that barely knew the other’s face.”
“Mr. Ravel has volunteered for this expedition precisely because of this,” she nodded. “He realizes that this is his home now – indeed, their home. He wishes to fight for the future of that home. It is the save as fighting for his forgeress lover, to his mind. So you see, this is no sacrifice at all, to him. It is simply what must be done.”
He then asked, "Of the many names, i have feel in gut these might be strong companions. Soren Stormcloud, Kelvan Farstrider, Slava, the Stonemilkers, Captain Ristolier, Milleen (for wolves), Altansarnai (for friendship to Milleen),..." Njord paused for a moment perceiving that the Tiger Nomad, whom he had never met, might not be the best travelling companion for himself. He continued, "Hjálmar Frjálsmaður, Nevin Stoutshield, Asila T'shanna, Faeranna Nightsky." There, Njord realized that he had completed his list of instinctual candidates.
The Captain snorted. “Ristolier?” Her voice dripped with derision. “A poor choice. I believe not for a moment his fanciful tales of the sea. I think him a coward and a charlatan.”
"But information on any of names is welcome."
“I think your list a good one, for the most part,” she replied. “I am mildly surprised that you would think to support Altansarnai’s inclusion…but it demonstrates wisdom to look past bias in the pursuit of victory. Of all your choices, it may be hers that you find most useful. She has much experience in traversing the sort of terrain you will need to tread.”
"Perhaps Dark One and Crow Jane are best not chosen. Though, having friend who can fly maybe is handy!" At this, Njord smiled slightly. He didn't realize it, but he also uncrossed his arms and his weight settled into his legs. "Are others on list you definitely not choose?"
The Captain could not help herself. Njord’s arm-flapping gesture brought a gentle smile to her lips. The blue color of her eyes seemed to brighten; it was the sun at dawn, melting an icy thaw. “Perhaps,” she said. “And perhaps not, as well. I cannot deny the strangeness of either of the two of them, it is true. Yet I must remind you that neither Crow Jane nor the Dark One has ever failed Corus when it has had need of them. Indeed, both have demonstrated a willingness to join a society that undoubtedly seems quite alien to them. This is more than I can say for some within our community who wear much more familiar faces. They have done what they can to ease others’ discomfort about them.”
“Aye,” she replied. “I would deny Captain Ristolier. Likewise, I would deny both Ruslan Heatherplains and Monek Friedrich. I do not trust the former, and while the latter is certainly brave, he is no warrior. He is a man of the soil and nothing more. To take him to the Land of Black Ice would be to dig for him a grave into which to clamber. I would also rebuff Mirka Daňo, as I find a woman of her sort unreliable and distasteful.”
She paused after saying it, searching her eyes with his for reaction.
Njord was mildly surprised it mattered to her in the slightest.
“Aye,” she replied. “I would deny Captain Ristolier. Likewise, I would deny both Ruslan Heatherplains and Monek Friedrich. I do not trust the former, and while the latter is certainly brave, he is no warrior. He is a man of the soil and nothing more. To take him to the Land of Black Ice would be to dig for him a grave into which to clamber. I would also rebuff Mirka Daňo, as I find a woman of her sort unreliable and distasteful.”
She paused after saying it, searching her eyes with his for reaction.
Njord was mildly surprised it mattered to her in the slightest.
Njord looked questioningly at the Captain. "Excuse, please. I am not understanding about Mirka. A woman of her sort?"
That expression of disgust fled the Captain's features. "You would do well to avoid her," she replied. "Of the matter, I should say no more. My quarrel with her is...personal. I am wrong to involve it in the matter of your mission."
She looked as if Njord might need a prying device to loose the whole of it from her.
That expression of disgust fled the Captain's features. "You would do well to avoid her," she replied. "Of the matter, I should say no more. My quarrel with her is...personal. I am wrong to involve it in the matter of your mission."
She looked as if Njord might need a prying device to loose the whole of it from her.
And quite a powerful one, at that.
Njord had never seen the Captain in such a state. Usually, she was like an adamantine soldier, ever guarded. But she had actually let her shield drop, and her visor had been raised, if only briefly. It was relentless effort wearing those suits of armor -- even she had to breathe at times.
"I do not mean to cross private line, but perhaps i should know something of which you speak. If Mirka is not good person, or not worthy of journey, then mayhaps it should be known? As others of my fellows may wish to include her."
"I do not mean to cross private line, but perhaps i should know something of which you speak. If Mirka is not good person, or not worthy of journey, then mayhaps it should be known? As others of my fellows may wish to include her."
It was why they called her Fireheart, he supposed. She was a woman of powerful passions, much like the forebearers she had described to him. It made Njord wonder if perhaps this was why she could be so stern and hard: Perhaps it was the only way she could keep the flames of her emotions from consuming her?
He watched the Captain take a deep breath. It was another small miracle: He could not swear to having ever noticed her do so before. “Mirka Daňo is…uncautious with the hearts of others,” she told him, perhaps a whisper of a sigh at the edge of her voice. “She is skilled at saying what she will to gain the trust of others. She takes what she wants, then leaves amongst a titter of laughter. Of what she leaves behind, she is unconcerned.”
Njord watched the Captain’s eyes. Just as darksome clouds gathered to herald the approach of the storm, so he watched the color of her gaze slowly begin to change. It was something incredible to behold, something that left him breathtaken and awed. Before the topic of the woman had come up, they were as blue as the sum of all oceans.
“And there you have it,” Master Retlishin said. “All secrets are known.”
He gave his head a slight tilt. “Have you any more questions, then?”
Ohrin looked up from his furious note-taking upon hearing Retlishin's conclusion. "Thank you, no. I have just learned a great deal about some of my neighbors!" Ohrin added with a chuckle. "With this new knowledge, I am confident that my comrades and I will be able to better discuss each candidate's merits in greater detail."
Ohrin then gathered up the books Master Retlishin was letting him borrow. "Thank you again. May the Lord of All Magic protect you during your trials ahead." With a deep bow, Ohrin turned to leave the chamber to meet back up with Verenna.
The change in the captain's eyes, though perplexing and enticing at once, failed to leave him utterly spellbound. It almost seemed natural for her. Had he actually caught a glimpse of this before?
"Captain...uh...Amarita, if you wish to speak more, please do. It may be help for making decision. If not, it is understood. Perhaps too private of matters?" After he spoke that sentence, saying her personal name, he was startled -- even more surprised than at the changing of her eyes.
Ohrin looked up from his furious note-taking upon hearing Retlishin's conclusion. "Thank you, no. I have just learned a great deal about some of my neighbors!" Ohrin added with a chuckle. "With this new knowledge, I am confident that my comrades and I will be able to better discuss each candidate's merits in greater detail."
“Excellent,” he replied, nodding gently. “If I have played some small role in the success of your expedition, than I am well-pleased.”
Ohrin then gathered up the books Master Retlishin was letting him borrow. "Thank you again. May the Lord of All Magic protect you during your trials ahead."
“Burning Eye watch over thee and your fellows,” Master Retlishin said. His lazy, ever-serene smile spread across his features. Ohrin watched him tumble the small vial of black ice over in his fingers, eventually gazing down upon it as if to muse over its virtues. What he might have thought about it, he said nothing.
With a deep bow, Ohrin turned to leave the chamber to meet back up with Verenna.
Master Retlishin had a very special section of the library reserved for his maps.
It wasn’t special in the way that his chambers were, mind. The room extended out from a corner of the library secreted in the lowest portion of the tower, well beneath the frozen ground of the island. There, sealed behind a heavy iron door – the master was ever-wary of the outbreak of fire – were four walls of smooth stone. Perhaps ten feet on every side, it was completely bereft of the great stacks of dusty books and treatises beyond it. Instead, dozens of rods were held suspended from the ceiling from small hooks, directly above metal loops affixed to the floor. Upon these rods, scores of rolled parchment-skins hung. These were the Master’s collection of maps: As he deigned, he could pull any of them downward, affixing them to the metal rings, stretching them out for his inspection. Truly, it was an ingenious design; he had come to expect nothing less from Retlishin.
When Ohrin entered the room, Verenna stood upon a chair, directly in its center. She was clearly trying to seem calm and undisturbed, in spite of the recent exertion he knew she’d undertaken. He was proud of himself that he managed not to laugh.
In her arms, she held a long tube of bleached bone. “I have them,” she smiled.
The maps or the mice – it was unclear to which she referred.
The change in the captain's eyes, though perplexing and enticing at once, failed to leave him utterly spellbound. It almost seemed natural for her. Had he actually caught a glimpse of this before?
"Captain...uh...Amarita, if you wish to speak more, please do. It may be help for making decision. If not, it is understood. Perhaps too private of matters?" After he spoke that sentence, saying her personal name, he was startled -- even more surprised than at the changing of her eyes.
The Captain seemed unperturbed by his invocation of her given name. “It is hardly a private matter,” she countered. “Indeed, I rather would think everyone in Corus knows the sort of personage that Mirka Daňo is quite well, by now. She is a thief of hearts and an assassin of lovers. I simply…prefer not to discuss a woman of such lowly character whenever possible. I would not wish to speak aloud my true feelings regarding her – lest you think less of me for the sort of language that might fall from my lips.”
She paused. The barest hint of a smile crossed her incredible features. “You know that names are important amongst my people, Wintercrown,” she told him. “Perhaps you’ve wondered why everyone in the settlement refers to me as simply Captain Fireheart. Did you know that the exchange of one’s given name is a gesture reserved between lovers, alone?”
The darkness in her eyes was beginning to give way to blue once more, the moment of anger gone.
Sævil breathes deeply and then calls out, "Milleen, may we speak? It's Sævil Dagsson!"
Outside, now inside the small domicile, the howling continued. The baying sounded something like a thousand lost souls crying out in the heart of the snowstorm. The wind seemed to take the sound, swirl it about in a chaotic whirlwind about him. There might have been five of the wolves; there might have been five hundred.
From within the small cave, he heard a voice, somehow, amidst it all. “Come,” it bade him.
In her arms, she held a long tube of bleached bone. “I have them,” she smiled.
The maps or the mice – it was unclear to which she referred.
"Excellent! Thank you very much for retrieving the map, I appreciate it." Ohrin then moved to stand near the chair, ready to assist her down.
Once Ohrin had secured the map, and they had exited the chamber, Ohrin thanked Verenna for her earlier advice on the petitioners before saying his good-byes and heading to his quarters. Once there, he quickly gathers up almost all of his possessions before departing to head back to the headquarters.
Once at the HQ, he will deposit his gear on one of the cots. He will then unpack until his comrades have returned and have indicated that they are ready to discuss the petitioners.
I simply…prefer not to discuss a woman of such lowly character whenever possible. I would not wish to speak aloud my true feelings regarding her – lest you think less of me for the sort of language that might fall from my lips.”
Njord actually smiled a little at this. That she would care about his thoughts for her, especially in regards to using bad language, was surprising -- even amusing.
Quote:
The darkness in her eyes was beginning to give way to blue once more, the moment of anger gone.
“It traditionally indicates a desire to be wed.”
Njord's mind raced. He managed to keep a sedate visage, but his brain was a maelstrom at sea on a hot, crystalline day -- sunshine and blue sky only enhancing the chaos via constrast. His thoughts whirled, attempting to cough forth an appropriate response from the vortex. The idea that he had somehow offered her a marriage proposal was alarming. But he wasn't even sure if that's what she meant by a given name. Wasn't Amarita her common name? He was confused, but he was sturdy against the floor, and his faculties were, for now, at his command. Even more steadying was discovering that this person before him was indeed that -- a person, and not just a suit of warrior's armor. She had vulnerabilities, and even wounds. She was real and, perhaps unfortunately, that made her even more attractive.
"Captain," Njord started, returning to the more official moniker, "please let me speak for moment." Further organizing his thoughts, he continued, "I know nothing of Mirka, only what you have said. So if you have more details, please say, even with foul language. With your name, I meant only to bring things to more personal way. I am confused about these names and meanings. I am called Njord as common name. I thought same for Amarita. I would guess you are called Captain as Mayor Highmountain is called Mayor. But i would mean only informalness if i named her Kalindre, not make marriage to her."
Njord became even more resolute. A fire burned in his belly, from slight anger and frustration, but also from definite desire. "I am afraid you have me at...dis-advantage. I am not knowing of these customs. And i am learning only little bit of you. You seem to know great deal of me. You even said these things in front of companions. You called me Witch-wife! If you were not woman or captain i would have struck you for such thing! I may have done same that you did to poor Albus for speaking ill of your woman-love!"
"Excellent! Thank you very much for retrieving the map, I appreciate it." Ohrin then moved to stand near the chair, ready to assist her down.
Amidst several crimson blotches all over the map room's floor, she took Ohrin's hand and stepped down. She offered him the bone case, lacquered and polished. It wasn't watertight, he could tell, but the hardened tube would protect the document nicely against violence, the same. "You're most welcome," she said, punctuating the comment with a frown and a sigh. "Though I've now a bit of a mess on my hands to clean, I fear."
Once Ohrin had secured the map, and they had exited the chamber, Ohrin thanked Verenna for her earlier advice on the petitioners before saying his good-byes and heading to his quarters. Once there, he quickly gathers up almost all of his possessions before departing to head back to the headquarters.
Once at the HQ, he will deposit his gear on one of the cots. He will then unpack until his comrades have returned and have indicated that they are ready to discuss the petitioners.
Ohrin passed the guards at the front door, both of which acknowledged him with a greeting and a nod. He saw that they had finished the work on their pit and now huddled around a healthy fire -- albeit one that crackled and danced wildly in the thrall of every new gust of wind.
When he entered the headquarters, he saw that it was empty. Sævil and Njord were nowhere to be found. Even sleeping Kahss had, at some point, seemingly vanished into thin air. Evidently, it seemed that they had set off, as he had done, to set their own affairs in order.
As he began to lay claim to one of the cots and put arrange his belongings in such a way that pleased him, he noticed that one of the tables had been filled with many woven cloth baskets. Within them, he saw all forms of meats and cheeses, breads and sweets.
"Captain," Njord started, returning to the more official moniker, "please let me speak for moment." Further organizing his thoughts, he continued, "I know nothing of Mirka, only what you have said. So if you have more details, please say, even with foul language."
The Captain nodded. Perhaps emboldened by Njord's urging, she made a little face, as if she'd eaten something very unpalatable. "She is a hukaa, as the folk of my blood would mark her," she said. "In the words of men, you would dub her slut."
Her bright blue eyes -- wait...now, did they seem to verge upon the green? -- seemed to search his to see how he might respond to what she'd said.
"With your name, I meant only to bring things to more personal way. I am confused about these names and meanings. I am called Njord as common name. I thought same for Amarita. I would guess you are called Captain as Mayor Highmountain is called Mayor. But I would mean only informalness if i named her Kalindre, not make marriage to her."
The Captain's expression changed. The edges of her lips tried to curl slightly. It seemed as if, perhaps, she wanted to smile...but perhaps, she simply didn't know how. Or had perhaps forgotten long ago. "Wintercrown," she began, then decided on an appellation anew, "Njord. Forgive me. I was...joking. You were smiling and making bird-wing-flappings with your arms." To his astonishment, she did the same, folding her hands at her sides in imitation of his gesture. "It seemed an appropriate time for humor."
She sighed slightly. "This is incredibly embarrassing," she confessed. "I meant only to stoke your mirth. This is why I do not often try to do so."
Njord became even more resolute. A fire burned in his belly, from slight anger and frustration, but also from definite desire. "I am afraid you have me at...dis-advantage. I am not knowing of these customs. And i am learning only little bit of you. You seem to know great deal of me. You even said these things in front of companions. You called me Witch-wife! If you were not woman or captain i would have struck you for such thing! I may have done same that you did to poor Albus for speaking ill of your woman-love!"
She nodded. "It is my responsibility to know as much as I can of those under my command," she said. "You are correct: I know much of you. When you put your name forward to join my Guardsmen, and I decided you were an acceptable candidate -- I paid Master Retlishin much good coin to learn that which he could of you. I did this solely to know whether or not the folk of Corus could trust you to perform your duties; I did it to discover if I could trust you."
"And again, I am humiliated," she met his eyes. "I have spent too much time amongst the olve. My sense of what is appropriate to discuss and that which is not is poorly-developed. I called you what I did as a statement of fact -- not an epithet or some bit of slander. I did this unknowing of the effect it might have upon you. I did this from a position of ignorance and for that, you have my sincerest apologies. Perhaps you might not find it in your heart to forgive me, Wintercrown...but I beg of you to do so, the same. I meant no harm."
She sighed. Paused.
"As for my woman-love," she said. "Clearly, you know of this. Then, it is no great secret. I hear the whispers of Corus' folk about it, when they think my back is turned and out of earshot. I know I am a source of scandal, in their eyes."
"I wonder," she asked. "How do you view me, given what you know?"
Once his gear was properly stowed, Ohrin sat at his desk, availed himself to the snacks, and began creating a list of items he felt their large company would need while waiting for the others to return.
"As for my woman-love," she said. "Clearly, you know of this. Then, it is no great secret. I hear the whispers of Corus' folk about it, when they think my back is turned and out of earshot. I know I am a source of scandal, in their eyes."
"I wonder," she asked. "How do you view me, given what you know?"
Njord wasn't surprised that the Captain's humor was lost on him. Cultural and lingual differences often proved a barrier to complete understanding for him, especially with respect to humor. But her explanation now had him far less exasperated than he was. She, and the people of her homeland, were indeed different from he and his. They concentrated on custom and decorum, whereas his homelanders were too busy dealing with day-to-day survival to care much about such things. But, upon reflection, the Raven-People also had their own strange traditions. Sexual taboos regarding same-sex coupling, however, were not among them.
Njord smiled, and thought. "Captain, i will come back to question you ask, please." After a moment, he continued. "The proper name for what i...was, is Haagamoran. It means like Priestess-Husband. Witch-wife is worse than calling Mirka, slut. Maybe you did not pay Master Retlishin enough good coin!" he took a stab with his own humor.
He then began returning to her question. "Captain, i still know little of you. It is like we just meet. Before, you are only Captain Fireheart, my commander. Now, i learn of you, person under armor and behind sword. Is there name i should use for you? Is Amarita okay?"
Njord smiled, and thought. "Captain, i will come back to question you ask, please." After a moment, he continued. "The proper name for what i...was, is Haagamoran. It means like Priestess-Husband. Witch-wife is worse than calling Mirka, slut. Maybe you did not pay Master Retlishin enough good coin!" he took a stab with his own humor.
He watched the Captain's shoulders slump. "I am ashamed to admit that the blame for this sits squarely upon my shoulders," she said. "The magician is faultless. He made me well-aware that he could only see that which transpired in your past. He traced the movements of the lips of those close to you. I suppose I was so quick to claim knowledge for my own that I failed to consider context. Had I known..." her voice trailed off wistfully.
He then began returning to her question. "Captain, i still know little of you. It is like we just meet. Before, you are only Captain Fireheart, my commander. Now, i learn of you, person under armor and behind sword. Is there name i should use for you? Is Amarita okay?"
She nodded. "I would be honored to have you do so," she said. "But please...reserve this for moments in which we are alone. There are matters of propriety to consider. It would be unseemly to do this before another Guardsman. I would not have them believe I treat with you any differently than your fellows."
It made sense. But Njord could not help but notice the words she used specifically. When we are alone. Not if.
He couldn't wipe the smile from his lips if he tried.
Sævil wasn't quite sure what he would find inside the small domicile. Whatever he might have expected, though...it certainly wasn't what he saw.
The imitation of a mine extended perhaps twenty feet deep, sloping slightly downward before flattening out into a roughly circular area. He crept over a series of small holes in the floor that served to drain away the snow and ice carried in from outside, melted by the heat of the torches that lined the walls of the abode at regular intervals. Flat pieces of slate covered the walls and the floor, only interrupted by thick timbers that held the ceiling in place above them. Against that dark stone, fine wooden furniture -- almost miniature in scale -- was pushed: A dresser and a full-length mirror, a desk and chair, an elegant dining table and a translucent folding screen. The floor and dollhouse-sized pieces were all immaculately kept. There was no clutter to be seen anywhere within the room. Amidst the silver platter and cutlery, the fine china and crystal decanters, on the table, a bouquet of flowers rest in a vase, filling the air with a lovely scent.
In the midst of the room, a troika of dark-furred wolves lay, each one eyeing him warily. They were relaxing in the comfort of what looked like a bearskin rug. It was difficult to see where one ended and the other began. Just ahead of them, a short reptilian humanoid. Instantly, he was aware that it was Milleen.
She regarded him with snake eyes, dark and probing. She had features that were just as canine as they owed to slithering things. She looked fine-boned, perhaps as tall as his waist, were he to stand upright. She wore thick animal furs over herself, her dark emerald scales coated in some kind of ointment, the consistency of honey. He thought he might have smelled perfume upon her.
A smile crept across her features, revealing rows of sharp, pointed teeth. "Greetings, Son of Dag," she nodded, almost performing a curtsy as she said it. To Sævil's shock, she spoke in a flawless human tongue. Her accent reminded him of the wealthy Perrenese of Krestible: Something refined and cultured.
Sævil wasn't quite sure what he would find inside the small domicile. Whatever he might have expected, though...it certainly wasn't what he saw.
"Welcome to my humble home."
"My thanks for the welcome," Sævil pulls himself into a seated position, so as to communicate closer to Milleen's height, "I once fought a warren of your race alongside old friends, from what little I saw of their lives, I'm sure they didn't live like this. You home is fantastic!"
"My thanks for the welcome," Sævil pulls himself into a seated position, so as to communicate closer to Milleen's height, "I once fought a warren of your race alongside old friends, from what little I saw of their lives, I'm sure they didn't live like this. You home is fantastic!"
Some sly light came to haunt Milleen's grin. "I see," she said. "And I suppose you slaughtered them to the one, hm, Son of Dag?"
"No matter," she said, making a trilling noise in the hollow of her throat, some strange juxtaposition of a hiss and a snicker. "It pleases me that you find my home of interest. Mayor Highmountain and Lord Kalistis afforded me many good materials with which to make it comfortable."
She turned about, circling the pile of wolves on the rug in the middle of her floor. Ever they stayed stilled, though they continued to watch Sævil's every slightest move. "When my pets informed me that I would be entertaining a visitor," she went on, heading towards the furthest part of the room. There, next to the table, a fireplace roared within the wall. A dark sphere hung within the flames. "I took the liberty of brewing a spot of tea. Can I interest you in a cup, perhaps?"
She took some two white ceramic hollows from the top of the table as she made her way to the fire. "Perhaps it would be good to warm your belly as we spoke of the journey to come," she added. Her silhouette against the light of the flames reminded Sævil of just how tiny she was.
"I suppose that's the purpose for your visit, hm?"
She took some two white ceramic hollows from the top of the table as she made her way to the fire. "Perhaps it would be good to warm your belly as we spoke of the journey to come," she added. Her silhouette against the light of the flames reminded Sævil of just how tiny she was.
"I suppose that's the purpose for your visit, hm?"
"Yes tea would be great, thank you," Sævil smiles slightly, "And to be honest, no, their numbers were too great, nor were they our goal. My companions and I withdrew after our mage crafted a shield that could not be pierced by their missiles.
"I am here to ask you to provide me with a trained wolf, as you once offered, but even more I ask that you consider coming with me on a journey the Mayor has required of... a number of us," he breathes deeply, "We will need to travel as my own people travel, with dog - or wolf - and sled. I know some, but you appear to be a master with these animals, you're presence would be a boon."
He leans forward as he takes the cup of tea, lowering his voice, "And I have reason to believe things may not be as they seem. I will need trusted companions; your good works - together with the words of The Old Man - have convinced me that you might be exactly that. I've no idea if you're one of the volunteers The Mayor listed for us, and I don't care: I'm here to ask you to come. For Corus, if for nothing else."
"Yes tea would be great, thank you," Sævil smiles slightly
The kobold nodded gently. He watched her wrap her hand in a thick cloth, then produce a silvered kettle from the fire. Carefully, she poured its contents into her ceramic cups. When that was completed, she put the kettle onto a stone flat in the center of the table, each of the cups onto a small saucer. She did each of these things as if they were a solemn ritual, one that required the strictest attention.
She walked from the side of the table to where he sat, offering him one of the cups. "Please," she said, smiling her jagged-toothed smile. The tea smelled rather delicious. Sævil noticed that each cup was monogrammed with a single, calligraphed letter K on its side.
"And to be honest, no, their numbers were too great, nor were they our goal. My companions and I withdrew after our mage crafted a shield that could not be pierced by their missiles.
Milleen took a sip from her cup. She looked as if she mulled over its flavor for a moment before nodding to herself; evidently, it passed her muster. "A magi fighting at the side of a man of the north?" she cocked a scale-ridged brow curiously. "How very unusual." She smiled once again. Evidently, the notion was not displeasing to her.
"I am here to ask you to provide me with a trained wolf, as you once offered, but even more I ask that you consider coming with me on a journey the Mayor has required of... a number of us," he breathes deeply, "We will need to travel as my own people travel, with dog - or wolf - and sled. I know some, but you appear to be a master with these animals, you're presence would be a boon."
Milleen nodded. "I will do as I have promised," she said. "Though you should know that the matter is not quite so simple. I will not select a wolf to serve as your companion, Son of Dag. It is rather the wolf that will choose to place its trust in you."
He leans forward as he takes the cup of tea, lowering his voice, "And I have reason to believe things may not be as they seem. I will need trusted companions; your good works - together with the words of The Old Man - have convinced me that you might be exactly that. I've no idea if you're one of the volunteers The Mayor listed for us, and I don't care: I'm here to ask you to come. For Corus, if for nothing else."
Her sly grin seemed to pull still longer. "You are fortunate that I have already volunteered my service to your expedition," she said. "I need little convincing to accompany you. Corus is my home too, Son of Dag. I would gladly fight to the death to defend it, if that is what must be done. So, aye -- you may count my spear and my wolves amongst your number."
She raised her cup once more. Sævil noticed that, when she sipped from its rim, she pointed one of her clawed digits in an aristocratic manner. "Your words have piqued my interest though, brave one," she said. "You say that things may not be as they seem."
Her serpent's eyes gazed at him through the steam rising from the top of her cup.
She nodded. "I would be honored to have you do so," she said. "But please...reserve this for moments in which we are alone. There are matters of propriety to consider. It would be unseemly to do this before another Guardsman. I would not have them believe I treat with you any differently than your fellows."
It made sense. But Njord could not help but notice the words she used specifically. When we are alone. Not if.
He couldn't wipe the smile from his lips if he tried.
Njord responded to Captain Fireheart's acceptance of the informal name. "Of course. You are my Captain. In company, that is your title. But am glad to have personal way to name you, Amarita. Good to make acquaintance." As he finished the statement he nodded and smiled. He thought of extending a hand in friendship, but then discounted the idea. He was steadfast now, and wanted that to continue.
"Amarita, i have only few more questions of you, if i may? Then i will try to answer question you gave to me."
[* Here, Njord will wait for an affirmative. If that is given, he continues... *]
Before beginning the questions, Njord allowed Amarita the option to decline. "Of course, you may refuse answer if you wish. I would like to know name of your lady-love, so that i may refer to that person. Also, if you wish to say more of Mirka, i will listen." Then Njord's tone and pace changed a touch. "And, last, you are aware your eyes change color in most magical ways?" Njord put the questions to Amarita, although mostly phrased as statements. He was purposefully leaving one question unspoken. That one he would leave for another time. Hopefully, by her use of the term when rather than if, that time would come soon.
Njord responded to Captain Fireheart's acceptance of the informal name. "Of course. You are my Captain. In company, that is your title. But am glad to have personal way to name you, Amarita. Good to make acquaintance." As he finished the statement he nodded and smiled. He thought of extending a hand in friendship, but then discounted the idea. He was steadfast now, and wanted that to continue.
She chuckled slightly, sensing the awkward timbre of the moment just as well as he did. "And yours as well, Njord Wintercrown," she replied. In spite of herself, her lips were beginning to form a proper smile. It was nothing short of a miracle.
"Amarita, i have only few more questions of you, if i may? Then i will try to answer question you gave to me."
The Captain nodded. "Ask," she said. "I will tell you as much as I can."
Before beginning the questions, Njord allowed Amarita the option to decline. "Of course, you may refuse answer if you wish. I would like to know name of your lady-love, so that i may refer to that person. Also, if you wish to say more of Mirka, i will listen." Then Njord's tone and pace changed a touch. "And, last, you are aware your eyes change color in most magical ways?" Njord put the questions to Amarita, although mostly phrased as statements. He was purposefully leaving one question unspoken. That one he would leave for another time. Hopefully, by her use of the term when rather than if, that time would come soon.
"Her name was Marianna," she said, some bit of melancholy creeping into the tone of her voice. "She was of the olve-folk, as am I. I met her here in Corus, only a day after I arrived, confused and afraid. It was she that brought calm to my brow and comfort to my soul. She was as gentle as the spring wind and beautiful as the flowers whose petals it moves." Njord thought that she might have trembled slightly, just to remember her.
"As for Mirka," she said, the steely resolve in her voice returning, "there is little more to say. I disapprove of the sort of woman she is. I find her manipulations and intrigues repellent. In turn, she finds me stern and lacking in humor. We dislike one another almost equally, I think."
She paused for a moment. "You wonder much about her," the Captain said. "Is this merely curiosity, Wintercrown? Or is there a deeper question that you hesitate to give voice to?"
"My eyes," she closed them for a moment, opening them again. The greenish tint he'd seen in them before had almost completely fled their quality. As he gazed into them now, they were the gentlest shade of blue. Like the sky, the sea. "This is something I cannot explain. It seems that in every generation of my family's lineage, the eyes of one child are such that they betray their mood. Of my three siblings, mine -- as you have seen -- shift and mute with my emotions. They grow ever dark when I am angry or sternly focused. When I am at peace, their character lightens to blue. Once in my life," she confessed, "they have been violet."
Njord sensed a most interesting tale behind the violet eyes, and that might be a deep story, with many roots leading to other narratives and still more questions. He would plumb those depths another time, as he still had the task before himself and his fellows, and he didn't want to overstay his welcome at the Captain's domicile. He attempted to steer the conversation back toward the question she had posed.
"Now, your eyes are pretty, soft blue. I hope i never see them burning red!" He smiled at that, hoping to evoke the same for Amarita.
"Marianna, that is lovely name. I bet she is lovely woman. Thank you for sharing such. I hope to learn more of her some day. About Mirka, i am thinking there may be more to story than just being hukaa, as you say. Maybe you have tangles with her? Maybe even she had relations with Marianna? I am curious, to give information to comrades concerning our selections. As yet, i can only say, but use better words, that you think she is scheming slut!" Njord gave a wry smile and slightly shrugged at the thought. "Does she offer anything for expedition?" Njord, being straightforward, didn't realize what a setup the last question was.
Last edited by Syzygyst on Mon May 09, 2016 6:22 pm; edited 1 time in total
She raised her cup once more. Sævil noticed that, when she sipped from its rim, she pointed one of her clawed digits in an aristocratic manner. "Your words have piqued my interest though, brave one," she said. "You say that things may not be as they seem."
Her serpent's eyes gazed at him through the steam rising from the top of her cup.
"I would know more."
"I wish I had much more to tell you," Sævil puts down his teacup, having finished, "The Old Man warned me that it's possible not all who go on this mission are trustworthy, even potentially that my life or the mission might be targeted.
"I'm simple enough, but I'm not a fool Milleen, I know I've a tendency to think the best of those around me. This leads me to seek the opinions of others - and to place unexpected allies where they might cover my back."
Sævil gestures widely at her home, "You are... no ordinary Kobold - you left home to make something more of yourself than you would have been. So too I left home, although I had the blessings of my mother and step-father to do so, because I wanted to see more of the world and be more than just another Xeai of the Tusking Strand.
"My birth father wanted the same you know; 'Who put the ocean so near the shore?' he used to grump whenever he felt the horizon singing to him. When he died, I promised myself I'd discover what's beyond the horizon for both of us. There's still much more to see, and I mean to keep alive in order to do so, and bring my friends through this Land of Black Ice and back again as well.
"And if we're betrayed when we least expect it, I mean to have a friend or two waiting to put their dagger into the back of the traitor."
Sævil smiles and laughs, "I learned many useful things in my time with my old adventuring company. Some perhaps, not entirely in keeping with the traditions of my ancestors," he grins widely and true, "but I like to think they'd understand."
"Now, your eyes are pretty, soft blue. I hope i never see them burning red!" He smiled at that, hoping to evoke the same for Amarita.
He found his words successful. The Captain offered the slight curve of her lips as a reflection of some muted mirth. “I don't think you need worry about that,” she replied. “Of all the colors my eyes might claim, red is not one of them. At least,” she countered, “I've never been told they've gone red before.”
"Marianna, that is lovely name. I bet she is lovely woman. Thank you for sharing such. I hope to learn more of her some day. About Mirka, i am thinking there may be more to story than just being hukaa, as you say. Maybe you have tangles with her? Maybe even she had relations with Marianna? I am curious, to give information to comrades concerning our selections. As yet, i can only say, but use better words, that you think she is scheming slut!" Njord gave a wry smile and slightly shrugged at the thought. "Does she offer anything for expedition?" Njord, being straightforward, didn't realize what a setup the last question was.
Fireheart – Amarita – nodded. “I vow to you that there is nothing more to the tale than what I have said,” she told him. “I simply disapprove of the sort of woman that she is. I do not believe in manipulations or duplicity...especially when affairs of the heart are concerned. If anything else you've said is true, then I know nothing of it. Perhaps this does not make your decision regarding her easier,” she allowed, “but you now know the whole of it.” If there had been an opportunity to further impugn Mirka's character, she did not take it. It said much about the Captain, after a fashion.
“The night has claimed the day, Wintercrown,” she told him. “You have duties to tend to, as do I.”
"I wish I had much more to tell you," Sævil puts down his teacup, having finished, "The Old Man warned me that it's possible not all who go on this mission are trustworthy, even potentially that my life or the mission might be targeted.
He watched her eyes become slits. “I see,” she nodded. “As ever: It's nothing as it seems.”
"I'm simple enough, but I'm not a fool Milleen, I know I've a tendency to think the best of those around me. This leads me to seek the opinions of others - and to place unexpected allies where they might cover my back."
Sævil gestures widely at her home, "You are... no ordinary Kobold - you left home to make something more of yourself than you would have been. So too I left home, although I had the blessings of my mother and step-father to do so, because I wanted to see more of the world and be more than just another Xeai of the Tusking Strand.
"My birth father wanted the same you know; 'Who put the ocean so near the shore?' he used to grump whenever he felt the horizon singing to him. When he died, I promised myself I'd discover what's beyond the horizon for both of us. There's still much more to see, and I mean to keep alive in order to do so, and bring my friends through this Land of Black Ice and back again as well.
"And if we're betrayed when we least expect it, I mean to have a friend or two waiting to put their dagger into the back of the traitor."
The comment brought a wry grin to the dark lips of the kobold. The imagery stoked some sort of black mirth within her, clearly.
Sævil smiles and laughs, "I learned many useful things in my time with my old adventuring company. Some perhaps, not entirely in keeping with the traditions of my ancestors," he grins widely and true, "but I like to think they'd understand."
She seemed to take that which he'd said under careful consideration for a moment. Then, after a long sip of tea, she placed her empty cup upon the floor, alongside his. To Sævil's mild surprise, it had actually been quite good-tasting. “You and I,” she said at last, “seem to be of the same kind, Son of Dag. You place value in trust and friendship; you place value in cooperation and harmony. My blood is not so removed from that of my folk that these things are strangers to me. Perhaps the blood of small dragons courses your veins, too?”
She paused a moment, chuckling at the absurdity of the notion. “But you hardly know me,” she added. “All that you know is that I have offered you one of my pets to call your own. So how do you know that I am not one of those waiting with a dagger held in my claws?”
“How do you know that I am not the one who would bring ruin to your journey?”
“The night has claimed the day, Wintercrown,” she told him. “You have duties to tend to, as do I.”
Something in her voice sounded...reluctant?
Njord was fishing for more details concerning Mirka, either in regards to the woman's promiscuity and games, or to her abilities as a travelling companion. He guessed there was more to be told by Amarita, and it might have something to do with Marianna, but, regardless, the captain was no longer speaking of the matter; the non-specific answers would have to suffice.
"Yes," Njord began. "Evening is crawling its way toward night. We both have duties." He may have let a bit of disappointment slip as he repeated her sentiment. "So, i will now try to answer question. You ask me what i think of you." Njord paused a moment to coalesce his thoughts. "There will be more to say on matter, but i say now, i like this Amarita that i have met, and look forward to learn more about her." And so he answered the question, smiling, looking into Amarita's eyes. It was almost as ambiguous as the captain's reply about Mirka. There were definitely more things to say, and he knew many of them already, but he managed to bottle them away under his skin, close to his heart.
She paused a moment, chuckling at the absurdity of the notion. “But you hardly know me,” she added. “All that you know is that I have offered you one of my pets to call your own. So how do you know that I am not one of those waiting with a dagger held in my claws?”
“How do you know that I am not the one who would bring ruin to your journey?”
Sævil continues to smile as he considers her questions, and before speaking he shifts a bit closer to her, "In a way of course, I have no secure knowledge of you. But I know you came among those whom are traditionally enemies of your race, in a desire to be more than just a female kobold's traditional place in the world...
"I know you offered me a boon in the past, and that you've been a gracious hostess today. I've never seen you act against the city, nor heard a word spoken against you worse than mere disbelief that you could be anything other than a savage," he makes a face, "old hatreds are not so easily set aside - even in Corus I guess.
"I know that The Old Man knew you and he whom you journeyed with, and that he thinks highly of you. And at last, I believe you are inclined to prove wrong those who doubt you - your home tells me you're a Kobold, but also that there may never have been one like you before. If we've a kinship, and I think we might, it's in our delight to never quite be what is expected of us."
"Yes," Njord began. "Evening is crawling its way toward night. We both have duties." He may have let a bit of disappointment slip as he repeated her sentiment. "So, i will now try to answer question. You ask me what i think of you." Njord paused a moment to coalesce his thoughts. "There will be more to say on matter, but i say now, i like this Amarita that i have met, and look forward to learn more about her." And so he answered the question, smiling, looking into Amarita's eyes. It was almost as ambiguous as the captain's reply about Mirka. There were definitely more things to say, and he knew many of them already, but he managed to bottle them away under his skin, close to his heart.
Amarita Fireheart stared into Njord’s eyes. The blue in them was going the deepest shade he had even borne witness to. It was something more unto ultramarine than azure or turquoise. As she did so, silence fell between them. She shattered it by taking a step towards him. They were no more than two feet distant now. “As your Captain,” she told him, sharp steel reclaiming the tone of her voice, “you would do well to remember that, even when you are detached from your post, no matter how far away you may be — it remains my right to order you as I see fit. You understand, yes, Guardsman?”
She came still closer. The unearthly color of her eyes…her stern bearing…the simple gravity of her being: All these things combined to make Njord nearly tremble in her presence. “I order you to remain safe during your time with your fellowship,” she said, her manner intense enough to cleave hard and cold stone as if so much fragile lace. “Upon the completion of your mission, you are furthermore ordered to immediately return to my command with all possible haste. At that time, we will continue this conversation. Do you understand, Guardsman Thorjorsson?”
The ghost of a smile haunted her lips. “Do not forget me, Wintercrown,” she finished. But how to forget a woman like Amarita Fireheart?
He might be dead a year – and still her name would remain upon his lips.
Sævil continues to smile as he considers her questions, and before speaking he shifts a bit closer to her, "In a way of course, I have no secure knowledge of you. But I know you came among those whom are traditionally enemies of your race, in a desire to be more than just a female kobold's traditional place in the world...
"I know you offered me a boon in the past, and that you've been a gracious hostess today. I've never seen you act against the city, nor heard a word spoken against you worse than mere disbelief that you could be anything other than a savage," he makes a face, "old hatreds are not so easily set aside - even in Corus I guess.
“Indeed,” Milleen agreed. “Though I hold such feelings against the human-folk and other fleshlings not. Kurtulmak’s Children are well known for our own long memories and the ever-burning fires of our hatreds. My hypocrisy only goes so far, you see,” she said, offering a slight chuckle to punctuate the sentence.
"I know that The Old Man knew you and he whom you journeyed with, and that he thinks highly of you. And at last, I believe you are inclined to prove wrong those who doubt you - your home tells me you're a Kobold, but also that there may never have been one like you before. If we've a kinship, and I think we might, it's in our delight to never quite be what is expected of us."
The kobold found no small mirth within the statement. “Again, it seems as if you have a way of spying into the cloisters of my heart, Son-of-Dag,” she said. “It was not always easy. When first I met Lord Kalistis, I was a snivel wretch of a thing. I was frightened of the open sky and clumsy when I would try to emulate the ways of the fleshlings. But now, it is as you say: I have come to enjoy being that which is not expected of my kind. It is ever a part of me now, as my claws and scales.”
“You should know,” she allowed, “I am somewhat surprised that the Old Man had anything good at all to say about my former liege. Lord Kalistis was not a kind man, to be sure. On the day that he set away from our home for the last time, he counted no few enemies within Corus’ walls. I was certain that the Old Man was one of these.”
Her thin black lips curled into a smile. The gesture revealed her two rows of sharply pointed teeth for Sævil to see easily.
“I find it pleasing to know that, somehow, I was mistaken.”
The ghost of a smile haunted her lips. “Do not forget me, Wintercrown,” she finished. But how to forget a woman like Amarita Fireheart?
He might be dead a year – and still her name would remain upon his lips.
Njord, gazing into those bottomless blue eyes of hers, smiled, and replied with a simple, soft, "Yes, Captain," thereby answering all of her questions and commands at once.
He wished he could remain standing there, staring into those pools, feeling the electricity course through his body. But he knew it was time to go. After what seemed an eternity, he finally pulled back from her, standing at his full height. With a deep breath, he held out an open hand to the side, beckoning her to lead him out of her chambers. It was all he could do not to reach out and wrap that arm around her.
“I find it pleasing to know that, somehow, I was mistaken.”
Sævil cocks his head slightly, "Kalistis? The Old Man said you traveled with an Ilkka? Ilkka Suhonen. Although I'm not sure it matters what he thought of the man you once labored for - The Old Man was quite certain you were to be valued entirely for yourself."
After what seemed an eternity, he finally pulled back from her, standing at his full height. With a deep breath, he held out an open hand to the side, beckoning her to lead him out of her chambers. It was all he could do not to reach out and wrap that arm around her.
The last he saw of the elven Captain was the way that the flickering candlelight lit her features in alternating dancing patterns of brilliance and shadow. He watched her purse her lips, then extinguish the flame atop the wick with a gentle breath. Darkness swallowed the both of them wholly.
Njord felt the sensation of her passing him by as a springtime zephyr. Behind him, the door opened and he was aware of her passage back down the hallway from which they'd arrived in her chambers, despite the absolute silence of her travel. He followed her just as surely as she commanded it, retracing their steps through each doorway and down the corridors of the structure until they were at last in the foyer again.
She opened the heavy, girded door to the outside, at last. The act allowed the icy wind and wet, heavy snow to wash all over, then seemingly through his body. The weather had grown worse, if that was entirely possible. Above, nothing but dark clouds, rendered almost invisible by the night. No stars, no moonlight. Just angry, roiling blackness, ever-screaming a wintry cry.
"Farewell, Wintercrown," Amarita said. "I await your return."
He stepped out of the door's threshold. Gently, she closed the portal behind him.
He could hear the bar fall into place inside its inside face, locking it tight. He stood there, up to his knees in the snow, almost dumbstruck, until he heard something behind him, snapping his reverie.
The figure was tiny, barely taller than Mayor Highmountain. Wrapped in heavy bands of dark cloth against the cold, it was trudging its way across Njord's plane of view, from left to right. Perhaps from the Icepick or Flowerfield's Bakery, to some point unknown. Out from the swaths of the utterly ebon cloth, a long, pointed beak, like that of a hummingbird's protruded. Above those, twin pieces of obsidian hung, as eyes. They were fixated directly upon him.
Crow Jane made a little chittering noise that was probably meant to represent mild amusement. As she watched, a long parcel in her possession, likewise wrapped in heavy, tenebrous sheets, she raised a single digit -- a raptor's claw -- to the approximate area of her lips.
"Shh..." she said, a croak of a voice, barely above the sound of the wind. "Secrets" Winked an unblinking black eye at him, as she continued on her way.
She could have been talking about either of them, just as easily.
Sævil cocks his head slightly, "Kalistis? The Old Man said you traveled with an Ilkka? Ilkka Suhonen. Although I'm not sure it matters what he thought of the man you once labored for - The Old Man was quite certain you were to be valued entirely for yourself."
"Kalistis," she informed him "is a title, Son of Dag. In the tongue of my folk, it means something like the name Emperor of Swords would in your language. You have the whole of his name correctly, aye. I am loathe to speak it, though," she explained. "It is...improper."
The way that she said it, there was little doubt left to the reverence in which she held the man.
"In any case, you may count upon my aid -- though that was assured long before your arrival at my home. With that done...we should go outside." She looked at the pile of wolves in the center of her carpet. "None of these coal-chewers will do for a fine manling like you. I would introduce you to the others."
She started ahead of him, towards the entrance to her "mine".
"Shh..." she said, a croak of a voice, barely above the sound of the wind. "Secrets" Winked an unblinking black eye at him, as she continued on her way.
She could have been talking about either of them, just as easily.
Njord snapped to attention. Underneath his alert mind, he was experiencing sensations that he had never felt before. Had Fireheart indicated that she awaited his return from the Black Ice? Was it an invitation for any visit? As of yet, he fully intended to see her again before leaving on the expedition. Hopefully, the proper moment would present itself.
But now he was taken away from all of those thoughts. Crow Jane was a complete enigma to him, and he had some reticence about approaching her. But she was on the list, Fireheart had offered approval for Crow Jane, and he had a duty to pursue. He trudged after her as quickly as he could, hoping to intercept. Shh? Secrets? What was she speaking about? Approaching her, he realized his trepidations: she reminded him of his homeland, and of a certain people there. Some of them were able to take the form of birds: ravens in particular. This creature was caught somewhere between woman and crow -- much too similar for his liking. But he was able to put his misgivings aside, perhaps encouraged by the fire that Amarita had lit within him.
"Crow Jane," Njord offered in as a low a voice as he could, still hoping to catch her attention. "I would speak with you if you have moment."
"Crow Jane," Njord offered in as a low a voice as he could, still hoping to catch her attention. "I would speak with you if you have moment."
She did not turn in his direction. Instead, she continued to trample the snow beneath her feet. She might have quickened her pace, rather, leaning forward against the force of the gale and the snow. "It is cold," she said, her voice a kind of a sing-song thing. Not a croaking, he considered. A cawing. Like a raven's. "And my bones are hollow. If you wish to speak, I would do so about a fire -- before my feathers become white with rime."[/i]
Not far ahead, Njord saw the looming shadow of the headquarters of his fellowship. The guards outside already watched them warily.
Was the timing a coincidence? Njord didn't want to intrude on his fellows with a guest, but since she was on the list, and it might be productive for all to chat with this odd woman-bird, he decided to invite her.
"Crow Jane, we are in luck. There is fire up ahead with guards. Do you see? That is where i stay. I invite you in to talk with my fellows about expedition that you have volunteered for. There is good fire. Will you come? I am called Njord. I am among leaders of expedition."
He tried to be as cordial as possible while addressing her. He felt none at ease communicating with the crow-woman. Hopefully, his new companions had returned so that he wouldn't be alone with her.
Sævil follows Milleen on his hands and knees. As they travel he asks, "Milleen your people look like lizards and what little I know of lizards is that they survive poorly in the cold, often even with fire. My friend Daela once told me this is because lizards only take warmth from what is around them, while elves and men and the like produce heat within themselves.
"If am I to see that we all survive in the lands of my people and beyond, it would help me to understand your needs."
"Crow Jane, we are in luck. There is fire up ahead with guards. Do you see? That is where i stay. I invite you in to talk with my fellows about expedition that you have volunteered for. There is good fire. Will you come? I am called Njord. I am among leaders of expedition."
He tried to be as cordial as possible while addressing her. He felt none at ease communicating with the crow-woman. Hopefully, his new companions had returned so that he wouldn't be alone with her.
The crow-woman nodded. From Njord's perspective, the gesture looked like a simple up-and-down bobbing of her slender, sharp beak. It look like it could cut the very night with its blackness and make it bleed shadow. "Aye," she said in her strange tone. "If your fellows will have me."
He led her in the direction of the headquarters, all the way struggling against the force of the wind and the snow. Even with the benefit of the salve the the Town Guardsmen wore on their exposed flesh, he found his cheeks beginning to burn from the cold. Thankfully, they didn't have far to go to make it to their destination and the promised fire, within.
As soon as the Guards outside realized who it was at Njord's side, he saw both stiffen. He saw something in their eyes change dramatically, reflected in the fire dancing in the pit at their feet. Was it fear?
Evidently, Crow Jane thought so. "Hmph," he heard her offer as her only remark on the matter.
Disapproval, it seemed, transcended notions of language.
Sævil follows Milleen on his hands and knees. As they travel he asks, "Milleen your people look like lizards and what little I know of lizards is that they survive poorly in the cold, often even with fire. My friend Daela once told me this is because lizards only take warmth from what is around them, while elves and men and the like produce heat within themselves.
"If am I to see that we all survive in the lands of my people and beyond, it would help me to understand your needs."
Milleen laughed. "You are wise indeed, Son of Dag," she replied. "And your friend Daela was correct: The scaly folk have no love for the weather when its face 'comes cold. We become tired easily and our limbs become heavy and slow. But you should know that I have traveled to many strange lands in the service of the Kalistis," she said. "Very many of these were quite frigid in nature. So while it is true that I detest the cold, I am not unused to it. And I have learned many ways to protect myself against it, too."
The two of them left the comforts of Milleen's home. Immediately, Sævil was struck by how cold it was. The tight confines of the miniature mine made it so much hotter, damper, than even the comforts of the headquarters. The snow and the wind hit his exposed flesh with the mercy of a hammerblow. "You know, though, Son of Dag," she went on, "though wise in the way of my kind you may be...you have much to learn about the proper way to speak to a lady of refinement." Milleen snickered to herself with a wry smirk. "You look like a lizard, indeed."
They swiftly found themselves standing before the open rock faces from which Sævil had felt the weight of several sets of eyes heavy upon him, as he approached the kobold's home. "Do you have any fear of wolves?" she asked him, raising her voice so as to be heard above the roar of the wind.
Evidently, Crow Jane thought so. "Hmph," he heard her offer as her only remark on the matter.
Disapproval, it seemed, transcended notions of language.
Njord noted the discomfort of the guards. He understood their unease, and was curious to witness their interactions with Crow Jane.
"Crow Jane, may i introduce Pol Yrnigaard and Resti Sargath, members of Town Guard." Njord indicated each guard with a hand gesture as he said their names. "Gentlemen, this is Crow Jane."
[* He then waits a moment for a reaction. If it's clear to proceed, he continues... *]
"Crow Jane, please wait moment. I must first check with my companions -- make sure they are decent. I will return with haste." With that, Njord entered the headquarters in order to check with his fellows (if present), to make sure they were ready to accept the dark-hued kenku as a visitor. He also wanted to make sure the place was presentable and the fires were well-supplied before admitting her.
Njord noted the discomfort of the guards. He understood their unease, and was curious to witness their interactions with Crow Jane.
"Crow Jane, may I introduce Pol Yrnigaard and Resti Sargath, members of Town Guard." Njord indicated each guard with a hand gesture as he said their names. "Gentlemen, this is Crow Jane."
"Indeed," the former nodded. "While we have never met, I certainly know of you. You are well-met," he said with a slight bow.
"It is as my fellow Guardsman has said," the latter tried on an awkward smile. "You are welcome." It was quite clear to Njord that, while the two men tried their best to be gracious, neither truly knew how to approach the dark-feathered stranger. That made them nervous.
"Crow Jane, please wait moment. I must first check with my companions -- make sure they are decent. I will return with haste."
"Please, dark lady," Pol gestured, smiling. "Share our fire while Tholjorsonn is away. The cold is noplace for anyone, this eve." Crow Jane seemed as if she wasn't quite completely at ease with the idea, but slowly approached the roaring flame, the same. She said nothing at all, in any case.
With that, Njord entered the headquarters in order to check with his fellows (if present), to make sure they were ready to accept the dark-hued kenku as a visitor. He also wanted to make sure the place was presentable and the fires were well-supplied before admitting her.
Opening the door...the entirety of the headquarters was empty, save for Ohrin. He was seated at one of the desks in the room, maps and legends aplenty spread across its expanse for his perusal.
He had, it seemed already warmed to the task at hand.
"Hail, good Ohrin. I hope your quick journey was success!" As Njord greeted Ohrin, he noticed the absent Kahss (or had the sleeping one, perhaps, fallen under the table?). He looked to his cot to make sure Olivia still held her post.
[* Njord smiles if she is still "at pillow." *]
[* If Ohrin gives a general greeting, Njord then asks... *]
"Did Kahss wake at last? Has he gone to get things?"
"Hail, good Ohrin. I hope your quick journey was success!" As Njord greeted Ohrin, he noticed the absent Kahss (or had the sleeping one, perhaps, fallen under the table?). He looked to his cot to make sure Olivia still held her post.
Njord smiled when he saw the plush owlbear still seated where he'd left her, ever the watchful sentry.
Milleen snickered to herself with a wry smirk. "You look like a lizard, indeed."
They swiftly found themselves standing before the open rock faces from which Sævil had felt the weight of several sets of eyes heavy upon him, as he approached the kobold's home. "Do you have any fear of wolves?" she asked him, raising her voice so as to be heard above the roar of the wind.
After gaining back the breath stolen from him by the return to the cold air, Sævil laughs and retorts, "I see lady, but to you we're called fleshlings? You begin to show just how like a human woman you really are.
"And no, not afraid of wolves - we often hunted them - and we respect them as fellow survivors on the Strand. Not to mention all they provided to us for our survival"
Ohrin looked up from his maps and notes to see Njord hailing him from the open doorway. Some voices, one of them very strange, could be heard behind him. It sounded like the two guards were speaking with someone.
"Hello, Njord. I have learned a great many things about our petitioners and am eager to share that knowledge with you as soon as Sævil returns. Why don't you come inside and shut the door? And who are the guards speaking with behind you?"
Njord raised a hand and finger, singnaling Ohrin to give him a moment. He then turned around and shut the door. Looking back at Ohrin, he continued:
"I, too, have gained knowledge of...petitioners." That last word was still new to him. "In coincidence, i have...petitioner...outside. I meet Crow Jane walking in snow as i return from Captain's quarters. I invited her inside to warm herself and have chat about expedition. Okay with you if we do this? Seems like good time. Too bad Saevil is yet gone..." Only skipping a beat, Njord went on, "...and Kahss has waken? Did he go to get things?"
Njord spoke with more pace than usual. Unbeknownst to himself, he was actually in a pretty good mood.
With a small, almost undetectable sigh, Ohrin replied, "Well, I was hoping we could interview the petitioners in an orderly manner once all three of us had discussed our thoughts on the list. I say 'three of us' because, when I returned, Kahss was gone and so was all of his gear. I guess he will no longer be joining us. I know nothing more on that topic.
"However, since she is already here, there is no sense in keeping her out in the cold if you have already invited her to this place. Don't get me wrong, I am curious to meet her. Hopefully, Saevil won't be too long."
Njord nodded in understanding. "Yes, i did invite her, but i warned her i would have to check with companions. She seemed very cold. I, too, hope Saevil returns shortly to meet Crow Jane. Too bad about Kahss. I liked his enthusiasm." What Njord truly liked was that Kahss made up for Njord's lack of enthusiasm. But, for now, he had a good deal of energy for preparing for the expedition. He was still speaking rather rapidly -- maybe even a touch faster than normal for most people.
Njord quickly scanned the room again to make sure it seemed presentable. It did, and the fires seemed well-tended, so he turned around and opened the door. Walking outside and smiling, he indicated the open doorway with an outstretched arm. "Crow Jane, please, come into expedition's quarters."
After gaining back the breath stolen from him by the return to the cold air, Sævil laughs and retorts, "I see lady, but to you we're called fleshlings? You begin to show just how like a human woman you really are."
The kobold shrugged her tiny shoulders. "Perhaps. I believe that the Kalistis was a lonely man. I think some part of him," she touched her chest, just above where her small heart beat, "yearned for the companionship of a woman of his own kind. Thus, my...education was conducted in such a way as to bring me as close to that standard as was possible. Aside of," she glanced down at herself, "for the obvious differences."
"And no, not afraid of wolves - we often hunted them - and we respect them as fellow survivors on the Strand. Not to mention all they provided to us for our survival."
Milleen nodded. "This is good," she said. "Your first lesson -- respect -- in how to bond with a wolf is already complete. You won't make the most foolish mistakes I've seen many fleshlings make, in their presence."
She led him in the direction of the row of squat caverns. "Come," she said. "Lower yourself, then extend your hand outward." Her smirk returned.
Njord quickly scanned the room again to make sure it seemed presentable. It did, and the fires seemed well-tended, so he turned around and opened the door. Walking outside and smiling, he indicated the open doorway with an outstretched arm. "Crow Jane, please, come into expedition's quarters."
The dark-feathered creature nodded, stamping her feet twice to rid the wrappings about them of the snow. It was only when she did so that Njord noticed that her feet were clawed, like a bird's. Only the heavy swaths of thick cloth she bound them in protected her from the bitter chill.
Crow Jane entered the headquarters shortly behind him. He watched her head dart back and forth, taking in the whole of the open room in that way, in the short, abrupt movements shared by all of nature's birds. Her utterly black eyes betrayed nothing of what she might have thought of what she saw.
Eventually, those jet eyes fell upon Ohrin, sitting at his table. Before him, the creature that he knew to be Crow Jane was remarkable to behold: An anthropomorphic raven-woman. Her dark feathers glistened with the melting snow that clung to them as she took him in, striding deeper into the headquarters.
Ohrin rose from his seat to great Crow Jane, "Hello and well met. Please, make yourself comfortable and warm yourself at our hearth. Njord, perhaps you would be kind enough to offer her a drink? But, first, let me ask: 'Crow Jane' sounds like a name humans might have given you and, to be quite frank, I have no idea whether you find it offensive or not. Is there another name that you would prefer we use?"
Njord gave a smile and nod to Pol and Resti as he shut the door. He moved into the room as Ohrin spoke with the corvid visitor. He awaited her answer about her name, grabbing the back of a chair.
[* He plans on seeing if she'd like to sit (if she sits at all), before continuing to the drink, as Ohrin suggested. If it comes to that point, Njord will ask, pulling out a chair: *]
"Would you like to sit? Please forgive, but i know not if the kenku use chairs."
Sævil settles onto his haunches in the snow, smiles, and reaches out with his right hand.
At his side, Milleen likewise lowered herself. Already so close to the ground, the act had the effect of practically burying her in the snow. Her face just above the drifting plain of winter white, the kobold wolfmistress put two fingers to her thin black lips and offered a sharp, shrill whistle that cut through the wind and its icy bounty like a knife of flame. To his surprise, she punctuated the gesture with a low, growling noise at the back of her throat. It sounded feral, primal. Perhaps it was reinforcement of her status of the alpha of their pack? It was impossible to tell.
All that Sævil could say for certain is that the wolves began to come from their hiding places. Each one, different in size and color, emerging from the stony caves. Each one, slow and deliberate in pace. Each one, with their eyes fixed directly upon him.
"They're used to this," Milleen turned in his direction, too. She had a delighted kind of grin on her reptilian features. "This is how things are done."
Sævil watched as the wolves stood there in the snow, more or less forming a single file line in front of him. Each one would approach him, their incredible eyes meeting his momentarily before beginning to sniff at his fingers. The first did so very briefly, then walked away. The second did the same. The third sniffed at him, rubbed the side of its muzzle against his palm once, then seemed to lose interest, following the others. All the while, the other wolves stood patiently. None of them growled or snarled at one another. They simply waited their turn in utter silence. It was nothing short of unbelievable.
He watched the first three make their way back to their homes. The fourth inspected him carefully before following suit. "Hm," Milleen posed. He expected her to say something more, but she never did. She simply watched their procession with keen interest.
The fourth passed him by. So did the fifth and the sixth. Sævil was noticing that, as each one passed in turn, the wolves seemed to get younger, smaller. It was a very defined order. Given what he knew of wolves, it made sense.
Finally, the seventh approached him. It was a beautiful grey wolf. Its coat went to black at the end of its tail and ears. Its chest was a pure white. Incredible sapphire eyes regarded him intently. They were different than the others. These ones were completely blue with no with in them at all. Only tiny black dots lie in their centers, giving them an eerie, unearthly quality.
It sniffed at Sævil's hand. Carefully, it started at the fingers, then worked around to the turn of his wrist. For a moment, he thought it might withdraw, like the others...but then, all at once, it began to rub its face all over his hand, licking it intently when it could.
The act seemed to upset the wolves behind it. Collectively, the other half dozen began to growl and snarl at the wolf in front of Sævil. In response, that one whipped around in a grey flash, returning the sound with a menacing gutteral noise of its own.
Milleen laughed her sly snicker. She stepped forward quickly, causing both the single and the group of wolves to scatter back. Clearly, their respect for their mistress was absolute. "It seems you've been claimed, Son of Dag," she chuckled again, while the remaining wolves started back to their homes.
The one before him began to roll back and forth in the snow on its back, right at his feet. "And by a very special bitch, too."
[Please roll 1d20 and give me the results at the conclusion of your return post!]
Ohrin rose from his seat to greet Crow Jane, "Hello and well met. Please, make yourself comfortable and warm yourself at our hearth. Njord, perhaps you would be kind enough to offer her a drink? But, first, let me ask: 'Crow Jane' sounds like a name humans might have given you and, to be quite frank, I have no idea whether you find it offensive or not. Is there another name that you would prefer we use?"
Njord gave a smile and nod to Pol and Resti as he shut the door. He moved into the room as Ohrin spoke with the corvid visitor. He awaited her answer about her name, grabbing the back of a chair.
Resti raised his brows, a nervous expression set upon his features. Good luck he breathed out, without a sound.
The ebon-feathered creature strode deeper into the headquarters. Eventually, she ended up directly in front of the fire, near where Kahss had rest before. After he'd asked his question, a silence settled upon the room. The raven woman stared at the stuffed owlbear placed upon Njord's bed, for a long time before she finally offered. "I am Crow Jane," she said, her voice a strange kind of rough, coughing caw. "Your tongues cannot make the sounds to call me by my name. So this you have given me will do."
Njord made his way to the casks at the rear of the room. In the interest of caution, he began to fill a tankard with fresh water for her refreshment. "Would you like to sit? Please forgive, but i know not if the kenku use chairs."
She looked over at him for a moment. "No," she said flatly. It seemed an answer to both questions.
Then: "The gnome-hatchlings have been here," she said. "I can smell them." She looked at Ohrin with her eyes, darker than night.
To Njord, that she could sense their presence in the air was startling.
Ohrin then turned back to face their guest, "'Crow Jane' it is then." Ohrin spun the chair at his desk around so that he could sit while facing the hearth. He then sat down and briefly studied her (OOC: any weapons, holy symbols, spell component pouches, etc. visible? I do not read the other's posts as Ohrin is not present).
"Saevil should be along shortly. I hope you don't mind if we wait until his return before discussing why you wish to join us. Until then, please let Njord know if you require anything."
Ohrin then returns to examining his list of petitioners, looking up if spoken to.
Last edited by aurdraco on Fri May 13, 2016 11:18 am; edited 1 time in total
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Fri May 13, 2016 10:12 am
C2: The Outsiders / Headquarters At Eve / Crow Jane / Njord
Njord placed the tankard on the table near Crow Jane. "Here is water if you wish, Crow Jane." Her "No" had seemed to dismiss the water as well the chair. "As for name, perhaps you prefer, simply, Jane?"
Njord placed the tankard on the table near Crow Jane. "Here is water if you wish, Crow Jane." Her "No" had seemed to dismiss the drink as well the chair. "As for name, perhaps you prefer, simply, Jane?"
Ohrin then turned back to face their guest, "'Crow Jane' it is then." Ohrin spun the chair at his desk around so that he could sit while facing the hearth. He then sat down and briefly studied her.
A brief glance at the kenku revealed nothing. That was strange enough, really. She wore nothing at all besides the dark cloth wrappings about her body. Ohrin saw no sign of a holy symbol. She wore no jewelry at all, in fact. Neither did he see any of the usual trappings he associated with magery. There was nothing in the way of personal effects at all. To look at her, one would think she might have been completely bereft of belongings: The settlement of Corus’ only beggar.
It made little sense. And that made Ohrin look harder. Only upon very close inspection did her see that the fine-boned structure of her body was incongruous with the manner her swaddling hung upon her. He realized that she likely wore some sort of light armor beneath that dark cloth. Likewise, at each of her hips, when he paid close attention, the grips of two, slender blades rest. He supposed they were short swords, each one with the thinness of a rapier.
"Saevil should be along shortly. I hope you don't mind if we wait until his return before discussing why you wish to join us. Until then, please let Njord know if you require anything."
Ohrin then returns to examining his list of petitioners, looking up if spoken to.
“No,” the kenku said in her odd cawing of a voice. Ever was she direct and minimalist in her retort. “I care not.”
Njord placed the tankard on the table near Crow Jane. "Here is water if you wish, Crow Jane." Her "No" had seemed to dismiss the drink as well the chair. "As for name, perhaps you prefer, simply, Jane?
She watched Njord for a moment, meeting his eyes with her ever-dark stare. "You may call me what you wish," she said. The northman watched her pause, then lower her head in such a way to dip her sharp bill into the tankard’s mouth. He could hear her tongue flicking water down its hollow in the same manner much smaller birds drank.
When she was finished she straightened, continuing to look around the room in silence.
Njord examined the strange corvid-woman. The Flanaess had exotic beings aplenty, but Njord, from his own little corner of the land, had never seen any so odd as this one. He realized, now, that his fear concerning her was only a fabrication of his own mind. She was no more a true reminder of his homeland than any other woman, or creature. He would work to view her as a being worthy of consideration and respect, despite how otherworldly she seemed. After all, she might be joining them on their journey.
"Very well, Jane i will call you." He preferred the single name, as the other seemed almost rude, and reminded him more of his homeland. Njord made sure his voice could be heard by Ohrin, to fill him in on the young visitors. "It is amazing that you can sense the gnome-lings. They came here earlier today -- the Ruddyfoot children: Hoddy, Goodwin, Marta and Matildya. They bore gifts. Food and drink. And brave, dear Matildya was kind enough to give me warrior to help in battles." Njord had moved toward his cot and held out a hand to present the owlbear-doll that sat at station against his pillow. Smiling with full-heartedness, he introduced the creature. "This is Olivia Owlbear. I am told she is fierce fighter!"
Njord stepped back toward Crow Jane. "Speaking of food, if you are hungry, perhaps we have something you like?"
Milleen laughed her sly snicker. She stepped forward quickly, causing both the single and the group of wolves to scatter back. Clearly, their respect for their mistress was absolute. "It seems you've been claimed, Son of Dag," she chuckled again, while the remaining wolves started back to their homes.
The one before him began to roll back and forth in the snow on its back, right at his feet. "And by a very special bitch, too."
Sævil's voice lowers and becomes throaty as he reaches for the belly of the wolf before him, "Hello lovely," he says while giving her a good rub.
Njord made sure his voice could be heard by Ohrin, to fill him in on the young visitors. "It is amazing that you can sense the gnome-lings. They came here earlier today -- the Ruddyfoot children: Hoddy, Goodwin, Marta and Matildya. They bore gifts. Food and drink. And brave, dear Matildya was kind enough to give me warrior to help in battles." Njord had moved toward his cot and held out a hand to present the owlbear-doll that sat at station against his pillow. Smiling with full-heartedness, he introduced the creature. "This is Olivia Owlbear. I am told she is fierce fighter!"
Oddly, Ohrin looked askance at the doll before saying, with a forced smile, "That was...very nice of them." He then turned back to his lists and maps.
Syzygyst wrote:
Njord stepped back toward Crow Jane. "Speaking of food, if you are hungry, perhaps we have something you like?"
Sævil's voice lowers and becomes throaty as he reaches for the belly of the wolf before him, "Hello lovely," he says while giving her a good rub.
The wolf seemed delighted by his affections. She rolled back and forth, seemingly oblivious to the bitter cold of the snow – provided he continue his ministrations, her salmon tongue lolling happily from her mouth. The northman watched her tail wag while he rubbed her stomach, reveling in the sensation of the surprisingly soft fur there. The whole of her demeanor belied the danger implicit in the act: Her teeth seemed immense in her mouth and shockingly sharp.
In the moment, everyone seemed pleased. Except Milleen. She stood at Sævil's side and made a little face. Her small scaled hand went to her chin in a thoughtful gesture. “Hmm,” she mused. “A problem. I might have known it would be this one.”
Stretched out as she was, the wolf was almost as long as Sævil was tall. “It's a very interesting pup that's chosen you, Son of Dag,” she said. Her grey fur was almost the exact color of slate stone.
Njord made sure his voice could be heard by Ohrin, to fill him in on the young visitors. "It is amazing that you can sense the gnome-lings. They came here earlier today -- the Ruddyfoot children: Hoddy, Goodwin, Marta and Matildya. They bore gifts. Food and drink. And brave, dear Matildya was kind enough to give me warrior to help in battles."
Jane was so strange. She was absolutely impossible to read. Her expression never seemed to change. Her utterly black eyes reflected no sort of emotion. “I smell them. Their scent is all about the room. Strongest, there,” she nodded in the vague direction of Njord's chosen bed. “I can smell the freshness of the bread and the water they brought. It comes from the bakery of the halfling, Flowerfield.”
Njord had moved toward his cot and held out a hand to present the owlbear-doll that sat at station against his pillow. Smiling with full-heartedness, he introduced the creature. "This is Olivia Owlbear. I am told she is fierce fighter!"
Jane took a half-step in the direction of the bed, where the stuffed animal had rest. She stared upon it, even as he held it aloft for her inspection. “It is magical?” she asked. “I smell your hands and those of one of the gnome-hatchlings upon it. And the Creeping One, too. He made it, I suppose?”
Oddly, Ohrin looked askance at the doll before saying, with a forced smile, "That was...very nice of them." He then turned back to his lists and maps.
“This is perhaps not so strange,” Jane remarked. “I am told it is a custom amongst you featherless ones to offer the finest food and drink to those condemned to die.”
Njord stepped back toward Crow Jane. "Speaking of food, if you are hungry, perhaps we have something you like?"
“No,” she said, instead staying right where she stood. Njord watched her eyes scanning around the room while Ohrin continued the labor of examining his papers. He expected that she might say something more, but instead a prolonged silence fell over the room, instead. So strange.
Finally: “We leave to tread Black Ice,” she said. “Soon, I think.”
Njord found Crow Jane's certainty interesting, but incorrect. "Uh, very sorry, Jane. Please forgive. We are here to find group of travelers to head to Black Ice. We await Saevil, our companion, so that we may question you about journey, to find if you may be suitable for such long trek. Unfortunately, decisions have not yet been made. We will wait little while. If Saevil does not return soon, i guess we begin without him." Njord had smiled as cordially as he could while speaking.
But what he did not say was that, surprisingly, he was starting to not only tolerate, but even to like, this strange creature. What he found favorable most, Crow Jane seemed no-nonsense and as blunt as one could be. And Njord was hoping to deal with as little horseshit as possible on the Black Ice. In addition, she seemed to share his assessment that the journey was merely a saunter to their graves. Yes, he could see her on the expedition.
Njord returned to a question she had posed. He turned again to look at and to indicate the owlbear doll at his pillow. "As far as Olivia is magical, she certainly is to me." He smiled broadly. "But if you mean dweomered, i doubt this. Is Dark One known for making such things?"
Last edited by Syzygyst on Wed May 18, 2016 9:31 pm; edited 1 time in total
In the moment, everyone seemed pleased. Except Milleen. She stood at Sævil's side and made a little face. Her small scaled hand went to her chin in a thoughtful gesture. “Hmm,” she mused. “A problem. I might have known it would be this one.”
Stretched out as she was, the wolf was almost as long as Sævil was tall. “It's a very interesting pup that's chosen you, Son of Dag,” she said. Her grey fur was almost the exact color of slate stone.
"Oh?" Sævil looks up from the wolf, but continues to give her a good scratch, "Is there a problem Milleen?"
In the moment, everyone seemed pleased. Except Milleen. She stood at Sævil's side and made a little face. Her small scaled hand went to her chin in a thoughtful gesture. “Hmm,” she mused. “A problem. I might have known it would be this one.”
Stretched out as she was, the wolf was almost as long as Sævil was tall. “It's a very interesting pup that's chosen you, Son of Dag,” she said. Her grey fur was almost the exact color of slate stone.
"Oh?" Sævil looks up from the wolf, but continues to give her a good scratch, "Is there a problem Milleen?"
Njord found Crow Jane's certainty interesting, but incorrect. "Uh, very sorry, Jane. Please forgive. We are here to find group of travelers to head to Black Ice. We await Saevil, our companion, so that we may question you about journey, to find if you may be suitable for such long trek. Unfortunately, decisions have not yet been made. We will wait little while. If Saevil does not return soon, i guess we begin without him." Njord had smiled as cordially as he could while speaking.
But what he did not say was that, surprisingly, he was starting to not only tolerate, but even to like, this strange creature. What he found favorable most, Crow Jane seemed no-nonsense and as blunt as one could be. And Njord was hoping to deal with as little horseshit as possible on the Black Ice. In addition, she seemed to share his assessment that the journey was merely a saunter to their graves. Yes, he could see her on the expedition.
She paused for a moment, her black eyes fixed on the fire as if lost in thought. Then, she turned to Njord and at last spoke: "I will remain, I think," she replied. "It makes little sense to return home. You will choose me soon enough. Wasteful, to walk in the cold, instead."
Said so matter-of-factly. As if it were foregone conclusion.
Njord returned to a question she had posed. He turned again to look at and to indicate the owlbear doll at his pillow. "As far as Olivia is magical, she certainly is to me." He smiled broadly. "But if you mean dweomered, i doubt this. Is Dark One known for making such things?"
"I do not know," she replied, gazing at Olivia's soft down. "I only know that he is of the Creeping Folk. They are a magical sort. If she is as fierce as you say, then I presume that she must be enchanted."
She looked back to at Njord as if for answers. Clearly, mannish humor eluded her.
It was something the northman could empathize with.
"Oh?" Sævil looks up from the wolf, but continues to give her a good scratch, "Is there a problem Milleen?"
The kobold merely shrugged. "Even if there was," she said in her raspy voice, barely above the roar of the frigid wind, "there is aught either of us could do about it. She has chosen you, and that is that. Now, it falls to you to name her and allow her to remain at your heel."
Milleen smirked slightly. "We will need to bring much meat on our voyage across Black Ice," she opined. "If not before, then surely now."
"A pup like her will eat your weight in fresh kill every day, you know."
She paused for a moment, her black eyes fixed on the fire as if lost in thought. Then, she turned to Njord and at last spoke: "I will remain, I think," she replied. "It makes little sense to return home. You will choose me soon enough. Wasteful, to walk in the cold, instead."
Said so matter-of-factly. As if it were foregone conclusion.
Njord found Crow Jane's self-assurance both amusing and a bit unsettling at the same time. He flicked his eyes toward Ohrin to see if he was having any reaction to her confidence, but the mage simply continued to examine the papers before him.
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"I do not know," she replied, gazing at Olivia's soft down. "I only know that he is of the Creeping Folk. They are a magical sort. If she is as fierce as you say, then I presume that she must be enchanted."
She looked back to at Njord as if for answers. Clearly, mannish humor eluded her.
It was something the northman could empathize with.
Njord thought it might be pointless, but he tried an explanation nonetheless. "Jane, i think it merely...eh...exaggerative...," Njord missed the correct word, but continued, "way of speaking. Like the child pretends that doll has real abilities. So Olivia seems fierce to little Matildya. I don't think is more than such."
Njord, while waiting for a possible response, began thinking of things to ask Crow Jane that weren't directly related to the journey. In addition, though he mostly found this creature interesting and possibly trek-worthy, he was beginning to wonder whether she was trying some sort of sorcery on them, to convince them to take her -- and the evening had been going so well.
She paused for a moment, her black eyes fixed on the fire as if lost in thought. Then, she turned to Njord and at last spoke: "I will remain, I think," she replied. "It makes little sense to return home. You will choose me soon enough. Wasteful, to walk in the cold, instead."
At this, Ohrin raised his head.
"Hopefully Saevil will return soon and then we can discuss the matter further. To be frank, I was expecting to discuss all of our petitioners with my comrades before meeting with any of them, on the morrow. But, seeing as you are here and live outside of town, it is prudent that you remain."
"Now, it falls to you to name her and allow her to remain at your heel."
Milleen smirked slightly. "We will need to bring much meat on our voyage across Black Ice," she opined. "If not before, then surely now."
"A pup like her will eat your weight in fresh kill every day, you know."
Sævil looks back down at the she-pup, "Astafrejlva is her name," he playfully grabs her muzzle, "Astafrejlva is your name."
He stands and faces Milleen, "She's beautiful, thank you Milleen. I've no idea how we can possibly feed her so much meat - certainly we cannot carry so much unless you have near a hundred teams of wolves to pull our sleds. Let us hope the hunting is fair.
"I should return to my peers to further discuss the mission. I ask that you prepare as many teams of dogs are you are able, and what supplies you need. Anything you require that you do not have, we shall set to finding once you meet us in town."
Sævil carefully describes where the team is staging, and turns to head back to town.
She paused for a moment, her black eyes fixed on the fire as if lost in thought. Then, she turned to Njord and at last spoke: "I will remain, I think," she replied. "It makes little sense to return home. You will choose me soon enough. Wasteful, to walk in the cold, instead."
At this, Ohrin raised his head.
Njord found Crow Jane's self-assurance both amusing and a bit unsettling at the same time. He flicked his eyes toward Ohrin to see if he was having any reaction to her confidence, but the mage simply continued to examine the papers before him.
"Hopefully Saevil will return soon and then we can discuss the matter further. To be frank, I was expecting to discuss all of our petitioners with my comrades before meeting with any of them, on the morrow. But, seeing as you are here and live outside of town, it is prudent that you remain."
Jane nodded. It was difficult to say what she thought of what he'd said. Perhaps she was satisfied that he had, essentially, agreed with her. It was just as easy to suppose that she met the comment with disdain. As ever, she was completely inscrutable. "Sævil now trafficks with the wolfmonger," she offered. What she thought of the arrangement, she did not say. "Her name decorates your list, I think." Said as a statement of fact; not an absent musing.
Njord thought it might be pointless, but he tried an explanation nonetheless. "Jane, i think it merely...eh...exaggerative...," Njord missed the correct word, but continued, "way of speaking. Like the child pretends that doll has real abilities. So Olivia seems fierce to little Matildya. I don't think is more than such."
Njord, while waiting for a possible response, began thinking of things to ask Crow Jane that weren't directly related to the journey. In addition, though he mostly found this creature interesting and possibly trek-worthy, he was beginning to wonder whether she was trying some sort of sorcery on them, to convince them to take her -- and the evening had been going so well.
"Dangerous," the black-feathered kenku replied, "to assume. There are things that children see with their new eyes that slowly become invisible with the passage of days. May be there is more to the playtoy than you might suspect, I think. Already, you have lent it magic of your own kind. It shows in your eyes when you brandish it."
She turned her dark eyes over towards Ohrin. "You are a sorcerer," she said. "You can spy such things with your weird eye, I think?"
"A pup like her will eat your weight in fresh kill every day, you know."
Sævil looks back down at the she-pup, "Astafrejlva is her name," he playfully grabs her muzzle, "Astafrejlva is your name."
The wolf became still for a moment, gazing at Sævil down the length of her long, vaguely pointed muzzle. Her incredible blue eyes seemed depthless: A vast, icy ocean of pure color held within their quality. In his grasp, he could feel her breathing, The soft tactility of her fur was warm to the touch. He knew it was foolish, but he found himself thinking that it was as if she was pausing to mull the quality of the name she'd been given.
All at once, she abruptly shook her head, rolling off her back and standing upright. The wolf began to push her head up against his hand, brushing the sides of her face against it in long strokes. A pause, to gaze up into his eyes once again with her incredible wintery stare.
Astafrejlva. This is my name. And it is a good name.
She found the bare flesh at the union of his furred glove, licking it intently and energetically. It made him smile.
He stands and faces Milleen, "She's beautiful, thank you Milleen. I've no idea how we can possibly feed her so much meat - certainly we cannot carry so much unless you have near a hundred teams of wolves to pull our sleds. Let us hope the hunting is fair.
"She will hunt for herself, when she needs to," the kobold said, folding her arms across her chest. "You are very fortunate that you have chosen one another when she is so small. For now, she will eat no more than might a normal wolf. In a few months, though, you will see. But this is not necessarily a bad thing, I suppose. If the hunting is good and you treat with her well, Astafrejlva will bring you back enough kill for the both of you to share. If the hunting is poor or you are cruel to her...you should know now to beware."
"I should return to my peers to further discuss the mission. I ask that you prepare as many teams of dogs are you are able, and what supplies you need. Anything you require that you do not have, we shall set to finding once you meet us in town."
Milleen offered a bit of a smirk. "Am I to assume that I have been chosen, then?" she asked. "Even before your grand meeting with your fellows?"
Sævil carefully describes where the team is staging, and turns to head back to town. "Very well," she nodded. "I will prepare my pack. And when you call for us -- I will be sure that we are ready."
Sævil turned and began to walk away from the imitation of a mine, set in a wolf-infested honeycomb of caverns. As he did, Astafrejlva did not move. Instead, she looked up at Milleen, as if confused.
"Go with your master," the kobold bade her. "His path is yours now."
The northman got a few feet further away, his head turned back towards the wolf. Another step and she turned away from Milleena, jauntily beginning to follow the steps Sævil crushed in the snow, in the direction of his fellowship's headquarters.
Even before they set off upon their grand expedition, he couldn't help but feel like another journey had just begun.
"Dangerous," the black-feathered kenku replied, "to assume. There are things that children see with their new eyes that slowly become invisible with the passage of days. May be there is more to the playtoy than you might suspect, I think. Already, you have lent it magic of your own kind. It shows in your eyes when you brandish it."
She turned her dark eyes over towards Ohrin. "You are a sorcerer," she said. "You can spy such things with your weird eye, I think?"
"Can you not say for certain?"
Once again, Ohrin looked up from his lists. "Er, what? You want me to ascertain if a child's doll is magical? Exactly why do you think it might be? Magic is not to be used frivolously; it is a gift from the Lord of All Magic."
"Dangerous," the black-feathered kenku replied, "to assume. There are things that children see with their new eyes that slowly become invisible with the passage of days. May be there is more to the playtoy than you might suspect, I think. Already, you have lent it magic of your own kind. It shows in your eyes when you brandish it."
She turned her dark eyes over towards Ohrin. "You are a sorcerer," she said. "You can spy such things with your weird eye, I think?"
"Can you not say for certain?"
Once again, Ohrin looked up from his lists. "Er, what? You want me to ascertain if a child's doll is magical? Exactly why do you think it might be? Magic is not to be used frivolously; it is a gift from the Lord of All Magic."
Jane glanced in the direction of his fellow and nodded. Every time she did so, the length of her rapier-beak made the gesture look exaggerated. "Is not Njord's word enough?" she asked, fixing him with her utterly dark eyes. In the moment, Ohrin could understand why it was that she had earned for herself a poor reputation within the settlement. Her gaze was the stuff of mysterious curses and ill omens, regardless of any intent.
"It matters not," she decided in the end. "We shall see for ourselves soon enough, yes? And in any case, the Son of Dag comes approaching your stone nest." How she might have known that was not apparent. All either Ohrin or Njord could hear was the sound of the wind and the crackling of the fires in their pits.
Crow Jane was claiming that she knew Saevil was on his way? With a friend? She had called Ohrin a sorcerer. Maybe she was the same? Or had some sort of magical gifts? She was indeed an enigma. Njord knew that taking her along would prove either a great boon or a calamity. He had no idea, however, why he wasn't more averse to this crow-woman. It had him rather baffled. He also knew he'd find out soon enough if she had such power: Saevil, and his friend, would signal sooth. And if she bore such ability, what other secrets lay in wait behind those dark eyes? He spoke to her, almost cautiously.
"Jane, you have mentioned Ohrin's magic and his wierd eye. Maybe you have same? Some second-sight, as is called? You make claims of things that have yet to happen as though already have come to pass. You have such a gift?"
"Jane, you have mentioned Ohrin's magic and his weird eye. Maybe you have same? Some second-sight, as is called? You make claims of things that have yet to happen as though already have come to pass. You have such a gift?"
She returned her attention to the northman. "No," she said in her odd caw-croak of a voice. "We are not alike, you and I. I can see things you cannot, hear things you cannot. This is the way of nature, not the way of the weird. It is another reason why you will soon decide it best if I accompany you, I think."
She paused for a moment. "Hrm," she considered. "Wolf."
A breath after she'd said it, the headquarters' door opened. Instantly, the temperature of the room dropped several degrees, courtesy of the bitter wind that blew in through its open frame and the icy white it swept along its invisible path. Sævil quickly entered past its threshold, shaking a heavy blanket of snow from his shoulders and cloak. Behind him, only a few steps from his heel, a large grey wolf followed, lean and sleek.
Jane looked at Njord for a moment, then down towards the animal.
The warrior closed the door behind himself. Never once did his new companion stray from his side. His companions were there in the headquarters he saw, Ohrin and Njord. Only Kahss seemed absent. Instead, he had been replaced by perhaps the strangest being he'd ever seen in all his days. It was a short thing, thin of frame, wrapped in heavy swaths of dark fabric to protect against the frigid clime. It was about the size of a young woman or an olve, perhaps. The head of a raven, covered in utterly black feathers rest upon the figure's shoulders, however. Gazing back at him with unblinking eyes of utter jet. The wolf gazed right back at it, unblinking herself. Watching; wary.
It said nothing at all by way of greeting.
Subtly, Astafrejlva strode forward, interposing herself between he and the bird-creature.
...the headquarters' door opened. Instantly, the temperature of the room dropped several degrees, courtesy of the bitter wind that blew in through its open frame and the icy white it swept along its invisible path. Sævil quickly entered past its threshold, shaking a heavy blanket of snow from his shoulders and cloak.
Ohrin looked up when the door opened, clearly relieved when Saevil entered. He was about about to greet him when...
Kraftwerk wrote:
Behind him, only a few steps from his heel, a large grey wolf followed, lean and sleek.
Ohrin's look changed to one of slight nervousness and confusion.
Kraftwerk wrote:
...Subtly, Astafrejlva strode forward, interposing herself between he and the bird-creature.
Standing up, Ohrin said, "No one said anything about any pets. Let alone large, carnivorous ones." Turning to face Jane, Ohrin added, "Crow Jane, is there somewhere in the town you might retire to for an hour or two? I think my companions and I have much to discuss."
As the wolf moved toward Crow Jane, Njord made a similar motion, reaching the bird-woman's front flank. He would be ready to intervene in case the canine opted for an avian dinner. He held up an outstretched hand with a slight wave toward Sævil, hoping it would also act as a signal for the wolf to stop. With a wary smile, Njord addressed the warrior.
"Good Sævil, glad you return. I hope this is friend we have been told about." Njord nodded toward the wolf.
Standing up, Ohrin said, "No one said anything about any pets. Let alone large, carnivorous ones." Turning to face Jane, Ohrin added, "Crow Jane, is there somewhere in the town you might retire to for an hour or two? I think my companions and I have much to discuss."
As the wolf moved toward Crow Jane, Njord made a similar motion, reaching the bird-woman's front flank. He would be ready to intervene in case the canine opted for an avian dinner.
The kenku made something like a snorting noise from her beak. Whatever emotion it was meant to reflect, the wolf was unmoved by it. For her part, Crow Jane averted her gaze from it, turning instead towards Ohrin. "Hrm," she seemed to consider for a moment before deciding. "I will go to see Milleen, I think. When you are ready, you can find me with the wolfmonger."
She started toward the door, giving the wolf a wide birth. On her way, she met Sævil's eyes with her emotionless black stare. The gesture seemed to discomfit Astafrejlva, but fortunately, the kenku made the portal and slipped out before his new friend could protest overmuch. With a sudden appearance and disappearance of the wind and cold, she was gone from their presence. Immediately, the wolf seemed to relax, gradually meandering back towards Sævil's heel.
Njord held up an outstretched hand with a slight wave toward Sævil, hoping it would also act as a signal for the wolf to stop. With a wary smile, Njord addressed the warrior.
"Good Sævil, glad you return. I hope this is friend we have been told about." Njord nodded toward the wolf.
The beast was a beauty: Sleek and powerful. She looked up at Njord with bright blue eyes, full of life and intelligence. He had been about wolves long enough to know that she was a young one, yet absolutely immense for her age.
Once Crow Jane had departed, Ohrin looked a little bit relieved, clearly eager to move forward with discussing the petitioners.
The three of them have a long talk about the petitioners with Ohrin taking extensive notes (chat between Ohrin and Saevil occurred on #greytalk earlier tonight. Waiting on Njord's votes. Once correlated, will share the results).
Sævil reaches absently for the wolf as the Kenku passes out the door, then turns back to his new compatriots.
"Njord, Ohrin! This beauty is Astafrejlva, one of Milleen's pups. She chose me, or so Milleen has explained." He glances back at the door again, "Why was Crow Jane here? And why did she leave?"
Njord more carefully examined the wolf. "She is beauty, true. Astafrejlva is also lovely name." Apparently, Sævil had also been given a gift. His, without a doubt, capable of brutal ferocity. "You are blessed with such an offering."
Njord then responded to Sævil's questions. "Jane was walking out in snow when i return from visit with Captain. She seemed cold. I invite her in to interview her, and to allow her warmth of fire. We were waiting for you." Njord glances at the mage with a head turn and tilt. "Seems, Ohrin wishes discussion before we speak with her. I will go fetch her when we are ready."
After a pause, Njord reflects, "I never asked Jane where she headed. I wonder if she was on way to our head-quarters."
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