Coming to the end of this first Part of the campaign, all that is left is to head back to the village and face the Jarl and any repercussions or consequences from not returning as he had wished….
Chapter 10
As we descend from the cave, there is no sight to be seen of our horse, nor the supplies it carried. The lack of evidence of attack gives us hope that maybe it was not Dragon food, but that it has returned to the village, having been left alone for a few days. Smoke checks around and sees some hoof prints that seem to support this idea and we start the slow process of walking back ourselves.
As the sun sets and the light gets dim, the sounds of the forest pick up around us, though I am not sure I recall this amount of raven noise – especially at night. After a while Smoke and Zani both spot a raven in a tree, watching us, with an all too familiar rune burning bright blue on its forehead. Wary of this, Fi doesn’t hesitate in drawing an arrow and shooting at it, clipping its wing. Falling to the ground, it barely has a chance to right itself on its feet before Albrecht finishes the job with his axe.
Distracted by this, I was late to notice the sudden howling of wolves, as they rushed us from one side of the road – in the darkness and gloom, it is hard to make them out, but for the increasingly familiar bright glowing runes betraying their presence. The closest, Albrecht, fires a bright bolt from his hands, and I recognise the spell as it hits and obliterates a wolf in a burst of bright glittering light – however, whereas mine is a bolt of light with a dark smokey trail, Albrechts is just pure light. I am humbled and disappointed by how visible my own taint is and how far I still have to go to redeem myself.
The battle is quick and ferocious, with a heavy oppressive feeling pushing at my skull, and before we know it, we are completely surrounded. Albrecht is a tough Dwarf – I watched him get beset upon by several wolves, chewing and clawing at his armour with very little damage to show for it! Also, Fi seems to have picked up a new trick in that she can now direct and command small twig-like insects, which she uses to great effect. During the fight, I felt my fingers itch, and I get the feeling that I have also been granted a new ability, but I don’t have the time to explore it in the battle as it was so frenetic. Suddenly the sounds of battle fall off, and only the caw of more watching ravens can be heard. Smoke and Ygret make quick work of beheading the wolves, to prevent them from bothering us again.
As we start walking again, Ygret starts talking and explaining that this is the issue they have been facing in the North. More and more random attacks from creatures with these glowing runes, as well as “accidents” that shouldn’t have happened, suddenly killing and maiming without warning.
While she is talking the sound of ravens remind us that we are never really alone, constantly being watched, and occasionally we hear another howl in the distance, but no further attacks. Taking advantage of the lull in activity, I relax my fingers and give in to the “itch”, watching a splinter of something grow long, and sharp, in my hands. I would say it was black, but it wasn’t really, it was just -nothing-, an absence in space, a void of emptiness. Staring at it directly for a few minutes made my eyes ache slightly, as if they were rebelling against this impossibility. I swished it at the ground, and it demonstrated its physicality and sharpness – leaving a gouge in the ground, and slicing some leaves in half. I can use this as a rapier; my mind flitting back to my early formative years where my parents made sure I was given fencing lessons, as was proper for our social standing. I break my reverie and notice that some of my companions are watching me, particularly Zani with a mildly inquisitive or jealous look on her face. I suspect my display of yet another new power has intrigued her further! She winces and looks away, touching her head. I wonder if it has a more pronounced effect on others, greater than my own aching eyes. As I look around, I see that Fi is carrying some of her new friends on her horns and conversing with them quietly as they dance to themselves.
As I tune back in to the current, Bejard has responded to Ygrets’ tales of the North and is enquiring about this apparent curse, and what the next steps are to fight it. Apparently “General” Rainik has the ability to establish the Rite of Warbands – I wonder if the Jarl is aware of this? I can’t imagine that he will be too happy to see someone he derides as a potential usurper of power. We will need to tread this minefield carefully. The conversation includes many names that have local significance, but I am still learning of this land and its politics. It seems that Rainik was a General under the rightful king, Hazur. When Hazur died, he passed the kingship to Hanlon, instead of his son which erupted into a civil war. This is history though. I am on the same page as Bejard, though – if Hel and Runa are at war, we are little more than collateral damage in the middle, insignificant ants caught between Gods.
As the sun rises, the sound of wolves and ravens cease, giving way to normal morning birdsong as well as forest fauna. At Zani’s suggestion, we agree to sleep in the day, and travel at night, as that seems to be when the greatest risk is. Bejard stops walking with us to hang back and observe his normal morning rituals while we keep walking – he will catch up when he is ready.
As the sun gets high, we set up camp and decide watches, before settling down to rest. I have barely put my head on the ground when I am startled awake again by frantic babbling. Everyone has lost their minds! Ygret is saying something about being Hel-touched, Albrecht is trying to cast a spell on himself, bathing in golden light, a healing spell maybe? Smoke and Zani break open the glowing mushroom wine and start to drown themselves in it, trying to forget something? I will not lie, with Ygret’s mention of being Hel-touched and their erratic behaviour, I can’t sleep, I watch everyone carefully and cautiously, gripping my Void Splinter (hmmm, that makes for a good name). If they are on the track to following the same path as Arnfinn, I cannot afford to give them the opportunity to get the drop on me.
Slowly, people go back to sleep, or pass out with the booze (Zani!), leaving myself, Smoke and Fi awake. I can feel the tiredness tugging at my mind and eyes, but I cannot let my guard down. Now people are settled and the hysterics have passed, I ask quietly about what happened. It sounds like they were all part of the same joint nightmare – lots of blood and decay, and gorging themselves upon something? Beyond that, they seem unclear. I would dismiss this as a normal nightmare, but the fact that they simultaneously all experienced the same thing does little to assuage my fears. I grip Void Splinter tighter. Fi asks about my experiences of dreams and visions, to which I can only respond I have never seen or felt anything like what I am being told. As myself and Fi talk, Smoke appears to be looking around and searching for something fruitlessly. Whether this is a threat or an artefact of her nightmare paranoia, I don’t know, and I don’t know if even she knows, really. It was certainly a traumatic event.
As people wake, and we get on our way again, I feel the lack of rest weighing on me. As darkness descends, the all too familiar caw caw of ravens returns. Watching us. Possibly in an attempt to distract from this unsettling sensation, Ygret asks if this is “normal” for the area. As we respond in the negative, she theorises that the spread of the curse is widening, but that hopefully as we get closer to the village things will be more normal. I can only hope, we have only been away a few days, but things can change quickly.
We get back to the village in the early hours, and as we got closer, the sound of ravens did indeed taper off, but there is still an unsettling chill. Is it just me? Or is the graveyard looking a bit fuller too? I need to rest, shadows and suspicions are starting to play in my mind.
I hail the guards on the gate, and tell them to wake the Jarl immediately, it is only right that we talk to him as soon as possible. They know of our mission, and our weary demeanor tells them everything they need to know and hastily let us through the gates. Bejard says something about the Monastery and says he will be right back, disappearing into the night.
The guards leave us outside of the Jarls’ longhouse whilst they rouse him. Taking advantage of the moment alone, we discuss briefly, and I am nominated to be the one to talk. The last thing we need is all of us talking over each other. I warn Ygret about the Jarl, and to not contradict my story, or it will not end well for any of us. I will try to spare her from his inevitable wrath, should he learn of Arnfinns’ actual fate. Smoke gives me Arnfins ring. The weight of it in my hand feels like the weight on my shoulders. I straighten my back and stand tall. The Jarl deserves every respect, given the news I am about to deliver.
The guards return, and usher us inside. As they begin to close the doors behind us, we hear Bejards’ voice call out and he slips in through the doors just in the nick of time. All the torches and braziers have been lit around the hall, but the light seemed a little more dim than usual, but it was probably just my own sensibilities, projecting the mood. The Jarl sat in his usual spot at the head of the hall, but he fidgeted with coiled, barely concealed anger and anguish, as his wife stands, pacing slightly, the sorrow evident on her face. Both of them can plainly see our demeanour, and the fact that Arnfinn has not returned with us. They still need to hear the words.
I get straight to the point, and don’t beat about the bush; “I am afraid to report that your son is dead”. I then produce the head of the Dragonborn filth and drop it on the floor at Jarl Vekatos’ feet, explaining Borruta’s role in Arnfinn’s death. Working backwards through the story from there I explain about the Tree, and the Goblins that had been under Borruta’s command, emptying my sack of gristly body parts for emphasis. I tell the truth about everything, but skip over between Arnfinn struggling for breath in the night and the last rites being administered by Ygret and Albrecht in the morning. There is a moment where Vekatos’ gaze falls on me, and his eyes feel like they pierce through to my core; was he about to pick up on some inconsistency? I tense, but after a pause, he stands and throws the dismembered head into one of the braziers where it starts to pop and fizzle, filling the hall with an acrid smelling smoke. Vekato rages at the loss of his son, and Frau Elingard leaves in tears.
Finding a moment of calm in his grief (the eye of the storm?), the Jarl thanks us for our efforts, and enquires about the burial rites. Ygret steps forward and responds. She uses the opportunity of talking to extend her confirmation of rites into the story of troubles in the North with the proliferation of Hel-runes. I grimace internally – now is not the time for this – the man has just been told of the death of his son!! Matters needing a measured response or requests for aid would be best left for morning at the earliest!
My analogy about the eye of the storm could not have been more apt, Vekato stops and stares at Ygret, almost in disbelief before bursting into an almost hysterical laughter. He slanders Ygret and dismisses the issues of the North as merely being tribal rivalry – why should he get involved? His concerns are here, not miles away. I brace myself for the order to take her away, or worse, but there is a scream from outside as I notice a raven feather falling from one of the chimney vents.
One of the guards sticks his head in urgently around the doors, yelling of an accident with a cart. Without hesitation, Ygret turns and runs out to give aid. Vekato scowled at her back – I doubt he much liked her dismissing herself, but he couldn’t do anything about it without looking callous and uncaring in front of his subjects. Instead he deflects and turns back and addresses me to say that he is a man of his word, and that we would each get the gold reward promised. He speaks then of a feast and hunt in Arnfinns’ memory in the following days. As he turns to leave, I risk myself and break protocol by advancing to the privileged space at the top of the room, and get his attention; “My lord, for you…” and place Arnfinns ring in his hand. Deflated of anger, with only grief remaining, I get the first look at the real man inside, mourning his son. He thanks me solemnly for the ring and leaves.
As I am doing this, I hear Ygret call out for Bejards help – they need his strength to lift the cart. We head outside and witness a man pinned beneath this cart, his legs shattered beyond repair, consigning this man to the life of a cripple. Looking around, I become uneasy – this wasn’t a cart in motion, and it wasn’t left on a slope; the ground is perfectly level. Whatever made it tip was apparently not of the natural world! A shiver runs up my spine… just what I need in my state of fatigue, more shadows to jump at! But Ygret did mention these sorts of events – bad omens and events that should not happen.
Thinking back to when I dreamt the night before last, when I was warned of Arnfinns’ nature, I remember there was a raven feather then as well – I still have it in my backpack. I suddenly get a queasy feeling… I had thought the being that I had sworn fealty to was a Celestial, and ultimately good, helping me to redemption; and indeed the warning and direction to deal with Arnfinn would back this up! But the raven feather suggests to me otherwise. I am suddenly horrified that my path might lead to eternal damnation after all, despite my best efforts.
With some effort, Bejard helps lift the cart enough for the man to be pulled free, and Ygret gathers herself and begins a prayer. I am thankful for her efforts, but I think his legs are beyond normal healing. No sooner had I thought that, however, I sensed a calm radiating out from Ygret, and my fatigue lifted like a cloud. The odd scrapes and scratches we all were displaying from our ordeals faded to nothingness, and the shattered legs of the man slowly knit back together in front of our eyes! It was an amazing display of healing from Runa – even with magic, this kind of ability is almost unheard of!
Ygret looks more determined than I have ever seen her, as she asks to be led to General Rainik. As we start walking in the direction of his farmstead, I speak of wishing to repay Rainiks generosity as we left on this endeavour. Everyone else seems less than interested in this, but between myself and Bejard, we manage to pool together enough to satisfy my conscience.
Domonet 
Leave a comment