In the end it has less to do with money than it does with LABOR, and skilled trustworthy hands at that. Pia Sigurdsson’s been the wife of a rancher for the better part of a decade, so listening to her husband’s complaints and helping him celebrate his victories has taught her more about the minutiae of cattle-handling than she ever thought possible. But she is STILL just a small woman barely 5 feet tall and 100 pounds on a bad day, so she just doesn’t have the sheer BULK needed to throw hay bales out the back of a pickup…or even get a sick cow in out of the rain! So she has to hire field hands for that, but it is so hard for her to tell the competent from the braggarts, or the honest from the criminal.
If it wasn’t for Logan helping out now that he’s retired from the navy himself, I’d be at my wit’s end long ago. Evidently, when he got out he decided to smuggle himself back into Texas, after getting stuck in-service when Biden effectively enslaved most of the remaining servicemen to keep the numbers up. He and Wayne always promised to take care of one another when they got out, but he just…didn’t make it to Wayne’s side in time.
I’m not an idiot; I’ve seen how Logan looks at me, with longing AND regret…makes me wonder who did he lose while he was still in the navy? It must have been somebody special to him, but he refuses to talk about it. At least he has taken a liking to Paul, although I AM worried about Logan spending so much of his spare time alone in Wayne’s gaming shed…it almost feels like he is torturing himself that the couldn’t make it in time to at least say “goodbye.” Now if only Paul wouldn’t get so angry at Logan, it isn’t like he’s EVERY going to be able to replace Wayne, Logan just...he’s hurting over Wayne’s loss JUST as much as WE are…
With a whimsical thought, Pia remembers Wayne’s old gaming group, and starts to formulate a plan, before turning down the liquor aisle.
I’ve been in this isekai hell for TEN YEARS now. I think I’ve got to accept the fact that I am never going to see my family again…I need to plan for living here long-term, instead of just surviving from day to day. With this in mind, the start of winter finds me in the village’s forge, beating the ever-loving SHIT out of a glowing hunk of metal under the blacksmith’s befuddled eye. It is understandable, he has never seen a metal like this, nor a blade so thin, and the forge is blaring hotter than the fires of hell itself…so hot that we couldn’t even BEGIN this project until snow was blowing outside for fear of baking to death!
Somehow I doubt that he is going to be adopting my little innovations for his daily practice…charcoal, blowers, and the like. He’s spent the past week since the snows started helping me out in the forge, in exchange for my help birthing his newborn son this summer. A favor he gave in gratitude, which he doubtlessly regretted as soon as the crucible sprayed sunlight-intense metal into the sword’s mold the first time. I’m just happy he made the offer before I had to figure out how to bribe him; Laughash doesn’t have NEARLY the muscle mass I am used to, let alone enough for this little “secret weapon” project.
I’ve been working with Venradik off-and-on for the last three years to figure this out, ever since I first HAD the idea. If Torden won’t call “Mister Slammy” Mjolnir, then I’m going to make fucking Laevateinn the Everblade! I’ve spent the past couple summers practicing with a wooden replica of my old formal-wear dress saber, much to Torden’s laughter, until I was sure that my piratical-fantasy reflexes were good enough to do THIS. Since Mithril is as tough as modern-day steel, but light as wood, it makes for the PERFECT fast-attack blade…but sabers don’t exist in this world because metallurgy is pathetic. Not wanting to lose my weapon to the snow or other mishaps in a fight, I thought, What about just MAKING it via summon weapon?
Turns out it’s for the same reason I couldn’t make an Adamantine 1911; summon weapon cannot create objects of inherently supernatural materials. So…FUCK the rules! I know that I can “Anchor” spell effects into items I make myself, while making them, since I did it with Herr Grey frequently…but can I “invert” the effect? Would it be possible to “Anchor” the Mithril itself, to target WHEN casting summon weapon? According to Venradik it is possible, but only by “boosting up” the summon weapon spell with a similar existing magical item, and bonding it to the completed item as well as myself as its maker. I’d always wanted to mess around with the “Mystic Reengineering” rules in The Harrowed Earth while I was playing Herr Grey, looks like I got my wish.
Hence my two weeks spent sweating my balls off here in the smithy, cheating access to “dwarven” technology with my modern-day knowledge of how-to-make-shit-hot, and the sacrifice of the ring of stashing to form the stop just behind the saber’s tang. After pouring the Mithril into summon weapon rune-etched (really just the spell’s description from my character sheet, but in English) clay form with an oversized blade. We spent days folding and welding the blade, then reforming it to do it all over again, as the saber’s blade lengthened into something approximating hard-edged spring steel. Once the blade was finished I etched my name, my REAL name, into the blade, so evidently the “rune script” I am using for it just says “Wayne Sigurdsson” this time
And finally quenching the glowing blade in a slurry made from snow and the blood that I have been bleeding out a little of every day since we started. After testing it in private, once Venradik finishes winding the handle with leather he has been preparing, I can now “target” it with a summon weapon spell to teleport it to my hand! So, late at night, I go outside the village when nobody is looking and…toss it in the creek. What would YOU do to hide it; this is the only place I can think of where it won’t risk getting stolen by Badrik and messed with!
So now, a month after the winter snows began, let’s review my character sheet statistics. Turns out that I ended up unlocking the “Loremaster” trait instead of “Stalker”…probably from spending years helping Aedirboa work on HER training, and brainstorming with Venradik so much. Well, if my memories of The Harrowed Earth count for anything in THIS world, I guess Loremaster’s universal-access “I heard this somewhere” ability Tales & Legends qualifies…
NAME: Laughash
RACE: Human
SUBRACE: Primitive
AGE: 14.9 years
HIT DIE: 1(3/4)
ECL: 3/4
SIZE: Medium
SPEED: 30 ft.
ERA: Bronze-Age (Primitive, use one Era lower)
ABILITY SCORES: Cha 16, Wis 12, Int 15, Dex 13, Con 10, Str 8
DURABILITY: 0 (due to Small size)
SAVING THROWS: Fort –1 (0), Ref +3 (0), Will +5 (2). +2 vs. Fear.
SPECIAL ABILITIES
* Trickery Domain spells: 2 per day
ATTACK: Base Attack Bonus +0, Melee –1, Ranged +1.
SKILLS (–3 to Social skills from Primitive):
* Charisma-Linked (+3)
* * (CbF) Bluff +4 (4 ranks) [–3 Social]
* * Diplomacy +5 (0 ranks) [+2 from Court Raised]
* * (CbF) Disguise
* * (P) Use Mystic Device +4 (1 rank)
* Wisdom-Linked (+1)
* * Heal +3 (2 ranks)
* * Sense Motive +3 (0 ranks) [+2 from Court Raised]
* * Spot +2 (1 rank)
* * (P) Survival +4 (2 ranks) [+2 from Primitive]
* Intelligence-Linked (+2)
* * (P) Alchemy +6 (4 ranks)
* * (P) Craft (medicine) +3 (1 rank)
* * (P) Craft (weaponsmith) +6 (4 ranks)
* * Knowledge (arcana) +6 (4 ranks)
* * Knowledge (nature) +5 (3 ranks)
* * Knowledge (nobility & royalty) +4 (0 ranks) [+2 from Court Raised]
* * Spellcraft +4 (3 ranks)
* Dexterity-Linked (+1)
* * (CbF) Hide +3 (2 ranks)
* Constitution-Linked (+0) [–2 from Court Raised]
* * Concentration +1 (3 ranks)
* * (P) Control Shape
* Strength-Linked (–1) [–2 from Court Raised]
* * (P) Climb
* Linguistics +2 (2 ranks)
* Tales & Legends +3 (1 trait)
FEATS (Simple Weapon Proficiency, Firearms Proficiency, +Saber):
* HD 1: Court Raised
* Human: Chosen by Fate (Trickery)
TRAITS (Mystical Hero):
* Favored: Skillful ×1
* HD 1: Eldritch Soul ×1
* HD 1: Wildman ×1
* HD 1: Loremaster ×1
SPELLCASTING:
* Chosen by Fate CL 1 (+2), Max SL 0th.
* * 0th: summon weapon
Summon Weapon (Conj): Creates a non-magical mundane weapon you are familiar with. [Summon]
* Eldritch Soul CL 1 (+2), Max SL 1st. Spell Level Pool Points: 17 (0th-Level are free)
* * 0th: acid splash, detect magic, prestidigitation; 1st: color spray, mage armor
Acid Splash (Evoc): Orb deals 1d3 (+6 Breaking the Limits) damage [to Con]. [Acid]
Color Spray (Ill): Knocks unconscious, blinds, and/or stuns 1d6 (+5 Breaking the Limits) weak creatures [Material Consumed (colored red, yellow, and blue sand or powder)]. [Mind-Affecting; DC 14 Will save]
Detect Magic (Div): Detects spells and magic items within 60 ft. (+6 Knowledge:arcana and Spellcraft checks Breaking the Limits)
Mage Armor (Conj): Gives subject +4 (+5 Breaking the Limits) armor bonus [Focus Needed (piece of cured leather)]. [Force]
Prestidigitation (Universal): Performs minor tricks. (+6 to relevant skill checks Breaking the Limits).
SPECIAL ABILITIES:
* Advantage: Breaking the Limits (Eldritch Soul) [Charisma score –10 –Spell Level to spell effects]
* Extra skill points
STILL no access to my Intelligence skill points…and no base saving throw point. I guess I get those once I finally “tick over” to the minimum starting age of 16? All of the soft living in the Jarl’s household, as well as the little “go get this problem solved” tasks from him…yeah, that explains the “Court Raised” feat pretty much exactly. Not the one I would have CHOSEN if I could have figured out how to shoot for a specific feat, but at least the Charisma bonus from it helps out my spellcasting powers!
But at least whatever is responsible for my access to the rules of The Harrowed Earth has decided to grant me ONE benefit; I can now utilize my FULL Hit Die for Trickery spells per day. I can still only cast summon weapon, but with two a day my experimentation rate has doubled! Noice.
And THAT is why, after DOZENS of failed attempts, I re-read the summon weapon spell description and realized…“can conjure any non-magical mundane weapon that you are familiar with”…must mean that in addition to not being able to create flaming swords, I ALSO cannot create weapons unless I can FULLY visualize them, so no claymore mines because I have ZERO idea how to make the explosives. So yeah, not too happy about THAT, so being able to twist the spell like a pretzel so I can create a weapon I can summon from any place in the world? THAT little act of rebellion is my revenge
***
So what about everybody else in my life, these past three or so years? What has happened to Torden and his father Borden? What about Borden’s wife, Freygi? What about Venradik and Aedirboa? Yes…Badrik is STILL an asshole, but by now he is joined in the Order of the Full Moon Salute by Sikan.
Well first up, as I already said my relationship with Borden has gotten better, to the point where I am treated as his actual son in every way these people think of it. He isn’t happy with my total inability to put on muscle, but is as proud as an actual father over my skills with magic and the medical arts. He has even taken me on family trips to hunt boars and bears, discussing civil matters and actually LISTENING to my advice and the reasoning behind it. As a direct result, we even have a pilot project going where we have a bunch of boars in a stone pin, being bred for their meat (it’s the rancher in me, I couldn’t help it).
Torden is a full-fledged adult of 18 now, and is the heir apparent, taking over some of his father’s duties to get people used to his being in charge. He frequently drags me along when inspecting the fields, or settling petty disputes, for my advice. In effect, if this keeps up, I’ll become the power behind the throne…fuck. It has gotten to the point where some people come to me DIRECTLY when a problem comes up, and I keep having to go grab Torden. He finds my obvious desire to stay away from responsibility hilarious.
Freygi is spending a lot of time with Aedirboa, teaching her how to be a person and NOT a slave. Taking her under the older woman’s wing, teaching her how to dress and make a household like she does with the Village girls, only doing it MUCH more often. Twice a tenday Aedirboa even makes the meals for the Jarl’s family, when Venradik joins us as her guardian, and we have to endure her amateur-hour attempts at cooking something BESIDES mushrooms. But after a couple years it has at least become EDIBLE…Freygi is a fantastic teacher, even if Aedirboa can’t boil water without it catching fire (no joke, it happened once).
Speaking of Venradik, he is still the royal gardener, and playing a magical version of trivial pursuit with me. But I think I’ve finally figured out what The Harrowed Earth ability he has; some type of Spiritualism. I’ve seen him casting spells from the “Divine” spell list, plus some plant-oriented spells off the “Nature” list, so I think he has the Spiritualism trait with the “Plant” Domain. I’ve only seen him toss around spells of up to 3rd-level, I think, but mostly he makes medicines and alchemical concoctions to use as carriers of his magic. I don’t know if this is a problem with his spellcasting, or just a preference he uses to hide his magical skills, and I’m kind of afraid to push the matter. In either case, I’ve learned a LOT about how to shove magical effects into items, thanks to him!
Then there is his apprentice, Aedirboa, who has been practically attached to my back ever since I rescued her from the giants’ slave pits. Don’t get me wrong, I like her; she’s easy to talk with, asks insightful questions, and actually LISTENS to me when I try to explain my answers. But that doesn’t mean I want to have a Q&A session when I am on the crapper! Girl needs to learn boundaries, but I guess there’s still some of the slave pit mentality in her. However, she’s managed to develop her psychic “mind-magic” powers thanks to my advice, and is now capable of using “Psychic Senses” for the inspiration spell. She wanted something similar to my prestidigitation, after seeing how useful the minor bonus to things was. Unfortunately for her, her elven blood is slowing down her aging, and she looks only 14 now, making it hard for her to get any respect from the adult Villagers.
Now we come to my least favorite people; Badrik and Sikan. I have to list them together here, because ever since Sikan was ejected from the Jarl’s court, the two have been practically (and maybe literally) joined at the hip. At least they aren’t focused on making MY life miserable anymore, mostly just fucking with me in passing. Unfortunately, for THEM, the target of their efforts these past years has been Aedirbboa…and I can’t stand for that! I’ve taken to trying to train them like dogs, by giving them negative reinforcement when they do something bad. I’d reward them for good behavior…if they ever HAD it, so it’s the stick all the time. Tear out her medical herb garden? Get a bunch of fleas in your bed. Talk local kids into throwing goat shit at her in the street? Your next meal “mysteriously” causes you to shit your guts out. I’ve managed to get them to tone down the harassment, but it still happens when they THINK they can get away with it…but they can’t, obviously.
Badrik is petty and childish in his harassment, almost like he thinks it’s a contest or sport, but…Sikan? He’s just downright MEAN, bordering on purely malevolent! I’ve tried bringing this up to Borden and the family a few times, but all I get are sympathetic smiles or a hearty laugh and a pat on the back that sends me stumbling, and the like. Sheesh, you’d think being caught in the act rubbing poison ivy on her drying clothes would get Badrik in SOME trouble! But nope, his aura of “spoiled youngest child” is still as impenetrable now that he is 13, and it was when he was 5.
***
It was about a month and a half, maybe two, into winter when we got some unexpected visitors from the south; travelers from the village that Freygi was born in before she married then-prince Borden. Amazing isn’t it, even in such a harsh land there is STILL travel and trade between people…WITHOUT wanting to turn them into slaves and take all their shit. Why am I feeling embarrassed? Meh, whatever, must be some remnant of all that “white guilt” propaganda from the public school system.
I was getting ready to pass out after spending the day playing chess, and bullshitting about “training” theories from my memories of The Harrowed Earth core book, with Aedirboa when Borden’s voice bellowed out, “Laughash my boy, come out front, we have company!” Great, MORE not-quite-a-Viking hospitality I have to endure, my liver can’t take much more of this! Well at least I know why history always described these people as brave beyond reason…they were CONSTANTLY drunk!
So I grab the nice furred jacket that Fregyi embroidered, tie my pants back on, and head to the longhouse’s front…time for Night Court. Entering through the goatskin curtain that blocks the public from the private side of the longhouse, I see Borden already sitting on his raised throne looking like the cover of a Conan novel, with Torden standing beside him. Why didn’t he just name him Borden Jr., instead of TORden? There are also three wet and shivering strangers kneeling in front of them, each taking a knee with their weapons buried in the packed-dirt floor on the same side as their planted knees. I’ll never understand why these people consider it polite to present their petition to the local king, WHILE carrying weapons…that’s like a court house REQUIRING you walk into court with a pistol on your hip! On second thought, after a few dozen asshole judges get shot in the face, that would solve a LOT of problems on Earth…
“My sons, these are representatives from the village of Valdi, where your mother comes from,” Borden must be talking about Freygi. “It is about three or four days’ walk south along the mountains, surrounding a small lake, but it must have taken these brave warriors at about a tenday to make it here through the growing snow, so…why ARE you here?,” Borden turns to ask his question to the visitors, at the end.
“Jarl Borden, you are right that the journey was harsh, we were four when we left. But it had to be done, for Valdi is under attack from wolf-men. They started raiding us from the woods when snow first started to fall, and after the third attack it became obvious that they were going to be a problem for the whole of winter! We are the SECOND group to travel here to ask for your aid, but it seems the first to MAKE it. Please Jarl, we have so few warriors compared to you, with so much of the village being fishermen and wise-men with powers over plants…but it is WINTER and the plants are too asleep to heed their calls. We NEED your aid, and I have been given permission by our Jarl to give you whatever it is our power to give, if you would but give it! For the sake of your wife’s remaining family, our villages are brothers, and does not one brother come to save the other when he cries out for help?,” Ooooo…nice plucking at the heart strings, come the end of that.
Borden turns to Torden and asks him his opinion, but if there is a chance for him to use “Mister Slammy” on something’s face, he is ALWAYS down for it…I could have told him that! But then he turns to me, “And what of your view of this, Laughash? I know you think coolly, instead of with your muscles like your hot-blooded brother,” I have to spend a minute thinking about this. It is likely the one decision I have been asked to advise on with the greatest possible ramifications…
“My Jarl, I think we SHOULD risk the winter to send warriors to assist them, and our best at that. Askfj?r is peaceful during the winter, and the people here often handle the few beasts that wander into our fields, usually without any of the hunters even being called upon. So our hunters just spend the winter in idle activities. If our neighbor, to whom we owe gratitude for Freygi’s life, needs help…why NOT help them? Yes it will be a long and harsh trip, but they can rest in the longhouses of Valdi on arriving. And, without ANY other considerations, remember the fjord village that was destroyed by gnolls a few winters ago, from whence so many of our villagers came? And now the SAME thing is happening to a village so much closer to us, since gnolls are a type of wolf-men? Doesn’t this mean that, in a winter soon, they will come HERE? Better to fight and kill them in Valdi, both villages together, than in Askfj?r alone!,” we fight them there, so we don’t have to fight them here…I feel kind of dirty for suggesting this, but it is true.
“You both have good views on this, and I am inclined to agree that we must help, for our own sake AND for the honor of it. We shall travel there with these brave warriors, as well as much of our own, and go with them OURSELVES to give them heart and guidance. Laughash, Torden, you two shall go with me, to learn how war is done...since you will have to do similar acts after I am gone.” After talking to each of us in turn, he addresses the visitors, “Go with the warriors that brought you in, they will show you to houses where you can rest while I prepare for the trip. Taking a dozen people to war is complicated enough, without having to move them in winter, so you have my apologies but…we won’t be ABLE to leave immediately.” The visitors looked more relieved than anything else. I think Borden’s apology was more of a social nicety than anything else.
After they left with the guards who brought them into the longhouse, Borden stands from his throne and stretches with several
***
Dawn breaks with the wailing of a banshee, waking me up from a dead stop to 100 miles an hour, almost propelling me out of my own bed; or maybe that is an f-15 jet taking off? Then I hear Borden’s shout, “DAMNIT woman, stop that unholy shouting! Would you have me take off last night in the middle of the night’s snowfall, in my small clothes, only to freeze into a husband-shaped block of ice? How is THAT going to help your former village and friends?! Well, ANSWER me!”
And thankfully the wailing stops, evidently this morning he told Freygi what happened last night, and she did NOT take it well. Shortly afterwards, I just hear her caught up in deep soul-wracking sobs, evidently chastised into heart-wrecking reality. First time I’ve heard them be anything but a loving couple in…well damn, I think this is an ACTUAL first!
So I pull on my clothes and walk past the royal bedroom on my way to the back door which leads to the “facilities”, taking a quick side-glance out of morbid curiosity. And there’s Freygi, her eyes already puffed up like an allergic reaction, snot running down her nose like a faucet…with Borden wrapped around her on the floor from behind, his huge arms holding her tight. The side of his thick white/grey beard pushed into her cheek from behind, completely ignoring the tears and snot that it is absorbing, with his obviously concerned look. OK, scratch that, even when they ARGUE they could push Earth’s marriage counselors to suicide. “Shhhh, my love. It will be ok. If we leave soon, we can return after midwinter, at the latest, but if we don’t leave SOON then there is little point in going at all…shhhh….”
I pass Torden coming back the other way from the outhouse, “Mom and dad still fighting?”
“I doubt they ever were, at least not in any serious sense, but either way last I saw she was just crying in his arms…make of that what you will, brother,” Torden looks thoughtful for a few seconds, then puts his head down and walks with determination back to the longhouse.
I finish downloading yesterday’s dinner, able to actually breathe comfortably despite the…aroma, thanks to my profligate use of prestidigitation. Then leaving the place smelling better than I found it; what with Torden’s rather “sizeable” donations. I always find myself grateful to have taken prestidigitation for the sake of my nose, despite the lack of appropriate bathroom tissues makes having to use pinecones a painful necessity. I still miss 2-ply though, using magic for THAT just feels…creepy…in a place that you don’t WANT to feel that way!
When I get inside, Aedirboa is unexpectedly there, “Hi Lou! Help me carve up a boar, would you? Fyodr (you know, the guard?) he asked me to come over this morning to make the midday meal. Is something wrong with Freygi?” As usual when she is excited by something, it takes me a bit to parse what she says after she stops rapidly rambling, so I CAN start translating.
Why is it that SHE’S the only one to call me by a nickname? Well, one overly-familiar idiosyncrasy deserves another. “Hi ‘Boa! Let me go over this in order, ok? First off, I have to talk to the Jarl, but if he is fine with it then I will happily use my magic to knock out a boar in the pin so you can cut butcher it. I’m glad to see you, but Freygi has had really bad news, and needs some alone-time with Borden. Before you ask, not THAT kind of ‘alone-time’. So please just leave her alone for the day, ok?”
Looking a little disappointed, Aedirboa sullenly agrees to just handle the midday meal and leave Freygi alone. Sheesh, gossip-hound much?
The rest of the day is spent getting ready for the trip, after using color spray on the boars in the pin, so that Aedirboa can grab and knife one. Finding ponies hale enough to make the trip, for breaking trail through the snow and carry supplies. Gathering enough wheat stalks for the horses, there and back, then bailing them in goat skins to stay dry. Collecting fruit-filled bread loaves and smoked meat to feed US for the trip. Collecting weapons, then spare weapons, for us and a dozen warriors. FINDING a dozen warriors willing and capable of making the trip. Collecting medicines and useful elixers from Venradik, or waiting until the next morning for him to make them. And, after she finds out what is going on from Venradik, convincing Aedirboa NOT to go!
I failed on that last part…
Evidently, even with ME along to play mister fix-em-up, Borden wanted ANOTHER healer “in case Valdi has need of one as well”…I can’t really fault him for that. Plus, I wasn’t comfortable leaving her behind with Badrik in charge of the village, even nominally, without ME there to keep him contained. But given that, I’d rather her have to deal with pig shit buckets being dumped on her, than risk her getting hauled away and eaten alive by gnolls. Huh, since when did I become so PROTECTIVE of Aedirboa? Well whatever, she’s my only true FRIEND, it’s understandable that I would want her to stay out of harm’s way.
And after a day’s solid prep work, the next morning during a break in the falling snow, we set out. Borden and Torden in the lead, riding a pair of thick-muscled ponies to break the trail, trading positions whenever one tires. The rest of us walk, or rather casually stroll, given that the horses aren’t able to break trail through the hip-deep snow THAT fast. Behind them comes two of the warriors of Vladi, the third having developed a wracking cough and being left behind in the care of Venradik. Then comes Aedirboa and I, travelling with the two warriors taking care of our four pack animals, so that we can go back and forth along the column to check up on the health of them all. This includes the ten warriors in the back of the column, each with short bows in hand to shoot potential game…or attackers, their round leather-faced shields and weapons hanging from their backs.
Our thick fur-lined boots keeping our feet surprisingly warm and dry, the iron nails driven down through the thick leather soles provide great grip on the hard ice-covered ground, making the trip surprisingly pleasant…horse farts excluded. Despite the pack animals we are each carrying our weapons, along with full leather backpack-like travel bags strapped across our shoulders, filled with spare clothes and other things we might find useful. Aedirboa is carrying medical salves and bandages, as well as a bag of goodberry berries made from force-grown plans, courtesy of Venradik and his gardens. For myself I am carrying a few spare bandages just in case, as well as some of Venradik’s alchemical concoctions that he has been keeping in reserve for a special occasion. Stuff that he can only make thanks to his advanced technological knowledge from being a drow. This includes a couple of Night Crystal lenses sandwiched between a pair of leather straps, which I can put on so I can see in the dark if needed. Nowhere near as good as a set of NVGs, but better than nothing, plus THESE don’t need the batteries swapped
That first night’s camp was…uncomfortable, in the extreme. We couldn’t carry enough wood with us to make a campfire, so the only way to get water was to scoop snow into a bag then press it COLD against us under our clothes; NOT fun! But at least I was able to warm up our bread and meat rations with prestidigitation, which everybody appreciated, “Hey brother, if you can heat up our food, why not heat up and melt the snow so that I don’t have to freeze off my favorite poking stick just to have a drink?” Fuck YOU Torden, coming up with a clever-but-OBVIOUS idea that I should have had two bags of snow ago!
Evidently the look on my face after he said that made everybody laugh their asses off, even Aedirboa tried to hide her
The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.
It was when we had to cut our way through a section of forest later that afternoon, thankful that we didn’t have to break trail because of the newly-falling snow storm was being mostly blocked by the trees, when pig excrement hit the rotating blades. There was a deep hungry groan, and the sounds of snapping TREES, coming from somewhere nearby…coming CLOSER. The horses were freaking out from the sound and whatever they scented on the wind, without even Borden able to keep his under control. He and Torden managed to get off, after looping a rope from the pack handlers around their necks, and then they let all six horses run off.
Why? Well with being roped together, especially in the woods, they won’t get far. Plus, by seeing which way they ran, we knew which direction the maker of these echoing sounds came from. As the ground was noticeably shaking, and we could barely hear Borden’s orders, everybody eventually got into a loose line of battle. Prince Torden and Jarl Borden in the front, in a line flanked on either side by the now-armed horse handlers. Behind them in a staggered block of two rows where the ten other warriors, their bows drawn, and their shields and swords buried in front of them in easy reach. Behind all of them were Aedirboa and I, so we could pull back and try to stabilize any who fall, or I could use my own magic against whatever this thing is. A zombie stone giant, maybe?
Nope, worse. The…THING…that pushed a tree out of its way two or so trees from us was…IMMENSE. It was built like one of those dwarves from the giants’ slave pits, as wide as it was tall, and covered in thick boulder-like muscles. Its hair and beard were covered in long-rotten gore, so greasy you could lubricate an entire battleship’s engine room with it! The flesh was a sickening rotten-wood brown, complete with sections of moss. Unclothed, it was obviously…and SCARILLY…a male of the species, getting engorged as it spots us, with drool coming out of BOTH heads. It quickly lifts one arm, the hand filled with a branch-denuded tree, to swipe aside the trees between it and its prey…US!
A brief flash of realization hits me at that; I’ve fought something like this before, when I was playing Herr Grey! With a shout I try desperately to warn everybody, we are NOT ready for this fight, “TROLL! WE NEED FIRE TO KILL IT!” I don’t know if anybody could hear me over the sound of snapping wood and thundering footfalls, as the archers release their arrows in a jagged wave. About half of them hit and bite into its flesh, but no blood comes out.
It stops at the edge of the small space we were travelling through; to swipe the arrows off like it was wicking off water droplets, when Borden and the front line rush forward shouting in an attempt to keep it away from the archers. Borden’s spear, held in two hands, bites into the troll’s lower thigh deep enough to draw blood and it releases a howl of outrage, tearing away the spear from his hands as it twists the leg aside, and the other two warriors hack futilely at its other leg. Torden’s warhammer skidding across that leg’s thick flesh as it leans over to smash Borden with its club.
No FUCKING way! With a pinch of sand from my pouch I run around the archers to try and get close to the troll, unleashing a “color spray!” but…too late. Just before my fan of multicolored light reaches it, the club impacts the empty-handed Borden’s arms, as he vainly tries to push it aside and jump back. I can hear the
“FATHER!,” screams Torden, stunned like the troll, while it tries to swipe away the colored spots in its eyes. The archers continue to pepper it with arrows, the warriors hacking away at the same leg that Borden’s spear is sticking out of. A few seconds later I see Aedirboa arrive at Borden’s side, dropping her pack to rummage in it for supplies, OK, he’s in the best care he can get…wait…my BAG!
When Torden starts swinging at the troll’s knee, the rest of the cuts having started to seal up and the spear being pushed out of the wound, I drop my own bag and start throwing things out of it. Useless, useless, not useful NOW, useless, BINGO! I pull out a fur-lined flap-covered sack with half a dozen internal compartments, each holding a clay flask of “oh FUCK”.
Then, the thing ROARS in pain, as the clearing is filled with the
I yell, “Torden, DUCK!” as I hurl a flask of fantasy-napalm at the thing’s torso, while Torden and the remaining swordsman jump backwards to avoid the falling flames. A spot of the troll’s torso catches fire just as it bites the archer in half, its mouth opening and the half-a-man falling from the maw as it screams in pain once more.
It drops the archer and reaches for me with the same hand, falling onto the ground to reach me. I manage to dodge its hand as it slaps into the ground where I was standing, instead catching the bag of five remaining flasks and they explode into fire. However, I didn’t see the hand that WAS holding the tree as it grabs me from behind in a vice-like grip. The flames on its chest being snuffed out by the belly-flop, it gets the bright idea to shove its burning hand into a nearby snow drift, snuffing it out, as it drags me to its opening mouth. If I’m going to be a meal, I’m giving you fucking indigestion!
Once I am nearly down the gullet, I reach my free hand INTO its mouth and call out “Laevateinn!” With a muted flash of opalescent light, my mithril saber appears in my hand, from where it sits in a gap between the troll’s jagged lower teeth to the point resting against its palate. It gets a confused look in its eyes at the sensation, making me laugh in futile despair as I hear a cry of “BROTHER!” from above me. Looking over the top of the troll’s head I see Torden running up the thing’s back, “Mister Slammy” raised above his head.
With a quick realization I pull my hand out of the troll’s mouth, a split second before the
I get up and quickly stumble sideways, to lean against a tree, Yep, that’s a sprained knee for sure, maybe the same ankle too. Figuring I’m close enough anyway, I start unleashing acid splash shots into it, until it stops moving. Unfortunately for another couple archers, having swapped to their swords and shields to hack at the troll’s flesh, they get caught by the flailing limbs before that happens. But, eventually, it DOES Just FUCKING DIE!
I don’t know if I was yelling that last part, or just thinking it. Everybody was screaming and shouting, I was in IMMENSE pain, and I’ve never hating something more in my life. Alright you piece of trans-dimensional crap, you are…temporarily…number TWO on my nut-kicking list.
Once it had stopped moving, it was time to collect our dead, and lick our wounds.
***
We wind up making camp in the same newly-made clearing where we fought the troll, after some of the warriors use axes to cut the corpse apart and move it into the trail it had made. The horses were caught up on a tree not 20 feet away, making recovering our supplies easier. As some of the warriors were setting up leather hide tents, while the other activities were going on, Torden lets me borrow his shoulder so that we can go check on Aedirboa’s care of our father.
She’s crying…that is NOT a good sign… Sitting down besides the two of them with Torden’s help, I can see that Borden’s face is more like a hamburger package, but at least he’s still breathing. “Its OK Aedirboa, where there’s life there is hope, between us and Venradik’s medicines we can get him back to his old laughing self in no time,” I say, trying to comfort her, and even more so trying to convince myself.
Then she holds up the hand that was hidden by Borden’s head, “I don’t know how to put this back, and Venradik never could either.” Holy shit…is that his EYE?! Yes, yes it was, evidently it had popped out like a cork from a Champaign bottle when his head hit the tree. Well THAT’S not good.
“I’ll help Aedirboa, we will do what we can, and…pack that in snow, and put it in a bag, he might go looking for it later,” I say with a squinting wink at her. A lame attempt at a joke, but she stops crying and gives a snuffling chuckle, At least she’s not despondent anymore.
Using some of Venradik’s elixers, most of them actually, we manage to fix up Borden’s face to be recognizably a FACE again. Then, it’s time for me to use prestidigitation to move things and summon weapon for a scalpel, to cut open his face AGAIN so that I can extract the shards of wood that got imbedded in it. Now that I can differentiate THEM from HIM, that is. After splinting his broken arm, I can tend to my OWN wounds…a couple hours later.
My knee AND ankle were BOTH sprained, but not torn or broken. I didn’t notice a branch from the shrub had penetrated my back, imbedding into the flesh of my kidney, until I had finished tending to Borden. Aedirboa does what she can pulling it out and washing the wound, then sealing it shut with some of Venradik’s flesh glue. One of the warriors, I think one of the guys who hacked legs alongside Borden, helps me wrench my leg into place and then tie off the splints to immobilize it while I’m screaming. I pull out a couple of Venradik’s talismans, putting one into my pants just below the busted knee, and the other in the impromptu cast on Borden’s arm. Supposedly they will accelerate healing, but I won’t know if I managed to get them working until I see the effects. Thankfully my bag and most of its contents survived the battle.
Torden spends the entire time just…lost. In one afternoon he went from being a fun-loving prince on a trip with his father, enjoying time chatting and joking around; to the survivor of what SHOULD have been a deadly event, with a father who might be dying right in front of him. Poor guy’s shellshocked. I try comforting him, telling him that Borden will be pissed at him AND proud for that running-up-the-back stunt, but no matter what he just ignores me. No, not “ignores”, he doesn’t NOTICE me, just sits there staring at his father, where we had to leave him at the foot of the same tree for fear of his neck being broken. A couple of the warriors just build a tent around the two of them.
I do my best to help out after I’m done with my medical needs, and failing to pull Torden out of his funk. Casting prestidigitation to melt snow, warm food, and seal gaps in the tents to ward off the wind. One of the warriors even had the foresight to make a crutch for me out of a branch, getting me somewhat mobile. I didn’t know that being ‘disabled’ in The Harrowed Earth was THIS annoying! Everybody’s mood improves drastically once Aedirboa breaks out the pain-relieving tea, and boils up a big batch of it in the cooking pot for everybody, me included. But not Torden, who just ignored Aedirboa when she took some to drip-feed it into Borden’s mouth, like she once had done for Torden so many years ago. She was faintly crying as she left their tent, and fell asleep in mine after crying herself out into my shoulder. I just pulled the bearskin over her as well, and slept myself.
My last thoughts before I drifted off were, We have three dead, two seriously injured, PLUS Borden and myself…and we aren’t even halfway to Valdi. Not a good sign. I wond…er…
***
Come dawn I am alone in my furs, but my leg feels MUCH better. Huh, guess Venradik’s charm worked. Still not good enough to actually WALK on, but at least I can stand and move around with the help of my crutch. Slipping out of my tent I can see the snow on the ground piled up over the night, reaching about halfway to my knee, which is worrisome…if we get snowed under there is NO way these tents will survive. So I stump my way to the tent that I see Aedirboa coming out of, the same one with Borden inside, only to stop when she looks at me and shakes her head. She makes her way to where I am standing to tell me, “Don’t bother trying to talk to him. I don’t know who is lost more, Torden or his father, but until Borden recovers or dies…I think Torden is not coming back.”
Fuuuuckk. I go over to where the still-living warriors have set up the cooking pot, under some trees. A few of them look haggard from poor sleep, but ALL of them look to be in bad spirits, “Hey fellas, as long as we are stuck here, we might as well make the place decently comfortable. So come on, finish eating and shake your legs out, we got an ACTUAL camp to build!” My jovial attempt at command…did NOT go well.
“Go fuck a goat Laughash.”
“You aren’t Borden, HE is in charge, NOT you!”
“Yeah, if Borden is too sick to tell us what to do, then it’s up to TORDEN to take charge.”
Add in several invectives and allusions to my parentage that I will NOT repeat, since there is a non-zero chance my kid winds up reading this, but…respect. Got to give them some props for creativity, at least.
So I take a deep breath, and channel my inner drill instructor, “Listen up you fatherless sons of rats! Borden is on his sickbed, half-dead, and Torden’s heart is likely there waiting for him! That leaves ME, the adopted savage son, who has SAVED Torden’s ass more times than I can count, to save YOUR ungrateful butts too! Now you can either piss and moan about why the Jarl isn’t here to clean your nappies, or you can pick your nuts up off the ground and listen to ME, so I can save HIM!” Aedirboa was looking at me in shock, from her tent over on the other side of them, and the warriors were looking at me like I had grown two feet…and THEN grew horns!
But they obeyed.
Using the horses for power, I had them drag fallen tree trunks, over to the tree under which Borden was on the border between life and death. Then, making a fulcrum from a tree I had them chop down so that it fell onto another, they tie the two off. With this they could use ropes and the horses to pull the end of each log UP, so it rested against Borden’s tree, before scaling it to cut and tie it to the still-living tree. By repeating this process we were able to make a fan about a third of a circle wide around the tree, and used another log on the opposite side to brace the central tree against the weight.
While new trees were getting dragged into place, I had Aedirboa and two of the warriors on the roof of trees, weaving their branches together so that the falling snow would form a snowpack roof, like happens for the tribe’s woven-branch huts. We had the roof section done by nightfall, and everybody moved their tents under it. It provided little protection from the wind and bone-chilling air, but the lack of snow atop the tents let them actually get COMFORTABLE for the night.
So the men were not only more amenable to my instructions, come the next morning, but I was actually woken up by one of them to start the day’s work! As I sat up in my now-warm furs, eating the meat porridge somebody had made before dawn, I couldn’t help but think, This is like taking the men on landside exercises, good thing I took that field survival course.
This day was spent denuding the inside of the trees, removing the branches so they could be woven into the framework of smaller trees being set in the sides of this MEGA lean-to. While backtracking the troll’s path for more fallen wood, the warriors ambushed and killed a boar, greatly adding to our meat supply! All while the snow returned, but not as deeply as before…until nightfall that is. So with a deadline burning under their butts, we managed to get the horses inside the lean-to and seal it up, with lots of spare wood to use for the slow-banked fire that gave us heat and a little light, augmenting the dancing lights that Aedirboa would manifest to help the people working under the tree-roof.
That night the wind picked up, and I mean HARD, if we had been staying in tents then the last thing we would have had to worry about was being crushed under the snow! We could hear the occasional
I had no illusions that he could survive the trip back, even if strapped to the back of a horse or being dragged in a pallet. The weather was turning stormy as well as colder, without this shelter’s warmth he would freeze to death, since he wasn’t moving his muscles to stay warm.
With sending out hunting parties and making a few traps to catch about half of the animals that come to eat the troll’s flesh, we managed to survive for the two weeks it took for Borden to wake up. But he wasn’t out of the woods, yet…pun intended.
***
“I can’t feel my hands,” where the first words Borden said as he woke up, according to Torden after he stopped scream for Aedirboa and I in his astonishment. The kid was looking as rough as his father, barely having eaten anything while sitting at Borden’s side, leaving only to shit in the midden-sluice we had put in at the edge of the structure…and cry silently. I know because it was my “job” to play air freshener after somebody used it. Which, to be honest, didn’t do MY appetite any good either!
I move aside the tent flap with one hand, the other still holding up my britches, just a step ahead of Aedirboa. Why did you THINK I mentioned the crapper? Telling Torden to get out so we can both tend to him, he FINALLY looks at me, and moves. As Aedirboa climbs inside to kneel beside me Borden says, “I’m trying to hug you son, I really am, but something is on my arm and I cannot lift it.”
“That would be the sticks and leather holding the broken bones in place so they can heal right, my Jarl. It was Laughash’s clever idea, you can hug him when you have recovered,” she says while tearing up.
Borden looks confused after a second, “Then why can I not move my OTHER arm? Is that one broken as well?” Oh no…
“Borden, try lifting a leg for me will you?,” I ask gently, hiding my own fear. He could not, but he COULD feel something when I pressed a sliver of a twig into the bottom of his feet, like I’ve seen on all those medical shows. After stepping out with Aedirboa to talk to Torden, and hearing what his father’s first words were, we had a discussion…my first medical conference.
We went back inside, and I told Borden the news, “Father, I-.”
“Stop right there son, I know I am dying, otherwise you would not call me ‘Father’. You call Torden your brother, but have ALWAYS addressed me as either a Jarl, or by name, but NEVER as family. All I ask is that you end me with dignity, and burn my corpse alongside whatever warriors died fighting that thing, alright? Consider this an order from your father, not your Jarl…that will be Torden from now on.” Huh, good speech, he must have been working on it since he realized he was paralyzed.
“No BORDEN, I will NOT kill you, since you WILL walk again. The damage is bad but it is NOT permanent, so long as we do not move you, then you will make a full recovery. It will be slow, and you will have to re-learn how to walk right, but you WILL walk again. Now, your broken arm is going to take longer to heal than you would like, and you will be walking long before you can use it properly again. Just be careful not to move your head, you stubborn old goat, or Torden WILL be burning your bones!,” as I was making MY speech I was carefully pulling Venradik’s talisman out of his primitive arm cast. Checking it, I could see with detect magic that it was still “charged”, evidently I had failed to activate it. I place it…slowly…under his neck as I try to activate it. I hope that this works, this time.
“Why can’t I open my eye? Can you take your salve from it, so I can see you both…please?,” his voice was filled with worry, obviously predicting what we were going to say. When he saw the fallen look on my face, he closed his remaining eye and started to tear up softly.
“Please My Jarl, stop crying, or your other…eye…will fester,” Aedirboa said.
“Aedirboa, see to it that he sleeps, and tend to him alright? Borden, I’ll take care of Torden, and he will take care of the men. Don’t worry; we are set up to winter here for a long time, just focus on getting better,” with those parting words, I leave to go talk to Torden. Now that his mind is back, I got to keep him busy, so he doesn’t have TIME to get depressed about his dad’s situation. Keep him focused on Borden’s recovery, not what he’s lost.
“Come outside with me brother, I need your help to get something done for Borden,” slimy manipulation, I know, but it’s for his own good.
On our way out we grab a couple axes, from where we’ve stacked the horses’ cargo in our cramped sanctuary. Then we go outside into the still-swirling snow, and walk down the giant’s trail until we come to the more denuded of its thighs, “We need to hack the flesh off this leg, so we can bring the bone back to the shelter. Borden will need me to make something of it, so he can walk again. I need you, HE needs you, to help with this…I am too weak to work its bones, but YOU have the strength I lack!”
So we spend a couple hours hacking away the frozen flesh. Mostly Torden actually, I wasn’t lying about him being so much stronger than me. Fetching a rope once we are down to bloody bone, the two of us drag it to the entrance of the shelter shortly before sunset, “Go sleep while I clean this, Torden. Tomorrow the REAL work begins!” Exhausted from his efforts he just nods, before going back inside to pass out besides his father, too tired to disturb him.
The next morning I wake up Torden with a thick hunk of last night’s wolf meat, reheated by my magic, and bid him to follow me outside with …groan…“Mister Slammy.” We head outside into the calm morning air, the sky showing it will snow soon, “Now brother, you must shatter and remove the thick parts of the thigh bone on the top and bottom, before we can work with the rest. Yours is the only weapon that can break these bones, we know that from the fight, and yours are the only arms that can swing it hard enough. Borden will need this, so please, work on it whenever you can handle the weather.”
With the thunderous sounds of every
With that, weeks pass.
***
It takes almost two weeks for Torden to finish breaking the bone’s knobby ends, by which time Borden can move his unbroken arm. It shakes and is hard for him to control, but it MOVES! Convinced that his sweat equity is paying dividends, Torden finishes his task with some hustle to it. Then, to KEEP him busy, I set him to the more delicate task of removing all the hard shell around the softer core of the bone. Did you know that troll bones aren’t hollow, but actually surround a REAL bone with a rock-like shell? I didn’t…but I do now! I call Laevateinn to my hand before handing it over to Torden, to be used as a wedge for slowly tapping out the bone core by shaving off the kinda-rock sheath.
With each day spent on a fallen log he dragged over to sit on, tapping his hammer against the flat backside of my sword, Torden’s father continues to recover. His arms get steadier, and he regains control over his bowels (THANK GOD!). The paralysis seeming to receding downwards, as Venradik’s charm and his own prodigious constitution conspire to heal him as fast as if he was in a modern-day hospital back on Earth.
By the time he can stand, shaking the entire time and weak as a kitten, Torden finished removing the bone core and I am set to MY part of the task. Torden has since taken over tending to his father’s daily needs, helping him to the cooking fire or the midden as needed, with the two of them spending most of the day in their tent talking. I might as well do SOMETHING myself, since I told Torden that his father was going to need this.
Originally I was planning on turning a fragment of the bone into a staff or walking stick for Borden, something he can lean on while he regains his coordination. But Torden turns out to be better at making things than I thought, with the entire length of the troll’s thigh-bone’s core available. I search the bone fragments until I find one the right shape, then use the face of…
With nothing better to do than wait until Borden can walk well enough to ride a horse back to Askfj?r, I spend the rest of the months we are trapped in place carving “runes” into the spear, using Laevateinn’s tip like an oversized xacto knife. The “runes” being the lyrics to “Carry On Wayward Son” by Kansas in English…dad LOVED that song, and I figured that he would appreciate the nod to him in my new father’s walking stick. I have to admit it after all this, Borden IS a good father to Torden, and has been trying to be the same to Me. It has absolutely NOTHING to do with my missing home, and my own family. Seriously, it doesn’t. I mean it.
Once Borden can walk without his legs shaking, even though he still needs Torden’s shoulder for balance, I present him with his new spear. There, standing on his own for the first time in several weeks with his face covered in several small scars except for the giant one running down from his empty left socket to his chin, the warriors all cheer at the return of their Jarl. “Not even DEATH could take him!,” says one, as the rest laugh in joy, Borden included.
But once the joviality settles down, and the warriors await their Jarl’s command to break camp and return home, his orders are…unexpected, “We have been delayed for half of winter, but we STILL have a promise to keep! Our distant cousins have been suffering as the prey of this rampaging wolf-man tribe, praying for us to save them, and where have WE been? Stuck here, for several moons, barely a day’s WALK from our home! I say that they have waited long ENOUGH. So, my brave warriors, spend this day preparing the horses and gathering what we need to make the trip, for come dawn we CONTINUE south. I refuse to die so long as I have a promise to fulfill, so if I must I will travel alone, then I WILL.”
With that he limped his way to his tent, leaning on the spear so he can do it under his own power, before crawling inside. Coughing to get everyone’s attention, Torden starts to speak, “You heard my father, let’s get to work. You two are going to be guiding the pack horses again, so go gather green-needle branches for fodder, while the rest of us go hunt whatever we can find to tide us over for the trip. Aedirboa, you stay here and make whatever elixers you can, I get the feeling that we are going to need a LOT of them when we arrive. Laughash, you-”
“Stay here to keep the campsite safe from anything that happens upon it, so the horses aren’t eaten? Good idea Torden, let me go discuss this with Borden to see if he has any advice to give me,” I gruffly interrupt before turning my back on him, and marching the six or so steps to the tent at the apex of our camp. I can’t BELIEVE this foolishness! It has been MONTHS since we left Askfj?r, there is ZERO chance that we will find anybody left to save!
Crawling into Borden’s tent, I interrupt him as he opens his mouth to speak, “I did NOT reach into the afterlife and drag your spirit kicking and screaming back to the land of the living, only for you to throw it away! Was your eternal sleep so pleasant, that you wish for your warriors to share it? What about Aedirboa and I, do WE deserve death for your wounded pride? DAMN IT TO HELL ‘FATHER’, what of TORDEN?!” I was FUMING at this point, my words coming out in a viper-like hiss through squinted eyes, visible in the dim candle-like light being cast by one of Aedirboa’s dancing lights, which also showed Borden’s…kind but firm expression?
With a soft sigh he tells me, “Laughash you are probably the cleverest person in Askfj?r, maybe the whole of the Northland, with wisdom and insights that sometimes seem divinely inspired. But this often blinds you to the way NORMAL people see things, or even simpler matters. I know that you think this trip is dangerous, and I can ‘see’ why, and I too understand as you do that there is not likely to be anybody LEFT to rescue. But the very long time that has passed is on our side in this, because the wolf-men are likely to have left for better hunting grounds, once the meat ran out. But they WILL have left behind signs of their strength, so we can see how great a force WE will need to defend against in the winters to come! Since we need that knowledge, I MUST go there to see it, because I cannot trust my decisions on even YOUR eyes. And if I did go back, then left again once the snow breaks, we would not only be losing precious days but ALSO giving the impression that the Jarl’s words are not worth the breath it takes to spit them out. If we are to survive when they come for US, then we cannot AFFORD that kind of hesitation.” Fucking asshole…is…
…right.
“I apologize for my outburst father, you are correct, I do not know as much of this world as you do even IF I know far more in other matters.” After he looks at me with a puzzled expression on his face, I interrupt him again when he opens his mouth to ask the inevitable question, “Venradik bade me to keep my wisdom to myself when I was young, for fear of being exiled or even killed, but…well…I cannot TELL you where it comes from, just what I KNOW, is that ok?”
At a nod from him, I continue.
“You have seen Sikan, myself, and others cast what…two maybe three tens of spells? While I do not have the ability to cast them, I have the knowledge of HUNDREDS, as well as an understanding of how to make MORE. I have the skills to build structures like this, only rising as high as the tallest tree, and I know that it is possible to build as high as the MOUNTAINS. I can build boats that travel without sail, iron horses that consume oil and roar their fury, capable of moving faster than the wind. I can build weapons capable of calling upon the thunder of the storm, and drawing it down to smite my foes. I can speak languages that do not exist, and the runes on your staff are in one of them, a SONG believe it or not. My head swims with more minor skills than I can put into words, with more stories than the entire village has ever believed COULD exist, and more years of life than my face shows. Jarl Borden, if you were to string the days of my life together, both in memory and in winters since I got them, then we would be as close in age as Torden and myself…but I know not which of us would be the eldest!,” by the end of this little explosion, I’m crying from the relief, being able to bring this man I respect SO MUCH into my confidence. But fearing his reaction. After all, I did just tell a barbarian KING that compared to me, “he ain’t SHIT”.
“I thought as much Laughash, from Sikan’s fear of you, but I did not know the extent of it. So,” he reaches out to grip my forearm “can you translate this song, and sing it for me? We can discuss what aid your gods-given knowledge can do to help the village survive next winter, afterwards.
So, after laughing with a suddenly-light feeling in my own chest, I sing a barbarian proto-Viking in a fantasy world “Carry on Wayward Son”. It is hours later, and my entire repertoire of remembered songs by Pantera and (old) Metallica, with a few others; when the flap opens up and Torden grabs me by the back of the jacket to yank me out, “Shut UP so we can sleep!” Before crawling in to take my place.
As I lay there Aedirboa plops a bowl of stewed meat beside me, “I liked your songs, especially that ‘Cowboys from Hell’ one,
***
The next day by popular demand, and to Torden’s growing frustration, we head out on the march with the men singing the refrain to “We Will Rock You” by Queen, but it translates more as “stone” than “rock”. I guess a bunch of hunters and part-time warriors appreciate the bloody-faced and bragging-rights themes, since they asked for me to sing it when we broke camp in the morning. Borden decided to leave the mega-MAGA-hat (it stands for “Make Askfj?r Great Again”, which is a bit of fanboying embarrassment I don’t share with the others) in place, since it was the largest structure built by the village to date, and he thought it might be useful after the winter thaw.
Everybody is in a much more chipper mood than they have been in weeks, except for Torden whom I am getting the sneaking suspicion does NOT share my musical tastes. Even Borden has a gleam in his remaining eye, like he just found out that the light at the end of the tunnel is NOT a train. I’m still walking the column melting snow for the men, but spending more time at the side of Borden’s horse to talk about…“possibilities”. Most of what we discuss comes from documentaries on the Vietnam and Revolutionary wars that I watched with my father, which seems to catch his bloodthirsty fancy. He always said that they were “educational”, but I doubt he could have predicted THIS!
We have to let quite a lot of deer and other prey escape as we travel, since the archers can’s guarantee a kill at the ranges they must shoot from, and I cannot use summon weapon to get a musket for fear of some monster in the area being attracted by the noise. But we manage, until an incoming storm front forces us to stop just above the tree-line about a day’s trek to Valdi.
Instead of a huge lean-to, I show them how to make blocks of snow to stack into an igloo, and then line the insides with deadfall from the trees just below us. We end up making a set of five of them, four for us and one for the horses, each of which faces inwards to the pit where we dug up the snow and erected an oversized tent that stretches from one igloo entrance to the other. That way we can funnel some of the heat from the campfire to each igloo, and block out the wind with the packed-down sides of the snowbank around it all, while rendering it virtually invisible to anything walking by.
A couple days later once the storm passes Borden, still needing to lean on his spear to walk, decides to send me into the village with an older warrior (and my current igloo-roomie from Valdi) named Fjodr. We are given a couple days of supplies, and standing orders to NOT engage any “wolf-men” (I STILL can’t get him to call them “gnolls”) we might see, but to report back their numbers instead. Then he takes me aside, “I trust my own eyes before yours, but if anything can be trusted more it is your ability to survive situations that would have killed anybody else, so…come back to me, understand son?” Damn, this guy could have led eskimos to invade hell, with only the underwear on their asses. Oh, I’m sorry “Innuit” is the PROPER term, right? Well FUCK that, this is MY memoire’s voice-over, and I will say what I want in it!
So with that heart-warming confidence in mind, I follow Fjodr on what he remembers being the most concealed trail into Valdi.
We are almost to the boathouse behind which the trail comes around, when Fjodr slips and falls on his ass. I lunge forward to slap a fur-mittened hand over his mouth before his scream draws attention, pulling it away after he is obviously just cursing while clutching his ass and rolling over. “Hit your tailbone, didn’t you?,” I chuckle. After a sideways glare, his eyes soften and he starts to chuckle too. Then outright LAUGHS in the suddenly-released stress, and I join in, both of us clutching our mittens over our mouths to muffle the noise.
“I tripped that’s all,” he says as we stand up. Then turning to me he points towards the back of the boathouse, at the village beyond it, to try and explain the place’s layout…but I can’t hear him. All I can do is stare in shock at his mouth, before dropping to my hands and knees, to root around in the snow. “What is it? What is wrong?,” he says.
“Your mouth is covered in blood. Blood from YOUR hands,” I tell him looking up to his face, and seeing the shock of a growing realization there. Then he drops down beside me and starts helping to swipe off snow. We uncover a few hands still held together by tendons, some leg-bones, and a few ribs, in just a couple of minutes. Then, we find a skull. A HUMAN skull, one on the smaller side. Just like what was found in so many of the mosques after Texas broke away, and the Rangers raided them.
With grim determination we set our bloody discoveries aside, and continue into the town. Different world, same evil. I will NOT stand idly by and let this shit happen HERE too!
***
We spend an hour sneaking around the town, but while we find several other “feeding sites”, we find NO survivors nor the enemy. Yeah, that’s right, these things are “the enemy” now…deal with it. The village’s winter stores of smoked fish are all gone as well, the tied-log casks they were in being filled with shit. However, the supply of wheat is still there, even though the farms at the edge have been burned down. I guess the filthy mutts don’t know how to bake bread.
Funny enough, no dogs in town, nor any signs of them being killed. I remember there was something about this from The Harrowed Earth’s core rule book, but I can’t remember what it is. Well whatever the reason, I doubt it is GOOD news!
So with our report in proverbial hand, we decide to set up in the wheat storehouse, since that is the least-defiled location, and head out in the morning. Otherwise we’d risk missing our hidden camp in the night. Not that we get much sleep, jumping at every wind-blown branch or flailing piece of leather.
Come the morrow we groggily set out, arriving at the camp in the early afternoon after almost overshooting it, since last night’s wind blew away our trail. Everybody gathers around the campfire while Fjodr and I tell them what we found, and Borden comes to a decision, “We are leaving this camp here, for the return trip, but come dawn we are going into the village and will be collecting all the wheat and other useful items we can. We will make sleds to drag behind the horses, bringing back as much as possible, and anything we CANNOT bring back we will store in the boathouse that the trail led to.” With that he stumps off to his igloo angrily, but we can see the rage-fueled tears coming down from under the leather thong covering his empty eye socket.
So it is with grim determination we all set about getting ready to break camp, before I fall into an exhausted sleep that night. Waking up I find Aedirboa dragged her sleeping furs over to mine, easy to do since we share an igloo with the two warriors from Valdi, probably hunting for some sense of security in the night. Poor thing, she’s always thought of me as her personal savior since the slave pits, I think, before shaking her awake to start the day.
Aedirboa and I set out to make some meat stew to fuel everybody for the trip, while they get all our other camping gear rolled up and into packs or on horses. Except for Borden who supervises, trying to keep it running smoothly without leaving anything behind, other than the leather tarp. Then we stow them in our packs, after scrubbing out our used wooden bowls with snow, before starting the march towards our funeral duties.
The trip is uneventful, except for a gust of wind so strong that it knocked over one pack horse. It had to be unloaded and stood up before, being reloaded…maybe an hour of lost time. Arriving at the longhouse we unload the pack horses into it, and then put them on long leads at the base of the dock so that they can forage and exercise a bit; with only the horse-men tending them. Then it is a task for the rest of us to go from building to building, either passing them over as ruined and worthless, or scavenging them and forming a “fire brigade” to unload anything useful that we find down the line to our impromptu warehouse. We get about a third of the way through the village doing this, reaching the end of how far we can comfortably daisy-chain, before Borden calls it off for the day.
Since we only have a half-hour of daylight left we collect all the horses and go to the storehouse with the wheat, setting them up in a leanto made from our leather tarps outside of it, against the wall where we dig out a fire pit and knock a hole in the thatch roof to form a chimney. So the horses stay warm through the night, along with the rest of us…we’re just sick of smelling their farts, so outside they go! The rest of us collect inside the warehouse, many sleeping atop baskets of wheat, since none of us want to sleep in any of the village’s slaughter-“houses”. Without enough room for everybody, Fjodr and his fellow warrior volunteer to camp outside in tents up against the open door for heat, just in case.
Afterwards, it takes us five days to finish looting the village. It would have been three, but a snowstorm came in, and we lost a day to that then another to having to make paths through the snow with our flat wooden-headed spades. And so, a week after we started all of this, it is time to start making sleds. We COULD have used the village’s ice-house sleds, made for ice fishing over the long winter, but they were gone along with the fishing boats. We had hope that this meant SOME of the villagers survived by taking their chances out on the lake, at least until we found the remnants of their timbers in the fire pits. Holy FUCK this is depressing!
Since we were not wanting to risk the woods, and any of the enemy’s forces that might still be creeping around in them, we take apart the least-defiled houses to get the lumber we need for the sleds. With six horses, we can make six sleds, and four will be for the village loot. Which is mostly wheat, since we cannot be sure that it will still be useable come summer, without people and dogs to run off rats. Between disassembly, woodworking, assembly, and unpredictable snowstorms, it is another tenday before we set out. Which is good, since it takes that long for Borden to stand well enough to drive a sled, and he needs to be point-man on this due to the growing morale problems the men are having.
These past three weeks have been HARD on the warriors, particularly those from Valdi. We couldn’t bury anybody in the hard soil, so instead we built a raft on which to put their bones on. The last thing we did before leaving was for Torden, the two warriors of Valdi, and I to drag the loaded raft out into the icy lake. Covering it with the boiled fish oil used for lamps in this time and place, they stepped back as I lit I up with prestidigitation. After we all said a silent prayer for the dead, although I doubt to the same gods, we walked back and began the return caravan.
Even so we have to still travel at walking speed, but more because of the sleds and the snow slowing down the horses, instead of the ten men walking behind us. I’m walking in the front of that column, just behind the last sled, so I can refill and pass down-or-up whatever snow pouches are handed to me. More down than up to be honest, since the men are sweating from the exertion of the walk, instead of just standing at the head of a sled pulling on a horse’s reins.
We blow past our igloo camp, and set up a “circled wagons”-style camp, fetched up against a small cliff in the eastern mountains at the edge of the tree-line. That night, with a snowstorm blowing in, it almost all came to an end but we managed to expand and harden our camp with a few hastily-cut trees and some branch weaving. Nowhere as good as the affectionately-dubbed MAGA-to, that they pronounce “MAH-go-toe,” but it blocks the wind enough that we are able to survive for the next two-and-a-half days.
Not wanting to waste more time, we are back on the trail that afternoon. So we hustle through the night and into the next day, until we stop at “Mahgoto” for a good night’s rest. This turns out to be a wise decision, because we get snowed in that night and can’t even dig our way OUT for over a week. During that time, using a mixture of magic and ashes from the previously-stockpiled wood, I sit down with Borden and Torden to draw out the “bright ideas” I have for our defense next winter. Torden ends up so bored that he passes out not half an hour into the discussion-cum-lecture, and not even repeated smacks to the back of the head from Borden could keep him awake for a full hour, so we let him drool where his head is on the top of “Mister Slammy”. With a sigh, the two of us settle down to get some REAL work done, judiciously ignoring Torden’s snuffling snores.
So it is that after the week-long war college is finished, we finally hear the storm stop, and manage to dig ourselves out over the next couple days. Now with Borden having MOSTLY recovered from his injury at the start of winter, he switches off with Torden, doing the most-strenuous spadework at the tip of the veritable spear. We are all in a hurry, since the storm was an indication that midwinter had come, and if we failed to get into town before the next storm hit then we would NEVER get back until the spring thaw!
Three days later we roll (ski?) into the tribal huts just south of the village wall, sending them running to both halves of the village to announce our return. A few voices rise up in cheers of joy, giving us a hero’s welcome…or a king’s.