Jump to content

Nozbat

Member
 View Profile  See their activity

  • Posts

    394

  • Joined

  • Last visited

  • Days Won

    1

 Content Type 

Blog Entries posted by Nozbat

  1. Nozbat

    In search of Wiglaf

    By Nozbat,


    An Anglo-Saxon Chronicle
    The Brothers made their way home from Portus Caester. They were both excited but yet despondent. They could not interpret their visions put persisted in trying to fit it into what little facts they knew. They were beginning to think treachery was involved, a fact reinforced by the discovery that both Beorthric and Wilfrith had left Caedering during the night.
     
    Osberht had no knowledge on the subject. Carls, in general, were free to stay or leave as they please but generally they would have stated their reasons for going. Caedering was awash with rumours. No-one other than Osberht was aware of the Brother's business, so the rumours tended to be wild and the Brothers discounted them focused as they were on treachery.
     
    They discussed their visit to Stithwulf with Osberht in private. l am glad I do not have to deal with the spirit world remarked Osberht, the world we can see is hard enough. He grumbled about increasing British raids and his annoyance that Ealdorman Coelfrith, who had again refused him any support. He was unsure now he could keep his people safe and the loss of two more Housecarls may be critical. He suggested that the Housecarls disappearance was maybe not as sinister as the Brothers thought, but was more about wanting silver with another, more warlike, Thane. However, he did admit the timing was suspicious but none other than him knew of the reason for the Brothers trip to Pontus Caester. The Brothers discounted Osberht's views as they were more than convinced the two Housecarls had been involved in their father’s death. Indeed, between themselves, they were now using the word murder, or possibly secret murder, a more heinous and unacceptable crime.
     
    Osberht asked the brothers what they thought they should do and how he could help. Wulfhere believed treachery was involved and that the Housecarls were either actively complicit, or passively involved, and thus guilty of some misdemeanour. Wulfhere wondered if the betrayal was to do with the message that Hrothgar had taken to Wiglaf and asked Osberht if he knew its contents. Osberht said that although he was considered wise amongst the Thanes, it was not the custom of Aelle, or his sons, to seek advice from him and he would therefore be unable to help them with this. However, he did know was that Aelle's son, Wlencig, was friendly with Wiglaf. Wiglaf is an Angle Ealdorman who is in Mierce. 
     
    Hrothgar had fought with Aelle's other son, Cissa, and had been prominent in the battle when Cissa took Cissa Caester from the British about five midsummers ago. Osberht was also aware that Hrothgar had wanted to take the message to Wiglaf saying he had wanted to see the wider world.
     
    Wulfhere proposed that the Brothers should travel to Aelle's Court and ask him for news and the content of the message. Osbert counselled against the idea. Aelle is a king he replied. He is not like a Thane where you can approach him in his Hall and it would be likely that the Brothers would be frustrated in this venture. Uthric thought it might be useful to talk to Wiglaf but wondered if he was not also part of the treachery because he was an Angle. Osbert was unsure. He felt that the answer lay in the North but could say nothing beyond that.
     
    The brothers agreed that they needed to travel north and discuss the situation more fully with Wiglaf however no-one knew how to get there. I have not travelled so far since I was a young boy said Osberht and even then, I did not travel to Mierce. I think there is an old people’s road that goes north from Cissa Caester. My advice therefore would be to travel to Cissa Caester and ask merchants how to travel to Lundenwic. At Lundenwic there are likely to be people who know Wiglaf, Ealdorman.
     
    Osbert was embarrassed by his poverty but he gave the Brothers all the advice he could and small gifts, new travelling cloaks, a spear each, an arm ring and some hack silver and finally some way bread and hard cheese. The brothers thanked him for his generosity and went to bid farewell to their mother. Dunstan thought it might be useful to ask Eadgyd about her views of the vision. Eadgyd was appalled by his words and offered two bits of advice. The brothers could take her sovereign remedy against nightmares and that they should leave spirits to laeces who were generally competent in these matters. She did not have a high impression of Stithwulf for exposing the Brothers to such danger. Dunstan found this advice both disappointing and unhelpful and told Eadgyd as much. The unintended consequence of Dunstan's talk with Eadgyd was that soon all of Caedering knew the Brothers were travelling north to seek their father. As a result, a large crowd had gathered to watch the Brothers leave. 
     
    As a final parting gift, Osberht gave Wulfhere his amulet of Thunor's hammer. He explained it had always brought him luck and kept him safe from harm. He had a feeling the Brothers might need luck on their travels north.

    The Brothers set off for Cissa Caester arriving safely before nightfall. The town was bigger than Portus Caester, having been built by the old people. Many of the old buildings were still being used. Others bore scars of the war and were patched by inferior work. Dunstan was able to negotiate a room in a Merchants way station for the night. Unfortunately, at least 20 other people and their animals also slept in the room. Wulfhere thought that they may have been over-charged for the room, being taken as simple peasants but he let it go and did not blame Dunstan for his lack of aptitude in bargaining.
     
    In the morning, they asked the merchants if they anyone knew Wiglaf, an Angle Ealdorman. No-one did. Some knew Wiglaf who was a ship’s captain and others said they knew a farmer called Wiglaf but none knew any Angles in the vicinity, this being south Saxon lands. The Brothers bought some more food for the journey being unsure how long they needed to travel. A merchant took pity on them and told them not to mind those others. The best thing they could do is to travel to Lundenwic and ask there for Wiglaf. It is likely if he was an Ealdorman, then his own people would know where to find him. The Brothers thought this was good advice. The best way to get to Lundenwic continued the Merchant was to follow Stanstret, a road built by the old people that goes all the way to Lundenwic. If they kept up a good pace every day there was somewhere they could sleep each night. The Brothers thanked him for his opinion and remarked that they had been lucky to meet such a wise and far travelled merchant. It was likely, they thought, that the luck was from Osberht’s gift.
     
    Before they left Cissa Caster, Wulfhere visited an armourer. He had been concerned for some time that they may face danger on their journey and thought they should at least have a helmet each. Dunstan tried to negotiate with one of the sellers but realised that it would use up most of the money they had, without much in return. Wulfhere spent the first five hours of the journey cursing armorers and how they preyed upon poor villagers with their city ways and high costs.

    That night they camped in one of the wayhouses the merchant had told them about. It was already occupied by another group of merchants who at first eyed them warily but eventually admitted them to their company, sharing the fire and some ale. The merchants told them the name of the place was Hardhama, but no-one now lived here. Dunstan explored the building and discovered two pools of water in the back rooms of building. He crawled along a small opening into another room that had a rusty iron barrel. He had an idea that the barrel heated water and wanted to try it out. Uthric and Wulfhere asked him not to light any fires and rest instead.
     
    After bidding goodbye to the Merchants, they continued along the road reaching a fortification in the evening that they were told was Alfodan. They got a meal and were allowed to sleep in the outhouses providing they chopped some wood, which they gladly did.

    The next day was again uneventful with few travellers on the road. The next wayhouse was abandoned and had only one serviceable room with a roof, but was damp and cold, despite the fire. Their meal of unleavened bread and cheese did little to cheer them. Unsure where they actually were, they set watches but no-one disturbed their sleep.
     
    The next day it rained and, in the evening, they came to another wrecked and burnt wayhouse. Uthric pointed out to Dunstan that this is what happened when someone tried to heat water in the Old people's houses. Fire is dangerous, Dunstan, said Uthric solemnly. Dunstan said nothing in reply. Such was the problem of being the youngest brother.
     
    In late afternoon of the next day they saw smoke rising on the horizon and thought perhaps there was a War Band abroad and travelled more warily. But soon they began to meet other travellers with packs of goods on their backs, or pushing handcarts or even with carts pulled by oxen. Asking for information, they were told that this was almost Lundenwic, a fact confirmed when they could smell the cooking fires and stink of a large place where a great many people lived together.
     
    Soon they could see the large river and a massive bridge that allowed people to cross. There did not seem to be a ford and they stood in a queue while armed warriors checked what people had in their packs. This was the first time the Brothers had met Angles. They spoke the same language but both their dialect and accent were strange and they had to concentrate to understand what was being said. The Angles also wore their hair braided to one side, a fact the Brothers found hilarious but tried not to smirk in case a warrior should take offence. Wulfhere was unsure if they would come off best in such a quarrel. 
     
    The Warriors were charging a toll to cross the bridge in the name of king Guercha, the Angle king, who obviously ruled in these parts now. However, when the guards found they had no goods they were allowed to cross unhindered. Dunstan only smirked once.

    Crossing the bridge they could see that the old city of Lundenwic had been sacked and partially burnt in the recent past. The walls still stood but there were no gates in the openings that they could see. Some of the buildings were still smoking but some seemed to be undamaged. The docks area appeared to be still in use and there was a crowd of ships, coming and going, loading and unloading goods. The main dwelling place was a collection of familiarly built houses to the right of the new city. Most of the inhabitants appeared to be warriors and there were few women or children.
     
    Crossing the river bought the Brothers into Mierce and it really looked like a foreign and alien country. Dunstan again negotiated a common room to sleep and some food for travelling. The others asked if anyone knew Ealdorman Wiglaf and where he could be found. Eventually, one of the merchants told them Wiglaf had a burgh at Grim's Dyke only one day’s travel north west and showed them how to get to the stone road that led there.
     
    They passed an uneasy night in Lundenwic. No-one seemed to sleep and they could hear the sounds of drinking and gambling. They arose early in the morning and checked again with local merchants about helmets only to find they cost more hack silver than they had left. Dispirited they set out. Dunstan cut off some cheese and a bit of hack silver to give to a beggar by the gate. The beggar, delighted by his new riches, confirmed that the road was indeed the one that went to Grim’s Dyke.

    After several hours travel, Wulfhere noted a silhouette of a man on a hill watching them. When the others turned to look, the man threw himself flat and they were unable to see where he went. Warily, they increased their pace to avoid any trouble. After another few hours they noticed two men travelling parallel to their course and a short time later the two became five. The five increased their pace and looked like they wanted to meet the Brothers. None of them looked like they wanted to pass the time of day and share some news. Mierce was still a disputed territory despite the Angle Burghs along the road, so the Brothers began to run, particularly when they noted the five had oblong shields. A footrace developed. Uthric and Wulfhere easily outpaced the pursuit, but Dunstan lagged behind having hurt his knee. Dunstan's inability to run any faster forced the other two to slow down and allow him to catch up. He was after all their baby brother and they knew Hildegard would be annoyed if he had been killed in a fight. To slow the enemy down, Uthric who could speak some British shouted at the pursuing men that he only wanted to marry their sister. The five were somewhat confused by his argument and dropped off the pace allowing the Brothers to reach the safety of a fortified settlement.
     
    They enquired if they had reached Grim’s Dyke but the man said no.
  2. Nozbat

    Spirit Tent

    By Nozbat,


    An Anglo-Saxon Chronicle
    In the third year of King Aelle's reign, on the first day of Solmonath, three brothers woke early to help their mother prepare the cakes that marked the end of winter. The three brothers known as Hrothgarsons and were well liked and thought of in the village of Caedering. Their mother Hildegard had told often them that they were descended from Thunor but Uthric, the middle brother, scoffed at this idea. How can I be descended from Thunor? I don't have red hair or carry a hammer. I don't like goats except for the excellent goat stew you make and I certainly would not hitch them to a cart. They all laughed but Dunstan, the younger brother, thought it might be unlucky to make fun of the gods.
     They were good natured, likeable boys and the neighbours said they would make fine young men like their father. Their father, Hrothgar, had led a force north to deliver a message to Ealdorman Wiglaf of Mierce but never returned. Only two housecarls came back, Beorthric and Wilfrith. They had said that Hrothgar had stayed behind to fight a pursing enemy to allow the others to escape.
    Caedering was an inconspicuous settlement on the borders of Aelle's land and ruled over by a Thane, Osberht. Osberht was mostly unremarkable and had no outstanding talents, but was good at most things. He brought peace and prosperity to the people who owed him allegiance. He was not too proud to help with the harvest or go looking for the farmer’s lost cow. His Carls grumbled about a lack of glory but the women were glad that they could bring up their children in peace. 
    And so, this was how matters stood.

    The brothers made their living by hunting, bartering what they did not need for goods their mother needed. It was on one such trip that the younger brother Dunstan asked his brothers if they thought their mother was ill. We have not noticed said the others, but now you have mentioned it we will pay greater attention. Returning home after the days hunting they asked their mother if she was ill but she denied it and ruffled their hair and told them it was a pity their father could not see them now. 
    And so, the days passed and Hildegard seem to grow older and more tired before their eyes. Wulfhere, the eldest, again confronted Hildegard asking what was wrong. With a great sigh she told them that after Yule she had been having dreams of their father. He comes to me at night, He has wounds in his head and on his body and a large death wound in his chest. He speaks but l cannot hear. The brothers were perturbed but tried to console their mother. Uthric brewed a sleep potion by boiling herbs that he gathered. When that didn’t work they tried to keep guard on her at night but the dream always came. Why is it our father has not gone to Neorxanwang, the Fields of Contentment, they asked each other.
    Eventually they agreed they would seek guidance from Osberht. The Thane was dismayed at their news and asked for Beorthric and Wilfrith to recount what they knew of Hrothgar's death. It was the first time the brothers had heard from the Carls and what they heard perturbed them. They had a sense of unease about the story and felt that both men might be holding back information. Wulfhere challenged the men but they added little to the story of Hrothgar's death or their part in it. Osberht took them aside afterwards and offered to pay the price of the fee for a laece to enquire of the spirits what the truth of the matter was.

    My advice said 0sbehrt is to ask Aelfwith with when he comes to the Eostre festival. The brothers were content with Osberht's words and counsel but were concerned at their mother’s plight. Uthric bartered a wild pig head for a potion of Nightshade from Eadgyd who was expert in making potions. The potion brought relief to Hildegard but it turned her nails black. She thought it was a small price to pay.
    At dusk before the Full moon, the village lit bonfires to celebrate the goddess’ return and in the morning Aelfwith came. There were lots of travelling merchants and peddlers who brought news from the South or further away in the East. Chief among the news was that Cerdic, Ealdorman was gathering an army to attack the British. Eadgyd told everyone she was disgusted by kings and nobles. They were forever declaring wars and disturbing the peace. However no-one paid attention to Eadgyd unless they needed a potion for toothache or help with the berthing of babies.
    The brothers approach Aelfwith with their bargain. I see no benefit in this for you replied Aelfwith. The risk for you is that the spirits might keep your souls and your body would be vacant until it withered. But for me the risk is greater and I fear that not only would my soul remain sundered from my body but it would be tortured by the unfriendly spirits Aelfwith would not be convinced by the brothers speeches, not even when they offered him the silver arm ring. Osberht’s arm ring is poor recompense if I cannot spend it. The brothers were discouraged by Aelfwith’s words but he told them of another laece, Stithwulf who was presently in Portus Caester. The brothers resolved to ask Osberht for leave to travel and seek out Stithwulf. He gave them a second silver arm ring as he thought they might require extra money.

    The journey to Portus Caester was uneventful and they followed the level road made by people long ago. They found Portus Caester a marvellous place seeing for the first-time houses that had upper floors and steps that went upwards without the need for ladders. Most exciting of all was the harbour with boats which came from faraway places.
    They found Stithwulf in a tavern drinking ale and told him of the bargain they wanted to make. Stithwulf made the brothers nervous. He had a habit of not replying directly to questions but often waited. He eventually agreed that he would take the brothers hunting tonight and they would see what became of it. Confident that if this was a trial, they could easily pass it, being accomplished hunters. When Stithwulf told them they would be hunting dangerous plants at midnight, they were perplexed but did not question what they were asked to do.
    Hunting plants is dangerous said Stith wolf and you must sneak up on the plant, overcome its willpower and then gently remove it from the ground, taking care not to damage the root. The brothers did find that hunting plants is much more dangerous than wild boars and Wulfhere suffered greatly before he had got the required Monkshood and Wormwood. 
    They were tired following the hunt but got no rest as Stithwulf needed their help to build a spirit tent.
    Dunstan was most helpful as he had been formerly an advisor to Osberht in building withies to keep the sheep paddocked for sheering, Uthric gave up as no matter what he built fell down. Stithwulf at Uthric to build a fire pit instead. A task he accomplished with some style.
    The brothers were then set tasks to prepare their plants for the coming travel to the land of spirits.

    The spirit tent was hot and stuffy and they found breathing difficult. Stithwulf gave them each a horn of drink made from the harvested plants. To their horror they began to see spirits gather in the corners of the tent. Spider spirits came first, then bird spirits and finally larger animals. Stithwulf warned them not to move and to not pay attention to the spirits who would not harm them if they were ignored. The spirits had come to watch the laece.
    Then the visions started ..

    You are standing in a forest at night. The wind rises suddenly and in a short time it roars through the trees tearing off leaves and branches. You hear howls of dogs or wolves getting closer. The sound of horse’s hooves beat the ground. Horsemen and hounds sweep past you and you are dragged after them in their wake.

    You travel fast over hills and down into valleys, through forests in what you think is a northerly direction and slowly you are left behind as the riders increase their speed and disappear...

    In a valley there are two armies fighting. The Shield Walls clash, men shout, heave and die, screaming and shouting. You see the ghosts of the dead looking bemused and you are carried through the air by a violent storm. Thunder crashes close, deafening you and lightning blinds your eyes with its brilliance…

    ..to be set down in a dark forest. A huge wolf with red eyes comes into the glade where you stand and asks you what you want. Before you can answer you are flying through the air again..

    You look down at your arms and they have turned into wings. When you look around you are in the middle of a flock of geese. Suddenly an arrow hits your chest and you fall, tumbling over and over, hitting the ground with a loud sickening smack..

    You land by a forest pool and a woman asks you if she can take the arrow from your chest. Before you can answer she pulls the shaft and you feel a searing pain. From the wound maggots and insects flow out and start eating your legs and arms reducing them to bones You collapse and sink into the earth, falling and tumbling a great distance that seems like hours..

    ..landing on a shore covered in bones. It is dark and the waves crash onto the shore of bones. In the distance you hear a noise as if something monstrous is moving. it seems to be getting closer and the sound of screaming gets louder. A vast shape moves towards you with gleaming eyes and sharp long teeth. Unable to move as the creature lunges at you, swallowing you. It is dark and the stench is unbearable.. it is death…

    and you move forward, feeling a rocky ground. Water trickles from somewhere and there is a faint light ahead. Slowly you make your way in the darkness towards the light. As you turn a bend the light floods in blinding you momentarily…

    ..focus returns and you see a red hat in front of you. You put it on and feel that it is wet. When you look at your hands they run red with blood.

    Two men walk towards you and laugh. They seem familiar but you cannot recall their names or focus on their faces when you try. They seem to be telling you something but you don't hear words. They spit at you and make a sign against evil.

    You pick up a piece of wood and there are runes carved on it. You look at the runes and as you stare the runes enlarge and glow. You can only see the runes and you fall or are absorbed by them.

    You awake in a forest, there is a pool. A woman looks at you and you feel movement. A snake comes out of your mouth and talks to the woman. She nods and gives the snake some bread dipped in honey. The snake crawls back into your mouth and you feel it move against your skull…

    You are moving again, flying through the air. flying south past forests and a settlement on a hill, past a forest, past your village and into your hut…

    You open your eyes. Your body is weak and sore. It’s difficult to move.
     You have bruises and cuts over your body.. a healed arrow wound in your chest
     
    Panting and exhausted they looked to Stithwulf to understand what they had seen but he just shook his head and said he had no power to interpret what had happened. What you have seen may be from the past, the present or the future. If it is the future you will know what it means when it happens.

    He took the largest of Osberht's silver arm rings as payment.
  3. Nozbat

    A Strange Conversation

    By Nozbat,


    Þáttr
    The huge raven alighted on the branch that buckled under her weight. The object of her attention was a man leading a horse through the forest at the edge of the lake. The raven was ravenously hungry, anticipating a feast of eyes, tongue and liver when the Rusalka was finished with him. The thought of the Rusalka made the raven nervous. She shifted on the branch making the man with the horse look up suddenly.
    "Stop following me, bird," shouted the man, breaking the silence. He looked around for something convenient to throw at the raven but unable to find anything but contented himself with muttering some curses. "The gods have forsaken this land. There are no animals or people anywhere.," he mumbled, “except for that demon pretending to be a raven.”
    The raven looked at him curiously, paying a bit more attention to her prospective meal. She could hear other being’s thoughts if she concentrated although she seldom did so much these days. Sometimes in the past she had been more curious about people. She often had flashes of a different life but when it happened it made her uneasy. The best way to get rid of those intrusions was by hunting and eating. The past was the past. The present was what mattered.
     
    The raven focused her attention on where she thought the Rusalka would be. When it started singing she had better get out of hearing. She would come back for the meal when the Rusalka had finished with whatever it wanted with the man. The two predators had worked together from last Spring and the raven saw no benefit in becoming one of the Rusalka's victims. The unlikely partnership was what had allowed the raven to stop the endless searching. She had forgotten what she was searching for which made it hard to find whatever it was. The raven croaked in what might have been a laugh if her vocal chords could have made the sound. Maybe partnership was the wrong concept, the Rusalka was unlikely to enter any sort of partnership, she was the most powerful predator in this region.  But Autumn was here and with food becoming scarce she might have to resume her endless flight. The Rusalka seemed to be getting sleepier as the colder days arrived and was less active. That meant less food and more active hunting for her.

    The raven turned her attention back to the man. The horse he led was lame and both seemed wet, hungry and exhausted from the recent incessant rains. It was unusual to see people travel in late Autumn. The man must have a pressing need.

    The raven listened to the man. Perhaps with her acute hearing she could hear sub-vocalisations or perhaps she could hear his thoughts. She never really was interested to find out which. The man was thinking of his wife and three daughters. He was calling them over as he pictured himself sitting in a comfortable seat beside a fire. He was explaining to them that the Boyar had asked him to take a message to the Prince of Kiev and that it could not wait for Spring. His words or thoughts changed and seemed to move to the present. He was telling his wife that he missed her and feared he would not return. She needed to look after the girls and make sure that Boyar Yaromir found them good husbands. He cursed Yaromir and wished him all manner of unpleasantries. In the middle of his monologue he slipped and fell, twisting his ankle on an exposed tree root. He cursed the gods, cursed the marshes, cursed the lakes and in particular, cursed tree roots. What I need he said out loud is Baba Yaga's hut. His thoughts and words were interrupted by singing.
    The raven started, stretched her wings and flew off. She did not want to be caught by that beautiful, unearthly song. Her brain was fogged by images of wellness and desire. She had only to find the source of the song and she would have anything she desired. But the Rusalka lied. She always lied. The only reward for anyone who believed the song was a watery death. From a safe distance she watched the man drop the horse’s reins and swollen ankle forgotten, move at almost a run towards the source of the sounds.
     
    A short time later the music stopped and then an ethereal shout of ‘Elena’ echoed through the empty woods rising to a crescendo and then fading like the wind in the empty night. The raven knew it was time to eat. She soared over the cold, deep lake, quickly spotting the body. Landing beside it, she chased off several other scavengers who wanted the fresh meat. They all gave way to the outsized Raven. She started with the eyes, the juiciest parts and would finish with the liver. She was interrupted by a bear but it backed off. The raven ruffled her feathers, proud that she was powerful enough to scare a bear only to be quickly corrected in her assumption.
    "I am curious," said the voice behind her. The raven shifted position to look at the Rusalka sitting on a rock observing her. “I am curious about a raven that is not a raven," said the Rusalka. 
    "So am l," said the Raven." but I can't help you with the answer." 
    "Do you get sleepy too in the winter? I find I grow very sleepy in winter and my memories fade. In Spring I awaken refreshed and remember who I am, who I was"
    "Not at all, this is not similar for me” answered the raven, "and l have always been a raven.” 
    "But that is not what I see," said the Rusalka smiling," I think l was once a woman, who was warm and loved. Maybe I loved too much. But the memories are dim. I think you also were a woman, but did not love like I did." 
    The Raven looked anxiously around, judging if she could escape the Rusalka. "Fear not!' said the grinning Rusalka, "I am sated and warm after I fed on your meat’s soul, I will not harm you. I can see you were once something else. Have you been ensorcelled?"
    "I have always been a Raven. I do not recall any other existence but there are sometimes dreams." 
    The Rusalka seemed to lose interest in the conversation. She began to look around. The raven became wary.
    "Maybe you would like me to sing for you," said the Rusalka. The Raven did not wait to reply. She stretched her wings and flew. Her flight was followed by the sound of soft laughter.
  4. Nozbat

    The End

    By Nozbat,

    Egil really had no memory of events since they had left The Green Man Gorge. He did, however, have lots of memories of the dreams he had been having and was able to recount all the dead family and friends who he had met while unconscious. He insisted on telling of his travels in a land of apples. Both Graphen and Darkon sat bleary eyed and exhausted. The events of the last week had removed all sparkle of life from both and they hadn’t had the benefit of some Goddess inspired healing. Darkon, in particular, was feeling very sorry for himself. His left eye socket still hurt and periodically it would start bleeding again. The Goddess could have done something to help me he thought sourly. Stove, by comparison, had weathered events relatively calmly. He recognised that being a donkey was an advantage in situations like this. 
    Darkon tried to reconcile what had happened but it was too far outside his experience and knowledge to fully comprehend. What was important now was to push on, get back to Santos, get paid and then rest for a while. He would need to make a decision soon if this was the kind of life he wanted. Graphen was ruminating on their meeting with the Mother. He knew there must be some connection between their actions of releasing the Red Horsemen, the increase of Moon Magic and the appearance of the Triple-faced One. He needed to get to a library and question some scholars to work out what it all meant.
    Both Graphen and Darkon looked at Egil across the firelight. Only yesterday, he was dying a slow, painful death and now was waxing lyrical about the wood nymphs he had met in his dreams. If he hadn't been such a good friend they would probably have stuck a knife in his liver or cut out his tongue in some sort of ironic revenge. Or perhaps they could do both.
    "We should make it to Santos tomorrow," said Darkon trying to change the subject, "the plan is to release our prisoner and let him go on to Santos ahead of us, we need to wait an hour before going on ourselves. We have to disavow all knowledge of him".
    They all looked at the prisoner. He was curled in a foetal position. None of them had heard him speak any sensible words apart from crying for his mother and a brief reference to his father, who would probably be displeased.
    "His mind is broken,” said Graphen, "and its flown far away. Why do you think he is so important, Darkon? The whole set up stinks a bit. Didn't you ask the Fatman for some more details?"
    "I did," replied Darken, "but he wouldn't say. You’re right it stinks, and I fear there is something about this, some vital information, that we don't know and will be critical to our well-being.”
    Egil went over to the broken, naked man, “Oii, you," he shouted in the man's face, "Who are you? What’s your name?" The naked man didn't reply. He now only communicated in whimpers. Egil poked him with the point of his spear to make sure the man was aware that Egil was addressing him.
    "Leave him," said Darkon, "I'm uneasy about this. However, we've gone along with the plan this far. Do we have any options apart from finishing?"
    The discussion had dampened the mood and they all stared moodily into the dying fire. They set watches and retired for the night resolving to get up early to make the final push on to Santos. Darkon had reckoned another 3 hours travel. They could have made it that night but would have arrived after dark which would have been to late to release their prisoner as the gates of Santos were always closed at sunset by orders of the Patrician.
    The night passed quietly and they got up well before sunrise. They stopped, as far as they could ascertain, about an hour before Santos. They released their prisoner but he didn't show much intention of moving, lying on the ground and whimpering quietly. It took Egil to prod him with a spear to get him moving in the right direction.
    "Better give him two hours," said Graphen," someone should find him on the road and bring him in to the city."
    "Or kill him. Or enslave him," said Egil," Mind you making a slave of him is probably useless, so killing is more likely."
    None of the three felt any compassion for the man. He was after all a smuggler and outside the law. They were actually doing a service for the Patrician really.
    "Why did we let him go?" asked Egil," we might have made more money as a reward from the Justice than the 150 silver pieces from the Fatman.”
    "Not likely," said Graphen, “he's probably just some minor cog in the smuggling wheel. But l would like to know what was in the small barrel that caused the firestorm."
    "I think that might be part of the Fatman's plan,” said Darkon, "something going on here that we don't know."
    "A lot of things are going on here we don't know," said Graphen, "where would you like me to start?”
    "Let's forget it," said Egil, not one for over analysing any situation , " It is what it is. No use crying over spilt milk as my Mammy used to say. We get the money, we get drunk, but not on milk.”
    They began to pack up, when Egil, sounding confused shouted, "Where is Stove?” He had tied him to the tree root with the other three horses and he wasn't there anymore. His bridle and the bit of rope were still there and still attached to the root but there was not any sign of the donkey.
    "No donkey tracks leading away either," said Graphen after searching the ground. "Someone’s been here though. See the tracks there, someone who was barefoot?"
    The others searched the surrounding scrub but couldn’t find any trace of the donkey. They eventually had to give up due to lack of time and decided that they had lost the donkey.
    "Pity""' said Egil," I rather liked Stove. Maybe I should have let the caravan driver geld him and he might not have run off."
    From the scrub, a young dark-haired man watched as they mounted their horses and rode off. "That's a year and a day since I was transformed, the spell has finally worn off" he said to no-one in particular. He stretched and moved around, thankful to be able to do the things a human could do. 
    When they arrived at the Fishgate of Santos, they found it in uproar. There was a massive queue of various traders who had arrived to sell their wares and were angrily complaining to anyone who would listen. 
    “What’s going on?” asked Darkon of one of the traders. 
    “Gates have been closed on orders of the Patrician. Someone had robbed his youngest son, stripped him naked, shaved his beard and set him loose to go back to his father.”
    “Someone with a death wish,” said another trader.
    “Patrician has sworn that the culprits will have a slow lingering death,” said another.
    “I’d buy him a drink,” laughed a fourth, “Before they get horribly tortured.”
    Darkon went a whiter shade of pale and hurried to the other two. 
    “Pack up,” he whispered, “Get the horses. Leave the wagon. We need to go. Fast.”
    The End. For Now.
  5. Nozbat

    The Stone of Malloch

    By Nozbat,

    “Did you know berserkers’ strength and fighting ability can double or even treble but their cognitive abilities are equally reduced? The reason that not a lot of people know berserkers are as dangerous to their friends as to their enemies  is possibly because not many friends survive the experience and thus the information is not as widely disseminated as it should be,” said Graphen, “ have you ever heard of Aestoron of Eartfold? He had presented a paper expounding the Friend's theory to the 7th Prestidigitators Symposium, but sadly the field trials to prove the theory had to be abandoned after Aestoron's untimely death. In the mind of many of his colleagues this actually proved Aestoron's theorem however as he could not present his findings at the 8th Symposium it was dropped from the Register of Research. A great pity if you ask me.” 
    No-one was in fact asking Graphen. Darkon was more worried by the pain his empty left eye socket was giving. This was only his second job as a freelance Sword-for-hire. On the first he had lost his nose. This time it was an eye. What would it be next time? How many bits of him would he lose if he continued with this job? And how many of his senses would be reduced and to what degree? He shuddered.
    Graphen had paused for a while to survey the road ahead. It appeared empty but he was beginning to be aware that appearances could deceptive. “An interesting corollary,” he continued, “is that the Theorem was debated by the 21st Plenary session of the Smoking Philosophers of Karn-ton and he came widely known as the Berserker Paradox.”
     Darkon lost it at this point, “Shut up and do something useful instead of spouting nonsense.”
    He looked round at Egil who was lying in the back of one of the least damaged wagons. Darkon watched bubbles of foamy blood appear between Egil’s lips as he breathed. He knew his friend was dying, his lungs were filling with blood. He needed help quickly and he reckoned they were two days from Santos, possibly more if they kept the current pace so as not to cause Egil too much discomfort.
    The aftermath of the fight had been horrific. Whatever had been in the small barrel had exploded killing nearly everyone in its vicinity. Graphen, miraculously, had not even been scratched, bar a burn mark on his tunic. Darkon had lost an eye and the ringing in his ears had only begun to subside. Egil had not been hurt in the blast as far as they could tell but had been thrown backwards in the collision with the charging berserker. There seemed to be a lot of internal injuries but they were not sure as Egil had been unconscious for most of the time. Any periods, when his eyes were open, they could not make sense of his ramblings. Darkon had made him as comfortable as they could and put him on blankets in the back of the wagon.  
    Graphen had found the Boss hiding in a ditch. He wasn’t saying much either. Graphen had tied him up and stuffed bits of cloak into his mouth. He had cut his beard and made a slave leash of it, with which he dragged the naked man by the neck behind his horse. They had found Stove tied in the coral with three remaining horses. Two of the horses were hitched to the wagon that Darkon drove. Graphen rode the third bareback except for a blanket thrown over the horses back. 
    Darkon had briefly wondered about the Boss. For a major Crime-lord, he wasn’t very charismatic, did not appear to be commanding and had stayed out of the way during their travels. Scarface had been the one who had organised the caravan and men. ‘Still,’ thought Darkon, "We’re being paid to bring him back so it doesn’t matter what I think.’
    They had only managed to salvage one barrel of Brandy that had not been burned or punctured and two bales of cloth. They might make some profit on the cloth but they had been drinking heavily of the barrel of brandy to numb the horror of the night events and profits were reducing by the hour.
    Toward evening they began to look for a defensible campsite. Graphen found a grassy knoll that was surrounded by a copse of Ash trees just off the road. It had a standing stone with no markings on it in the middle of the knoll. Darkon squinted at it with his one good eye. It didn’t feel magic and the only sound were insects going between the flowering plants. It looked peaceful and if Egil was going to die soon, this would be a good place to bury him. He could journey to his otherworld by starting out on the road. It kind of felt symbolic.
    Darkon set Egil with his back to the stone so he could watch his friends prepare the camp. He seemed alert but didn’t say anything, his eyes followed movement. Darkon caught him smiling at something unseen and he thought perhaps Egil was thinking of past memories. This was a sure sign he was going to die soon.
    Graphen relieved Darkon just after midnight and took his turn at sentry. He awoke Darkon several hours later by gently shaking him.
    “Somethings happening and I’m scared,” said Graphen.  
    Darkon watched as ghostly figures executed a complicated dance around the base of the knoll, weaving in and out of the treeline and with each other. “I think they are doing the Crane Dance,” whispered Darkon almost mesmerised by the intricate patterns made by the dancers, “Close your eyes Graphen, I think this is part of the Mysteries of the Mother that no man should see on pain of death.”
    Both sat with their eyes closed for what seemed like hours. They expected death. They knew a Sacred ritual was being enacted and could not shake the feeling there would be a sacrifice at the end of it and the sacrifice would be them.
    ‘You can open your eyes now,” said a melodic voice.
    They both opened their eyes to see a tall woman sitting on the ground watching them with some amusement.
    “Thank you, Lady,” said Darkon, inclining his head as a bow.
    It might have been a trick of the shadows but the woman’s features seemed to change as she regarded them, oscillating between a middle-aged woman, a young woman and an older one. They chose to say nothing.
    “You have sacrificed blood on the Stone of Malloch. What gift do you desire?’” said the three faced woman.
     Both were surprised but Darkon recovered quickly. Truth was that he feared that Graphen might ask for something stupid.
     “Our friend is gravely ill, Lady. We would desire his health restored, if that is within your gift,” said Darkon adding the ancient formula of the Mother, “It is not my will, but thine we serve.”
    The woman smiled, “Your friend is hanging to life by a mere thread that will be shorn shortly. Is this both your desires?” 
    “Yes, Lady,” they both said in unison. 
    When they awoke they could hear someone singing
    “At last,” said Egil, “I have had breakfast ready for hours and you two are sleeping the sleep of the dead.”
  6. Nozbat
    The answer came fast. A cry of anger. A crunching and rending sound. And a noise of something heavy and large running through the undergrowth without much consideration for the shrubbery. The three men steadied themselves and set their weapons for the upcoming fight. The sweat on their faces gleamed in the watchfires light. Three against Jace were still uneven odds in Jace's favour. Any betting person would have not accepted odds in their favour. 
     
    Jace came into the camp firelight swinging a 3m tree he had uprooted judging by the earth still falling from its roots. It seemed to Egil that Jace had just materialised out of the darkness and he shuddered thinking this was his death day. Egil spat to his left to avert ill-luck. Death traditionally carried a scythe, not a 3m tree, so he smiled grimly and stepped forward a pace. Best to meet an enemy on the front foot.
     
    Jace paused momentarily, almost for dramatic effect, but actually to orient himself and attempt to overcome the momentary dazzle of sudden light after darkness. Egil was the first to meet the charging Giant. Jace had tucked the tree under his arm and used it like a lance. There was a tremendous bang as the tree-lance hit the boss of Egil’s shield. To his great surprise, Egil stopped moving forward and was lifted off his feet and propelled backwards faster than he had ever moved in his life. To his two startled companions, Egil appeared to take off, fly backwards through the air and was only stopped by one of the wagons that had been set up to form a defensive circle around the camp. It was impossible for them to see if Egil was still alive and most likely every bone in his body had been broken in the flight-ending collision with the wagon. 
     
    Graphen was next in line, Darkon having moved slightly back and to the left to tighten his helmet strap that had chosen to become loose at a very inopportune moment. Jace was now using the tree like a great sword, advancing on Graphen swinging it in the classical offensive stance of a figure of eight. Graphen was looking for an opening to try and get his spear into something vital that would incapacitate the giant man. Sweat was streaming down his face and into his eyes making the lights of the watchfires sparkle and dance. As he stepped forward he tripped over a tree root and sprawled face first on the ground. The trip probably saved his life. At least for now. The tree trunk would likely have hit him full on the body if he had not fallen and it only grazed the side of his head. Still it split open his hard leather helmet but the damage was mostly absorbed by the padding underneath. It did however impact hard enough to render him unconscious. If Graphen had taken the full force of the hit it is likely that his head would have been to a squishy pulpy mess. Graphen was fortunately unconscious and couldn’t have this thought which would have caused him some level of distress, being rather proud of his dashing good looks. 
     
    Jace lifted his face to the moon and howled. Even in the subdued firelight Dark on could see flecks of spittle and blood fly out of his mouth.
     
    "Shit" Ranken said to no-one in particular ,"he's a berserker."
     
    Darkon rolled to one side as the tree propelled by almost superhuman force hit the ground where he had been standing moments before. He continued rolling until he was under one of the wagons. He lay still and waited. There was a grunt, a wild shout of joy and the wagon under which he'd hidden was plucked into the air and tossed aside. Darkon scrambled up and backwards before Jace could recover his balance and steady himself after lifting and throwing aside the wagon. Darkon spun aside again and hid behind three barrels expecting at any moment to be pulverised by the large tree wielded by the berserk. He closed his eyes so he wouldn't see the blow falling and wondered if dying this way would be painful. There was a squishing sound and Darkon thought he might be hearing the sound his body made as it was pulverised by a tree but thankfully he seemed completely detached from any physical pain. 
     
    Darkon decided he was still alive. He was sure that there would be some discomfort crossing the threshold to the Place of the Dead and he had felt no pain so he managed to force his eyes open. Immediately, his attention was drawn to a body cartwheeling through the air. He thought he recognised Xanc, one of the drivers, except he was sure that Xanc’s spine didn’t have that crazy bend in it last time he had seen him. There were more shouts, both of fear and anger. Peeping around the barrel, he could see the guards and two remaining drivers trying to subdue Jace.
     
    Darkon reckoned that the men had managed to free themselves at the wrong moment only to encounter Jace while berserk. As everyone knows Berserkers make formidable foes and they fight on despite suffering horrible wounds. However, what a lot of people have never learned is that Berserkers are quite as dangerous to their friends as to their foes. 
     
    Darkon peered round the barrels again and watched horrified. One of the guards was holding Jace round the thigh but it was impossible to tell if he was trying to restrain him or just holding on for dear life. Scarface and Skelton were grappling with Jace over the tree trunk, and both were struggling to contain his strength. Another guard was lying in a pool of blood and the remaining guard was battering Jace's head with the butt end of a spear to little effect. There was no sign of two of the drivers and the Boss.
     
    Darkon couldn't see either Graphen or Egil and shifted his position to get a better vantage point. One of the wagons had caught fire and was blazing fiercely fed by its cargo of barrels of bandy, so the area was pretty well illuminated. In shifting position, Darkon knocked over a small barrel which rolled down the gentle slope and came to rest against the burning wagon. He continued carefully moving to his left towards the last position where Egil had been, trying to keep some objects between himself and the combatants. He definitely did not want to catch the attention of any of his erstwhile comrades or at least not until this fight was resolved to his advantage. He ducked behind one of the standing wagons and that probably saved his life but not his left eye. A huge explosion rocked the camp sending debris and objects somersaulting over a wide area. A jagged bit of metal caught Darkon in the face and there was a searing pain in his left eye.
     
    It was the quiet that was most disturbing thought Graphen. Moments ago, there was shouting, screaming, sobbing, then an explosion that rained objects, body parts and clouds of dust. The air itself tasted of sulphur, steam and a hint of urine. And then there was silence. A sudden noise made him start and he realised it was the ringing in his ears. It was like someone just turned the volume up and all sound came flooding back. Graphen felt completely overwhelmed. What seemed like just moments ago, he had rolled behind one of the tents after he had tripped on a tree root. Now the whole world was changed. The tent had been shredded and little fires were burning in what was left of it. He got to his feet and went to look to see if anyone was still alive.
  7. Nozbat
    "Hey, that’s our donkey," shouted Egil at no-one in particular. The entire caravan seemed to crane their necks to watch the rapidly approaching donkey.
    "Impressive," said Xanc, one of the drivers," Never seen a donkey that knows where its masters are."
     
    Egil jumped down and secured Stove to the back of the wagon, kissing his ears and petting him.
     
    "I see you haven't gelded him," said Xanc," My old grandad always said donkeys were happier gelded. Think I have my gelding tools in my travelling bag if you want me to do it. It'll only cost a stoop of ale at the next watering hole."
     
    Egil declined Xanc’s offer.  It wasn’t from any sentimentality that he declined, it was more that he momentarily had a twitch in his own crown jewels and felt he couldn’t sanction that happening to anyone else, even a donkey. Stove, on the other hand, made up his mind immediately and resolved that he would take his chances with the Wolves at the first opportunity.  
     
    It was only later that night that Darkon, Graphen and Egil had a chance to talk privately. Could they have asked for anything better? Being appointed guards of the caravan they needed to rob seemed like a dream come true. The only issue was the other guards, particularly Scarface and two of the others; Jace and Skelton. Scarface was tough, mean and likely to kill all three of them in a fair fight. They had to make sure it wasn't fair. Jace was a monster and stood at almost 2m tall but unlike many big men, he moved with precision and poise. Skelton was a killer. At least that’s what Egil reckoned.
     
    "It’s his eyes," said Egil," Killer's eyes. Mark my words. Seen it too many times and I don't want those eyes to be the last thing I see before I go to the afterlife."
     
    They concluded they needed to use surprise and make sure none of the guards (a) had weapons (b) had a chance to attack them (c) could be safely neutralised without too much personal risk.
     
    "We have to do it at night," said Darkon, "when we are on guard. I'm not that keen to kill them while they sleep. That just wouldn't be fair. They've done nothing to us and in fact they have all been rather nice.”
    "So, what do we do with them, then?" asked Graphen, "If l was them and they were us, as soon as I was released, I'd come looking for the people that betrayed me. I think we have to kill them or else we'll be looking over our shoulders for the rest of our lives."
    "Can't we just join them and forget the Fatman?" asked Egil, " Being a smuggler seems quite a good job"
    “Absolutely not,” said Darkon, “We signed a contract, we’ve got to keep it.”
     
    Such are the moral implications and ethical dilemmas of adventurers. They all liked the idea of being ruthless desperados on the Road to Destruction but then still baulked at the actual thought of killing relatively innocent bystanders. Truth be told, all three probably still came home at a time agreed by their mummies, and not a minute later, and Egil still went to sleep with an old baby blanket if no-one was looking.
     
    It took several nights before they formulated a plan. It wasn't that they seldom had a chance to speak on their own but quite the opposite, they had much too much time to plan. They just couldn't agree on the way to do it. It is a well-researched fact that adventurer’s plans become increasingly and unnecessarily complex the more straightforward the action is.  Finally, having discarded various increasingly intricate ideas involving trip wires, mice gnawing through cheese impregnated string, fire arrows, exploding wagon axels, burning brandy barrel distractions, they agreed that a simple and direct plan was the best.
    Whoever was on guard duty would wake the other two. While the other guards slept they would take their weapons and then wake each person singly, tie them up and move on to the next one until all six guards and drivers had been dealt with. They would then take the Boss without much trouble.
     
    There was still differences of opinion what to do with the captives when they were subdued but they agreed that could wait until it was actually a problem. Egil still entertained thoughts on a mechanism for a slow release of the prisoners using pecking pigeons, counterweights and brandy impregnated raisons. He even went so far as to sketch out designs for a possible patent that he could submit to the Artificer’s Guild.
     
    It had to be tonight. Darkon reckoned they had two more nights before they got to Santos. He felt leaving it another night could risk failure. Graphen was the sneakiest of the trio and he was assigned to stealing the sleeping guards’ weapons. Darkon forced Egil to stand still as Graphen moved between the sleeping men and brought them back to a central point. This was no mean feat as the only time Egil didn’t move was that time when he had been knocked unconscious by Brast the Beast at the Spring Fair Bareknuckle and All-In Wrestling competition. 
     
    The next step was to wake each guard singly starting with the most dangerous. Egil held a knife to each of the startled men’s throats to coax them into compliance. By common consent they reckoned Egil looked the most vicious and it was hoped that their victims would believe he would slit their throats if there was any deviance from the whispered instructions.
     
    In this way, surprisingly, they were able to neutralise Scarface, Skelton and the other three guards. The Wagon drivers quickly followed and were gagged and trussed. Scarface, as was to be expected by an experienced campaigner once he had assessed the situation as hopeless, was compliant with the instructions. Only his eyes would have betrayed the thoughts in his head looking for the least opening to turn the tables. Skelton was less content, he hissed revenge and threats until silenced by strips torn from his cloak. 
     
    The big question was where was Jace? How could a 2m man disappear?
  8. Nozbat
    The weather turned rainy again with the odd thunderstorm that forced the trio to seek shelter from the forked lightening. The stream they walked beside became a torrent and they had to move away from the path they followed in case they were swept away by a sudden flood. This made the going slower as they had to pick their way through low scrub and bushes. 
     
    They were all becoming a little paranoid about encountered creatures or buildings now. Perhaps they were learning from experience to question who or what they met, but Stove doubted that. He believed it might be more accurately the negative reinforcement of being nearly killed a number of times on the journey.
     
    On the second day the land began to rise and they could see a vast forest ahead of them that they thought was their goal. Somewhere in the eaves of the forest was a cabin that was the staging post of the main smuggling route of brandy and ethanol. Ethanol is a popular volatile liquid with the residents of Cheapside and the Wharf in Santos. Ethanol gave an instant and short-lived intoxication and was taken by pouring on a spoon and using the heat of the mouth to cause evaporation. A major advantage was that a second intoxication could be achieved by taking some water immediately after. Smuggling brandy without paying tariffs to the Patrician's tax collectors was of course illegal. The use of ethanol as a drug was also illegal but not necessarily discouraged by authorities, if it kept the poor happy and intoxicated. Ethanol was cheap, readily available from portable vendors and was probably only illegal as the Patrician hadn’t worked out how to efficiently tax it. It also had the tendency to make one blind if taken in large quantities.
     
    Neither Darkon, Graphen nor Egil were particularly concerned about the Patrician's taxes which they frequently also 'forgot' to pay too. They had taken the Fatman's Silver to bring the bandit leader back to Santos. All other acquired goods Could be disposed of as they saw fit. The Fatman was not interested in the goods but for some reason was fixated on the leader of the bandits being returned to Santos unharmed. This made the enterprise likely to be extremely profitable if they could avoid being killed or badly injured. Darkon reckoned the smugglers were likely to be reasonably well armed but the trio had the element of surprise. 
     
    The third day took them to the edge of the forest and the odd shaped stone that marked the start of the path through the forest. This was the sharp end of their adventure and likely to be the most dangerous. They discussed how to approach the cabin, making plans which they then discarded when one of them discovered a flaw. After several hours of fruitless discussion, they thought it might actually be useful to see the cabin and try to guess the strength of the opposition. Only then they decided could they make some farm plan. This would do as the plan for now. Darkon referred to it as rolling planning and said he had learnt it during his time at the Adventurers Guild Self-improvement Course 101. 
     
    So, they tied the furious Stove to a tree off the path. Stove was apoplectic about the lack of risk assessment of his situation. They had tethered him to a tree without any consideration of predators that might be passing and fancy a bit of tied-up donkey. When the three slipped off into the undergrowth, he began to gnaw at the tether to break free in case some wandering wolf or bear should chance by. Stove had had enough. If he was going to remain a donkey then he needed better and safer employment. An owner that at least cared if he was going to be eaten by wild animals or rampaging monsters. After 15 minutes he got himself free and followed the trio deeper into the woods.
     
    Darkon, Egil and Graphen were blindly unaware of Stove's anger and desire for revenge as they crept slowly and quietly along the side of the path. There were signs of recent travel. Ruts of cart wheels and fresh horse dung.
     
    "l once saw a master tracker tell how recently an animal had paned by tasting the dung. He was also able to tell what the animal had eaten and thus it’s travel history," said Graphen quietly fingering the dung." However, I belong to the tradition that believes in minimalist information and that the broader social history is unnecessary to the finding of the quarry. And anyways I'm never going to eat dung.”
     
    Egil nodded sagely and Darkon smiled. He wondered who really ate shit and if they did, would they really own up to it. He thought it was perhaps one of those jokes that Master Artificers played on their apprentices to make them look stupid such as sending them to the local outfitters to buy a left-handed screwdriver or tartan paint. When he made his observation, Graphon became angry saying that Darkon really didn’t understand the complexities and art in tracking and if he was that much of a cynic it would be best to leave adventuring to real men and return to his daddy's farm.
     
    This began another argument, that only ended when two men holding spears asked them what they were doing here. None of the trio had heard their approach and were caught with their pants down. 
    In Egil’s case this was literal rather than metaphorical. His rising anxiety had put pressure on his bladder and he had chosen this moment to have a pee, The two men looked on with wry amusement. The tall one with the rather nasty scar running down his face from forehead to chin. said
     
    "Are you Draco's boys? We've been expecting you for the last two days"
     
    Darkon, who might be a lot of things, and in particular not a very good leader, was actually reasonably quick witted and managed to both reply and sound convincing, "Yeah, Sorry we're late. Got held up by a troll at a bridge. Got here as soon as we could”.
    "Ok, sounds a good fireside story," said the Scarface, "but for now the Boss will be glad you're here, we've been waiting to get the stuff back to Santos."
     
    So, some hours later the trio found themselves perched precariously on top of covered wagons in a caravan bound for Santos.

    Stove watched from a distance and thought 'bastards. They would have left me to die in that forest. That's it. I'm off on my own. I don't need them!’
     
    The distant howl of a wolf rapidly changed his mind and he trotted after the caravan in what amounted to a run for a donkey
     
  9. Nozbat

    Troll mind tricks

    By Nozbat,

    Stove had had enough. This crew had managed to fall into every trap that had been laid before them. As Egil ran to the Golden Cup in the middle of the bridge, Stove gathered himself and charged forward. He had a brief glimpse of Darkon and Graphen with mouths agape. As Egil bent down to retrieve the cup, Stove hit him squarely on the backside. Egil was propelled through the air and bouncing off the low parapet of the bridge, ricocheted and fell full length into a puddle of decaying vegetation. Egil didn't even have time to voice objections when a deep voice asked
    "Who's, disturbing my rest now?"
    A large scaly green hand looped over the parapet and was followed by a hideous bald green head. Graphen and Darkon ran for their shields and weapons. Egil still reeling from his sudden flight and unexpected landing in sludge, tried to get up, slipped and fell on his face again. The arm and head were followed by a body and legs. Despite its bulk the green thing moved lithely and sprang up onto the bridge.
     
    "Hmmm..", it said," at least these puny beings are not thieves, But are they good to eat?"
    "No , " said Darkon,"' neither puny nor good to eat. In fact, we are mighty fighters. Only yesterday we confronted the Red Horsemen and they ran off."
    Darkon knew he was being economical with the truth but he didn't fancy fighting this green monster that stood almost 3 metres tall. While it was talking it meant it wasn't trying to do them injury.
    "Hmmm," said the creature, "Mighty warriors, eh? What's that one doing scrabbling in the puddle then? Heroes don't scrabble, they move with poise and purpose."
     
    Darkon detected he hesitancy and sought to keep the advantage. He had been told that intelligence was usually inversely proportionate to size. This probably meant that the green monster was a total thicky and he'd have no problem outwitting him.
     
    "He is moving with purpose" I replied Dark on , " he was looking for some slugs for a sloth spell. He was just momentarily surprised by your appearance. You must admit you don't look exactly friendly."
    "Ahh," said the monster, “You wanted something prettier to surprise you? As ever you stupid heroes only judge the book by the cover. You don't realise I'm a construction engineer and have been travelling around improving the general infrastructure of this area. I've built, bridges, aqueducts, storm drains, drained marshes and rebuilt old Granny Mac's front porch! That took some doing.”
    "That’s an impressive list," said Darken playing for time. That fool who had the Intelligence-Size ratio theory was going to get a piece of his mind. "Well, I see this has been a huge misunderstanding. We seem to have escalated hostilities without property introducing ourselves. Perhaps we should discuss this with a civilised drink and a guarantee of a truce?."
    "Just because I'm a University educated Troll doesn't mean I don't like tearing humans limb from limb and toasting them on a spit while they are still alive," said the Troll with a smirk.
    "Oh," said Darkon ," I see. Is there any agreement we could come to that doesn’t finish with one or all of us ending up limbless and on a spit?"
    "No," said the Troll,"l don't think there is."
    Darkon and Graphen looked at each other. Egil had managed to get to his knees but hadn't dared move in case he invoked the ire of the Troll. He did manage to slip his rather deathly at seax from its sheath and hide it under his body.
    'Bloody hell' thought Darkon,'why do I have to meet the only intellectual Troy on the planet? Why couldn't it have been one of the dumb ones?'

    Egil attempted to move quickly, jumping to his feet to stab the troll from behind. However, the Troll was quicker and stood on Egil's head pushing him face down into a mushy pile of rotting leaves and leftover rain water. Egil gasped and involuntarily took in leaves and water making it incredibly difficult to breath. Darkon hefted his sword and Graphen went into a couch behind his shield with his spear advanced.
    "Well now," said the Troll, "it’s obvious that you're ethnically profiling me and assuming became I'm a troll that I want to eat you."
    "You did say that," answered Darkon
    "Yes I did" replied the Troll , " but it was a joke to see how you'd respond and I must say you didn't disappoint me. You see, I'm looking for some humans who could perhaps help with a problem I have that all of you have failed so far."
    "Oh" sad Darken and Graphen together. Both were very confused by the turn of events. Egil hadn't time to be confused, he was too busy just trying to breath.
    "What would you like us to do for you if you don't want to eat us?" asked Graphen , " and just in case you hadn't noticed our friend seems to be suffocating!
    "Oh yes, sorry old boy" the troll said removing his foot from Egil’s head. "I was never going to eat you and anyways l'm a vegetarian."
     This definitely confused our intrepid trio. An intellectual, vegetarian Troll. Must be a first. The Troll picked up Egil, thumped him on the back to remove stuck leaves in his windpipe and dusted him down.
    "There you go, right as rain. Well except for the moss stains on your tunic. Ok, off you go lads. You're not the ones I'm looking for."
    "But we can help you," said Darkon
    The Troll made several passes in front of their eyes with his hand and repeated," you're not the people I'm looking for."

    "We're not the people you're looking for,” the trio said in unison.
    They were unsure how they got there, but the next thing they knew was they had left the bridge behind and moved on several kilometres.
    'Ahh' thought Stove "the famous old Troll mind trick. I’d heard of it never seen it done until now."
     
  10. Nozbat
    It had begun to rain heavily as they left the Green Gorge. The river they were following became a torrent by mid-afternoon and they began to fret about having to cross it. They were still too miserable to grumble much and the journey was mostly in silence. Toward evening the rain lessened and the clouds became less solid. They were looking for a place to camp for the night.
     
    "No mounds," said Graphen," especially if we want a fire. And I need afire. But I’m not taking any chances that they are enchanted mounds holding sleeping horsemen."
     
    They eventually found a copse of trees that gave some shelter from the wind. It fitted the criteria. Some shelter. Not a mound. Defensible from enemies and they could light a fire and have some hot food.
     
    Egil had managed to shoot two rabbits even though his bow sting was damp and his spare had been used to tie some equipment to the sulking Stove. Darkon had found some root vegetables near their camp site. They all had the opinion things were looking better all round. No magical beings annoying their peace. Warm food that tasted not too bad and a mug of heated brandy that really increased the spirits. The rain had ceased and they were able to change from wet clothes into damp ones.
     
    They set watches and nothing much happened until the third watch. The new moon rose as the night approached morning. Darkon initially noticed the moon’s Corona was different. It might have been because there was dust in the air but the light of the moon seemed to flare every so often. He watched it intently for a while and even tried just using peripheral vision but he was still unsure if it was just his faulty perception or reality. As the light increased in the fake dawn and just before actual sun rise the moon's corona flared red, then orange, then yellow before giving way to the sun's brightness.
     
    "Did we do that?" he wondered, "then subconsciously corrected himself. "Did Egil do that?" Darkon had long since decided he would not accept responsibility for the release of the Red Horsemen, nor the increase in moon magic. He was musing over events when he noticed a faint flicker through the trees. A kind of glowing path that led straight to the top of the hill. It was only there for a moment, the last vestiges of moonlight before the sun hit the trees. Was that the 'Old Straight Path'?' Memories of fireside stories of his youth about people following the Straight Path and never being seen again. He shivered but not from cold. 
     
    When the others awoke he said nothing for now. They packed their gear and headed off having eaten the cold remnants of last night’s stew. The path they had been following continued by the river which remained impassable due to the rains. None of them knew how they would be able to cross it to get to their destination. The better weather, full bellies and reasonably dry clothing increased their spirits and by lunchtime they were grumbling at each other again.
     
    Darkon then told them about the moon's corona and the moon flares just at dawn but neither of the other two had any idea what it meant.
     
    "I was going to study magic when l was younger, said Graphen," but l had difficulty reading and just could never make the right movement to form letters for writing. They eventually asked me to leave the school, very politely, by ejecting me from the school into the local duck pond and threatening to turn me into a frog!”
     
    The others laughed at Graphen’s description of his flight through the air and landing on some annoyed ducks. 
     
    "Did you actually learn any magic, Graphen?", asked Egil
    "No, l just couldn't get the hang of it," replied Graphen," even a simple cantrip like creating a flame was too difficult. I once set fire to the dorm when I was practicing."
     
    They laughed as Grafton recounted his brief career as a magic student and the various mishaps in casting spells.
     
    "It might be useful to be able to set fire to something really big though" said Darkon
    "My problem is I have no control over what I do. Sometimes it’s a raging bonfire, sometimes it’s a pinprick. I just never understood the concept of the site.” Graphen replied apologetically.
     
    The day wore on and the sun came out warming the air. Little biting insects started to annoy them and Egil, in particular, became a target and favourite feasting ground. The sun evaporated the moisture from the rain and there was an increase in humidity. Despite the biting insects, the rapidly increasing humidity and the fact they all smelt of stale sweat they began to enjoy themselves. They took it in turns to tell stories of their deeds and mishaps. Egil was recounting a particularly amusing story about a baker, some pies and a flock of starlings when they turned a sharp corner, came out of the trees and upon a bridge over the river. In the middle of the bridge was what looked like a golden goblet. All three just stared at it without saying a word.
     
    Stove remembered Darkon saying something about the Fatman warning not to touch the Golden Cup, He hoped that Darkon remembered too.
     
    "We're rich!" shouted Egil and moved forward without much caution to retrieve the Cup.
     
  11. Nozbat
    The trio sat cross legged at the mouth of the cave. They’d eaten food but that had only partially improved the mood. Deeper in the cave, Rooskin had been working with charcoal on a smooth wall, expanding a circular line of Runes that swirled and interlinked and were lit by the flickering lights of oil lamps. Darkon had puzzled over the Runes drawn on the wall. He followed them round the swirls until the Runes seemed to glow and enlarge in his mind and he felt his consciousness drift off. Fleeting images of firelit ceremonies on bleak hills under a glowing full moon passed in front of his eyes and he had to concentrate hard to bring himself back to the cave. He tried reading the Runes rather than following the pattern, but they made no sense. His eyes kept following the swirl and flow so he eventually gave up rather than lose himself to more outlandish and disturbing visions. His concentration wasn't helped by Rooskin's constant muttering, sighs and general unhappiness. Darkon eventually abandoned trying to understand, it was definitely beyond his pay grade. 
     Meanwhile, the others had been picking meat off already gnawed bones and then flicking the bones at the squirrels which were becoming increasingly interested in what was happening in the cave.
    "Bloody squirrels", said Graphen, "I'd swear they were spying on us!”. He threw a large rock at the biggest squirrel, who nimbly dodged it, and began to chatter as if scolding him.
    "Stop it, Graphen”, said Darkon," I don't think things are what we think they are. This place has too much magic about it and I for one don’t want anymore. Those squirrels are likely to be Rooskin's friends and they probably will tell him what you've been up to."
    Graphen sulked and Egil pulled a face.
    "What we gonna do, Darkon?" said Egil, "l'm for getting out of here. This is just way too weird for me. I'm a simple man with simple needs. I don't need no talking about Red horsemen, moon magic and destruction. Can't we just go home, tell the Fatman it was too difficult and give him back his money?!  
    "Can' t", said Graphen "I've spent it, in fact we spent it. Where we gonna get money here?"
     
    As usual, the three fell to grumbling about their life. Darkon and Graphen blamed Egil and Egil blamed Darkon for not providing authoritative leadership. Not that he conveyed it like that, it was more phrased in colloquial terms,
    "You're a shit leader, Darkon. Things would never have been like this if I was the leader. And I can actually read a map."
     
    After more arguments, tantrums and blame eventually all three fell asleep and missed the moonbeams that seemed to solidify into three woman. One was an old crone, one a beautiful woman and the other a young girl. Rooskin came out from the back of the cave and knelt before the women. He spoke in a strange sibilant language that is no longer spoken aloud in Middle Earth. Only in Járnvið do they remember such speech when the shapeshifters howl at the full moon.
    As Rooskin spoke a soft tinkling music began on the edge of perception rising slowly like the incoming tide. It was the music that woke Darkon, Graphen and Egil. None could move and all lay transfixed where they had been sleeping. It seemed to them that the thee woman conversed with a beast man who had antlers coming out from his forehead. They could not understand the words or comprehend what was happening.
    One of the women approached the three prone figures and touched each one on the forehead. Jolts of power pulsed through her fingertips and each heard her say “I give you the mark of Brimo”.
    When they awoke they were alone. There was no sign of Rooskin, the Antler man or the three women. Relief, disappointment and anxiety battled in their thoughts.
    "What now? "asked Egil
    "I think we leave" said Darkon. " I'm not sure what was real and what was a dream, but I know we need to go if we want to live."
    They collected their belongings and packed everything on Stove. Stove had a strange new brand on his left flank that was a series of lines either straight or slanted. None of them knew what it meant but it increased their need to leave as quickly as possible. They stuck to their simplistic modus operandi. If you don’t understand something then just ignore a it. It’s likely to go away.
     
  12. Nozbat

    It wasn't me..really

    By Nozbat,

    Egil was amazed. For the last two weeks he had struggled to get a fire lit. There had been lots of excuses. His flint wouldn't strike, the tinder was too wet, the wind was too strong etc, etc. Yet, in this place, on a cold damp, foggy night and on the first strike of the flint, the fire seemed to leap from the tinder in the pan to the small stack of wood. And then mysteriously from the small stack of wood to the nearby bush and then to another bush. And yet another. Soon the crown of the mound was on fire and they were trapped within. Egil stood with his mouth open. His brain hadn’t quite registered exactly what was happening. The others, who had been busy unpacking needed gear,  stopped and were equally too terrified to move. The ground shook and quivered slightly and a grinding noise of stone moving came from within and below. The three companions moved together and held each other, more in fear than the need to keep on their feet as the shaking beneath them increased in intensity. Blue fire flickered over the hilltop and the burning bushes flared up but were not consumed, making the fog glow and pulse as if it were a living thing.  
     
    A deep voice from within the mound cried “Awaken Einherrjor. Awaken and Ride to Doom." 
     
    The ground opened to their left to reveal a stone lined passage that seemed to lead to the centre of the mound. Eight horsemen rode out of the open gap in the mound. They were blood red. Their horses were red and their gear was red. The leader rode forward pointed his spear at Darkon, Egil and Graphen, touching each with its tip. None of them reacted but felt a small tingle run through their bodies and into the ground. Wordlessly the leader wheeled his horse, took his place at the head of the riders and they sped off into the night. As they left the flickering blue fires died down and the bushes winked out one by one. None of the vegetation was consumed. The gap in the mound closed as noisily as it had opened. Egil fainted. The other two sank to their knees too exhausted to comment, think or move.
     
    Neither of the three reacted when Rooskin, who somehow had got himself free stomped up and berated them for fools. Darkon had a brief thought that not only was Egil’s fire-making useless, he also seemed incompetent at tying knots on prisoners. Really what was the point of anything. They seemed doomed now. Something had happened, or more likely was continuing to happen, that none of them understood. Further, even if they did know how, what and why it had happened, they were powerless to do anything. Darkon had some skill in problem-solving and talking to others which was why he’d been elected leader. However, truth be told, he was barely adequate in other skills and his map reading was appalling. They might have just released a doom that would bring about The End and he was feeling sorry for himself as he felt he hadn’t quite finished living yet. He had lots of things to do and he wanted to Marry the potter's daughter Esmerelda.
     "Didn't you know that you should never light fire on the Hill of Kernowth on the Dark of the Moon? Fools, fools, fools. Now they ride the Straight Path”, screamed Rooskin waving his arms in the air in frustration. 
    "Err, what?" said Darkon, who had suddenly remembered, he was the erstwhile leader of the trio and traditionally had to explain the group's actions. "Mmm...well, we did know.. kind of ..that it was the Hill of what-did-you-call-it? .. or rather we may have mislaid that particular piece of information. And anyways, how were we to know that this was THAT Hill of Ken.. Kenth... I mean, it didn't have a sign or anything."
    Darkon knew that it was important to play for time. His thought faculties were returning as the shock of the events subsided. He was hoping that the little wrinkled one would let slip some more information that he could use for plausible deniability. His attention shifted to Egil who had sat up and was sporting a wicked looking bump on his forehead where he must have collided with the ground when fainting. Failing that, thought Darkon while looking thoughtfully at the groaning Egil, he would just do what all good leaders did when they were caught with their hand in the moneybag, blame it on an underling and Egil could be framed for disobeying orders and lighting the fire without a permit.
    Rooskin seemed to be ignoring them. He was craving runes in the mud where the opening in the ground had been.
     "Now let's see", he muttered to no-one in particular,  "Can they be coaxed back?” For two hours, Rooskin worked, drawing an ever more complex design of interlocking Runes while the Intrepid Trio shifted their weight from one foot to the other. Rooskin finally looked up.
    "I should give up being a good person and go over to the dark side. It seems you have much more fun there. All l ever seem to do is try and rectify the mistakes that ignoramuses like you make. The Einherrjor riding again bodes ill for the peace of Middle Earth and even the abode of the gods might not be safe. Do you know what you have done?"
    "Mmm, well kind of-" but if you could spell it out again and in plain language, cos Egil doesn't understand anything longer than two syllables. Just to be sure we get it correctly," stammered Darkon
    "You've released the old magic, the unpredictable magic, the blood magic, the magic of the moon and really l dont know what will happen now. I suggest we get into shelter and see what the morning brings us" said Rooskin with more than a hint of sorrow is his tone.
    To be honest, none of the Trio had any idea what Rooskin had just said but they got that something seriously major had just happened and at least two of them were beginning to think it was Egil's fault,
    "Do you think," said Graphen, "we will be able to get something hot to eat now?" Whatever the situation, Graphen could be relied on to seek out food. He was a simple being and basic needs being met were what he wanted most.
     
    Rooskin's reply was tinged with heavy sarcasm," the problem is none of you think.. ever. But equally we must get food and shelter, who knows what damage has been done and where or what the Einherrjor have done”.

    Stove shook his head sadly. Again, the limits of a donkey’s physiology failed to convey the conlicted emotions and thoughts in the donkey’s head. Only an hour ago, our brave trio were threatening Rooskin with extreme pre-meditated violence. Now they were meekly following him to a cave in the side of the Green Gorge. It just goes to show that releasing Moon Magic on the world  changes how the cosmos flows and impacts on an individual’s ability to make independent decisions.
  13. Nozbat

    Mist or Fog?

    By Nozbat,

    The rain began to fall heavier again as left the cottage behind, re-crossed the Rubicon River and made their way to the Green Man Gorge. Darkon, who had the map, struggled to keep them on course and they got frequently lost. Arguments about directions, whose turn it was to cook, clean the dishes and feed Stove got worse as the days went on. They were generally soaked with the rain, cold from the wind, tired because they hadn't slept and hungry because they struggled to light fires. Things didn't improve when they discovered some sort of beetle had got into the hardtack and none of them dared to eat it.
    Eventually they found a river that might be the Green Man River and following it. According to the map might get them to the Gorge. By the third day of travel, the land on either side of the river began to climb. They had not seen any signs of habitation but were desperate for somewhere to dry off. Rust started to spot their weapons and equipment felt twice as heavy as it was soaked through. Not for the first time they thought 100 silver was too little for all this suffering. Maybe they needed to renegotiate it with the Fatman.
    By midday of the fourth day they stood at the entrance to Green Man Gorge. The wind howled in their faces and it looked as if there might be a thunderstorm soon. The hair on their necks stood on end and their nerves jangled. 
    "Let’s find a campsite that we can defend, I don't like the feeling here, hemmed in by all this rock," said Darkon.
    "Is there a Green Man in this gorge?" asked Egil, clutching his spear and nervously.
    "How should I know" answered Darken," Never been here before, and the map has no attached tourist information. It might have been useful to pay the extra 2sp for the guide. Hindsight is wonderful. ”
    "I heard some merchants talk about a Green Man they met who was four metres tall and demanded a toll for allowing them to pass. If they wouldn't pay the toll or didn't have it he demanded a head," said Graphen is a whisper.

    Quietly they picked their way through the gorge trying to keep to the bushes that lined the path. After an hour the rain stopped and the wind died down. A thin mist seemed to rise from the ground getting thicker as they trudged on. After half an hour it had risen to their knees and obscured the ground making walking at any speed tricky.
    "We need somewhere to camp for the night. I really don't like this fog" said Egil.
    "It’s not a fog, it’s a mist." said Graphen. "A fog comes down. A mist comes from the ground."
    "No, it’s definitely a fog" said a voice, "and my advice is find higher ground, and quickly."
    All three stopped and looked around. They couldn't see anyone or anything through the fog.
    "Fog is thicker than mist," said the voice, "and reduces visibility."
    "Who are you? “ asked Darkon," or even where are you?"
    All three were back to back with weapons drawn, staring her into the thickening fog. Stove had been left outside the defensive ring and was using his considerable intellect to curse all three, He would have turned and bolted back the way they had travelled if his reins had not been caught by a small wrinkled man who smelt like elderberries.
    The wrinkled man coughed politely waited for the three companions to notice him.
    "My name is Rooskin and I couldn’t help but correct your mistake about the mist. I also thought I should stop your excellent donkey from bolting. Can I be of service?"
    It’s a well-known fact that people who adventure in the Wilds often make mistakes about who to trust. This was indeed the subject of the plenary session of the 12th Symposium of the Adventurer’s Guild, but sadly, it did not draw any conclusions but did set up a committee that is yet to report back. 
    If there is, for example, a sequence of good creature, bad creature, helpful creature, good, bad, helpful etc. and the adventurers get the sequence wrong then they are always going to make the wrong decisions.
    This was the case with Rooskin. He was one of the helpful creatures who spent his life dong good deeds much as making shoes for poor Cobblers, turning water into wine, giving sweet almonds to young children and specifically helping people get through the Green Man Gorge. He was also Chair of the Orphans and Waifs Holiday Fund, but that as they say, is another tale.
    Our three companions, however, chose to believe he was a demon sent to waylay them and therefore jumped him, tied + gagged him and threatened bodily harm up to and including chopping appendages off if Rooskin didn't tell them if he had any gold, any food and how to get out of this fog.
    Despite the rather rough treatment and the threats to his physical integrity, Rooskin was one of the good folk and had forgiven the three men putting it down to anxiety + possibly the fact he had surprised them. However unable to persuade them he didn't need gold therefore didn't have any and he had no dwelling nearby, he began to grow annoyed.
    Egil also lost patience with the small wrinkly person, not believing for an instance he didn’t have a pot of gold hidden under a bush somewhere and tossed him on the packages on Stove's back.
    "We can keep him with us as a hostage." said Egil. "If any of his fellows try to attack us we can threaten to harm him. That should keep us safe and what’s more, I’m sure he has gold somewhere. Creatures of his ilk always do.”
    The group moved on slowly and after 10 minutes the fog appeared to be getting thinner to the point they could eventually see the ground again. It took them a while to realise they were on a mound and rather than the fog disappearing they were actually on an island in a sea of fog. In the centre of the island was a huge stone that looked as if some ancients had carved a face on it. It was difficult to say what the carving represented as it was so weathered.
    "We’ll stay here for the night," said Darkon," Egil, light a fire and let’s get some hot food. In the morning we can take stock of where we are.”
    Rooskin struggled in his bonds and make odd nooses. The three men gathered around him.
    "What’s he doing?" said Graphen
    "I think he's casting some form of hex" said Egil," I've seen this kind of thing before.”
    "Maybe he's trying to tell in something" said Darkon.
    After some discussion they agreed that the strange wrinkled man was trying to cast a spell on them and they stuffed more rags in his mouth and made sure the ropes were tight. Stove watched the scene unfold. He was certain the wrinkly man had said don't light a fire on the mound at the dark of the moon. Stove turned his head to see Egil's fire spring to life.
  14. Nozbat
    Darkon had forgotten all about asking Egil how long they'd been at the house of the young woman, opting instead for a game of picking the petals off a daisy saying "She loves me'. "She loves me not". He threw the daisy away in disgust when it turned out the she didn't love him. It just goes to show that even flowers have greater insight than any of the three men in the grip of a dopamine rush triggered by being in love.  
    It was left to Stove to try and work out what was going on and to accidentally resolve the problem. Being a donkey probably had some advantage in dealing with emotions generated by magic as he at least could think relatively sensibly about things. His greatest crush at the moment was for the carrots that he found growing in the vegetable patch behind the cottage.   He was poking around in the vegetable patch trying to find one more of those delicious carrots, using his hooves to dig at the earth. He began to unearth bones. Lots of bones. Skulls, rib cages, long bones. And they were human bones. Why here? Who had killed them? He couldn't work out what was going on. He retired to the shade of the stable to think about it. It was there that Arianrhod found him.

    "You used to be a man," said Arianrhod to the startled donkey, "but I guess you can't tell me, poor thing." She tickled his chin and climbed on his back. He felt his hackles rise. Stove may have had the body of a donkey and the eating desires of a donkey but he drew the line at people hitching lifts on him. He suddenly reared and bucked to remove her as fast as possible. in normal circumstances she would have been deposited on the ground just in front of him with only a dent to her pride. However,  she was so light. the sudden force of the movement sent her across the stable and smashed her against one of the central columns of the stable. There was a horrific cracking noise and then silence.
    Stove moved closer to the column to examine what had happened.
    He couldn't find Arianrhod anywhere. There was a large piece of broken, rotten wood on the ground. at the base of the column. He looked behind the column and there was the lower half of Aranrhod's body missing its upper torso. Fearing the worst, Stove went back and examined the piece of rotten wood. He flipped the wood over using a combination of hoof and nose. On the reverse was the image of Arianrhod. Well it was her missing torso. Relief of finding her top bit was tempered by her once lovely face distorted by what he only perceived to be the beginning of a powerful magic. Self protection is a powerful driver of behaviour and before the thought entered his head both hooves pounded the torso of Arianrhod to small pieces. A chill wind that made the donkey shiver, a sad sigh on the air and the sun momentarily darkened.
    Stove knew something significant had happened even if he couldn't work out exactly what. 
    It was as if Arianrhod was two dimensional - one side a beautiful woman, the other side rotten wood. Stove realised that he had never seen her turn her back to any of them. She was always facing toward the people she was with. What sort of creature was she? She had bewitched the three men putting a glamour on them and she had obviously meant to kill them and bury them in her vegetable plot. No wonder the carrots tasted good. Stove decided to pound the bits of wood to matchstick size and scattered them as best he could. Exhausted from reaction he lay with his head in the straw and would have wept except donkeys are unable to do so.
     
    Darkon Graphen and Egil were calling for Arianrhod and when she didn't answer they searched for her. Stove, in his fear, had done a good job of reducing her to kindling and nothing was recognisable. With the removal of whatever glamour Arianrhod had made,  the three men returned to type. Arguments started about who Arianrhod had loved most, each was convinced it was him. All three developed narratives about why she had left,blaming the other two. It is likely that it would have come to blows had the Magic not slowly dissipated and left them with a slight longing for something they just couldn't remember. It took two further days for their senses to return and they finally remembered they had a contract to fulfil. Egil secretly nursed the view that he was the one Arianrhod had chosen and he slipped one of her silk scarves under his leather breastplate. At nights he would hold it to his lips and smell her perfume.It was funny he thought, he just couldn't remember her face any more.
     
    And so with an unexpected loss of memory and  a delay of eleven days are intrepid three and donkey  continued on their way still not sure what had happened. They re-crossed the river Rubicon and headed for the Gorge of the Green Man, the next obstacle in their path
  15. Nozbat
    It had rained heavily overnight and Darkon's blankets were wet. Graphen was struggling to light the fire. He fiddled hopelessly with his flint to try and spark the damp tinder to life. Egil was hopping from one foot to the other attempting to keep warm. Stove alone was comfortable, his oily coat kept out the rain and he was finding the oat and grain mixture of his nosebag agreeable.
     
    Darkon, Egil and Graphen grumbled at each other throughout the morning. All were soaked through as the rain steadily got worse. With their hoods turned up and their thoughts turned inward they missed the forest track that would have taken them to the kindly woodcutters cottage. His wife would have regaled them with stories of the forest while her husband shard his home brewed poteen and cooked a vegetable stew. They also missed the important information to beware of the woman who lived by the lake but it looked like fate may have conspired against them.
     
    As it was, the intrepid three plodded towards the lake and spent their time cursing fat men (in general), rain (in particular) and their inadequate waterproof underwear (specifically). Stove was spending his time profitably and musing on the developmental stages of humans and creating a possible research project on the psychopathology of adventurers. Although it would be several millennia and in a different time/space continuum, Stove was toying with some ideas that would make Sigmund Freud famous some day. While Stove was thinking "not yet reached anal developmental phase...." , Graphen smelt wood smoke on the rising wind. "Shelter", he shouted at his companions, "down near that lake". As the reader is aware from the safety and comfort of their own home and as any experienced adventurer knows that beautiful young women living on their own in the wild is either ① Not what she seems (2) Is extremely powerful to survive on her own (3) A plot device by the GM to get them in trouble or (4) possibly all of the above.

    Dankon, Egil and Graphen were so cold, wet and fed up that even if they had thought any of the above they wouldn't have cared. Egil also seemed to have a recurrence of the runs and was desperate to find a good water closet. He had sadly run out of Grimtooth's Certified Clogging Powder for Intemperate Guts.
     
    Some sense came back and they cautiously crossed some stepping stones to the front porch of a rather quaint house. From inside they could hear a woman singing the latest ballad of the famous all women troubadour act, The Travelling Willards. Egil thought he had never heard the song sung so beautifully. Graphen paused mid stride and thought of the first kiss he had with Sarra Bjornsdötter behind the milking shed when he was 14. He had been heartbroken when she had revealed she had done it for a bet with her friends but had cheered up a bit when she shared some honeyed nuts she bought with her winnings. Darkon was momentarily troubled by some memory of a warning about stepping stones. However he noticed a sign that said "River Rubicon" and decided crossing the Rubicon couldn't bring that much bad luck. To be honest he felt like dancing at the moment and that was odd as he hated dancing. He would have scowled if anyone had asked her to dance when he was at home..
     
    Only Stove found this all very peculiar but couldn't put his hoof on what was wrong. However he immediately forgot his concerns when a beautiful young woman came out of the door carrying a wet basket of laundry which she dropped in surprise when she saw three strange armed men on her doorstep. "Please don't hurt me" she said plaintively and then had to repeat it again as none of our three intrepid heroes seemed capable of responding. To be fair Egil had tripped over his tongue, Graphen had opened and closed his mouth without communicating anything vaguely resembling sensible speech. Darkon, who was last to climb the three steps to the porch, missed the last step and fell forward, crashing into the young woman and knocking the wet washing over. Years of training, suddenly kicked in with the sudden t unexpected events as Egil and Graphen rushed to the young Woman's aid. Darkon was left to extract himself from the wet washing. 
    It was eight days later as Darken sat on the porch watching fish jumping for flies in the lake, that he thought he was actually meant to be doing something. Was it eight days they'd been here? He must ask Egil. Every day they had spent hours with the young woman who said her name was Arianrhod. Life was perfect. No squabbles. No fighting. No worries. In fact no thinking either. When did he, Rankin, actually think of anything other than pleasing Arianrhod? He was sure he was supposed to go somewhere, do something? He must ask the others. This place was perfect, maybe he should go fishing instead. No he was a bit too tired for that. Despite the perfectness of the setting and company he had strange dreams every night. Dreams that made him feel exhausted in the morning. He really must ask Egil and Graphen
  16. Nozbat

    Leaving Santos

    By Nozbat,

    If Stove could have beat his hoof off his forehead he would have done so for the twentieth time in the last hour. Graphen and Egil had been interrogating Darkon about his meeting with the Fatman in the Grapes End.
    "What gives you the right to make contracts Darkon?" snarled Egil,"Is it just because you've got no nose?"
    "It always comes down to my lack of nose, doesn't it," replied Darkon." you just can't leave it alone. I don't tell you your ears stick out and you're as bald as a Coot."
     
    Stove attempted the hoof to the forehead anyway knowing it was going to be futile. Donkey's were not anatomically built to do so but it seemed to be a good metaphor for the situation. No-one actually was aware of it, but Stove used to be human. He had the misfortune to meet a Thessalonian witch on the way home from the pub one night. His life as a donkey had begun shortly after that. In between the pub and his new form had been some intemperate words about the witches familiar. Stove may be presently a donkey but he was also by far the cleverest of the bunch. It was just a pity the only communication he could indulge in was braying.
     
    Darkon, Egil and Graphen had been arguing about what they needed to take on the trip. Egil had basically wanted to bring the kitchen sink. Graphen, who was a unreconstructed hypochondriac, was all for a quick "in-and-out”. He was too afraid to be away from the Grimtooth's Apothecary and Hair Salon for too long. Darkon was expounding the need to plan. The goal was to surprise some bandits in a house or a cabin or a cottage in the woods, steal all the stuff they had, strip them naked and bring them back to town. Their employer had wanted a pendant that one of the bandits wore. Everything else was theirs. Graphon had been expounding that they would be rich as he had heard from the barmaid in The Yodeller’s Rest that the bandits had been particularly successful recently. Egil had been worried that they might be particularly good at fighting and he in particular might get hurt. It was eventually settled that the plan would be to spy on the bandits and then attack at night when hopefully they would be asleep or drunk or both.
     
    The intrepid three left Santos the next morning having eventually settled on equipment and loaded it on the unfortunate Stove. Egil noticed some odd hoof prints on Stove's forehead and had wondered aloud to the others how this could have happened. Stove found that donkey's are also anatomically incapable of rolling their eyes. The best he could do was to look slightly cross-eyed. This made him dizzy so he stopped and decided to pass the time working on his masters' thesis on the air velocity of dragons.
     
    The trio set up camp after their first days march. It hadn't quite gone as well as they had expected. Graphen had forgotten the iron rations and none of them had trusted Darkon to be able to hunt for them. Rather than go hungry they had returned to Santos, bought some gourmet iron nations at Carbone's Emporium for Gentlemen Travellers. They had also stopped at the Duke's Armpit tavern and spent 8 silver pieces on some excellent wine and heart early lunch. They felt there was no point in enduring hardship too early in their trip. That could come later.
     
    So as they drew lots for the order of the night watches, Darkon sleepily reminded Egil not to fall asleep. Egil who was nursing a hangover from an overindulgence of excellent wine, complained that no-one trusted him. As Egil spent his watch mumbling profanities against Dakon and Graphen he didn't see the various nocturnal visitors that briefly watched the campsite from the shadows. Not that it really mattered, except for the wondering fairy who was down on her luck and in need of a stiff drink for which she would have swapped an excellent healing potion. And so the night passed and the companions woke to a light rain that later on that day would become a torrential downpour. But they didn't know this yet and would not be aware of it until the next session.
     
  17. Nozbat
    Darkon had no nose. He had carelessly mislaid it in a fight with some trolls after the summer equinox. The younger trolls had found it funny that Darkon's nose had come off in the exchange of blows." For a whole season  the younger trolls would joke, 
     "The human had no nose!" 
    “How did he smell?" one would ask in mock horror. 
    "Horrible" was the chorused reply as the group would roll helplessly around the Matriarch’s kitchen.

    Of course Darkon wasn't aware of any of this as he sat patiently in the tavern of the Grapes End. He had really had enough of trolls and wasn’t intending to ever visit them again in waking life and would thus never find out he had been the subject of the Troll’s best-selling Yule present that year, a human doll with a detachable nose that cried until it was soothed. 
     Darkon stared into his ale cup. His erstwhile employer was a mysterious fat man swathed in almost as many scarves as Darkon and he was late. Darkon scanned the crowded tavern anxiously. The jolly crowd in the tavern sang and drank the night away occasionally casting glances at Darkon as he shifted his weight from one buttock to the other to stop pins and needles developing in his feet.
    Finally, the door opened allowing more raucous laughter to drift in from Dead Joes' Cosmic Eatery + Barber shop that was opposite the front door, and in walked the large Fat man. He was predictably swathed in cloaks and scarves and hats and as a final precaution he had a pair of those new-fangled tinted Venetian smoked glass speck-ta-cles that hid his usually vibrant red eyes.
    "A bottle of your best dead grape, Innkeep".
    He sat heavily opposite Darkon and eyed him. Neither of the two men involved in this brinkmanship noticed the locals nudging each other and laying wagers as to what would happen next.
    The large Fat man was in deep conversation with Darkon when he seemed to be suddenly aware of the pregnant silence in the tavern. He looked round suspiciously and the tavern customers, rather unconvincingly, resumed trying to mind their own business.
     
    "So, 50 silver pieces for the job +50 when we give you the package?" 
    "Correct" said the fat man handing over a bag.

    Darkon took a coin out and bit it. He wasn't actually sure that this was necessary but Thantos had always done it when making deals in taverns before he fell off the Bridge of Lost Hope and missed hitting the river. Darkon always thought Thantos had been unlucky that night. What were the odds of landing on the only spike in 100 metres? 1000 to 1? 2083 to 1? Whatever it was it had been unfortunate for Thanatos and quite good for Darken.
    As Darken ruminated on his luck or Thantos' misfortune, he suddenly remembered to bring his attention back to the Fat Man. Yes, don't go near the golden cup and avoid the stepping stones of doom by the Forgetful River.
    Ok back within a moon that was it. Darken thought if there was anything else he had missed he could bluff it out.
     They shook hands both taking care to apply just the right pressure to convey strength, decisiveness and hidden power and the both men left the tavern quickly, but obviously since they were being furtive, not together. The Fat Man stepped into to a dark alley where he metamorphosed into a tall slim woman. Darkon, who left after an appropriate wait to allow his new employer to make his escape, slid from shadow to shadow all the way to his lodgings to meet his travelling companions, Graphen, Egil and Stove
     
  18. Nozbat

    Yule

    By Nozbat,


    Þáttr
    Angrboða closed the door into the main hall where the Jötunn still drank, boasted and tried to outdo each other in feats of strength. It was sadly often the case at the Yule feast.  Angrboða sighed and turned to her companions.
    “Boys will be boys, Angrboða, you can’t change the way they have acted for millennia”, said Sívör. “But girls will be woman”, replied Angrboða, “ and as ever, we need to plan for the coming year to counter the Æsir. Our men are too busy swinging their dicks to consider what needs to be done.”
    “Tell the others what you told me about Óðinn, Gnissa”, said Angrboða taking her seat at the head of the table where the other twelve Gýgjar and Trollkvinna sat. Jötunheimr is a matriarchy. The Jötunn like to pretend otherwise and the Gýgjar are content to let them believe that but everyone knows where the true power lies. If it was not for the Council of Thirteen, Thor would have long ago reduced the Jötunnr to extinction by pulp. The Æsir deny power to the Ásynjur, preferring to believe they alone have the power to rule the nine worlds and prevent Ragnarök. Angrboða often thought that if the Ásynjur would revolt against the patriarchy, both could bring peace to Miðgarðr. Instead, Angrboða had to consider absolute destruction to bring about change. That is the meaning of my name, she thought, ‘she who offers sorrow’. 
    Angrboða turned away from her inward thoughts to listen to Gnissa as she was explaining how once again Óðinn was consulting with Mímir's head to try to understand the last days.  
    “My fylgja, Hreysiköttr, sat unseen in the lower branches of Yggdrasil as Óðinn questioned Mímir’ head. Mímir would not tell Óðinn directly of Ragnarök, but Óðinn has drunk the Mead of Kvasir and he was able to discern much of Mímir’s dissembling.”
    “Óðinn once again shows that his only purpose in life is to preserve his own and that, at the expense and detriment of all others. All of the nine worlds suffer for his selfishness and his self-preservation,” said Angrboða, “However, we have learnt something new. Tell us Gnissa.”
    Gnissa stood as she addressed her sisters as she felt that the occasion warranted more formality. “What we have learnt is that in Ragnarök, the patriarchy will die  but there will not be absolute destruction but arising from the ashes and sundered seas, new worlds will arise. These new worlds will not be ones of sorrow, hunger and death for those that will once again dwell in Miðgarðr, but a land of plenty. It will not be overseen by the self-preserving Æsir, but by a council of Vanir and Gýgjar.”
    There were sharp intakes of breath and Angrboða rose and motioned for silence to quell the questions beginning to form on many lips. “I have cast the rune-sticks and we have a new hope in Járnviðja.”
    “Járnviðja? My youngest daughter and heir;” said Gnissa, smiling.
  19. Nozbat

    Fields of Rye

    By Nozbat,


    Þáttr
    Freiherr Johannes Pähler vor dem Holte stood and admired his ancestral lands. Beside him stood the taciturn young Franciscan, Brother Thomas, who had taken up residence in the Baronial home and was said to be planning to build a Franciscan Monastery. Vor dem Holte had recently returned from the Northern Crusade in Samerland following the death of his father, Freiherr Meinhard, at the hands of the Hanse. Freiherr Meinhard had been accused by the Hanse of banditry and murder of merchants. The Hanse armies had blockaded him in his castle and when he refused to surrender had stormed it and hung the old Baron like a common criminal.  They had also requested his lands be forfeited to the dead merchants’ families. Fortunately, the Emperor had agreed with the younger Vor dem Holte and the lands were retained by the family. He now hated the Hanse with a passion and resolved to destroy those upstart merchants.
     
    Vor dem Holte had joined the Teutonic Order following the disastrous campaign of Komtur Heinrich Stango on the Vistula Lagoon which had left the pagan Sambians in control of the area once again. The new Grand Master, Poppo von Osterman, had petitioned Gregory IX and the subsequent Golden Bull of Rieti had legitimised the new Crusade.
     
    Across northern Germany, Denmark and Sweden, young nobles had heeded the call and among them was Juncker Johannes Pähler vor dem Holte. He made a name for himself joining with the Livonian Sword Brothers in pacifying the Curonian Lagoon area They had founded the new city of Memel on the ruins of the city the Sword Brothers had burnt and had then massacred the local population. This action stopped the Samogtians supporting their neighbours, the Sambians, and allowed the Order to pacify and convert any remaining living pagans. Vor dem Holte thought it was a good outcome.
     
    Vor dem Holte distinguished himself in the campaign, personally sending many pagan souls to hell just as he believed they deserved and making himself richer in the process. His reward, for his outstanding zeal, was to be sent on an embassy to Novgorod Veliky. It was there that Vor dem Holte first encountered the power of the Hanse and the insidious nature of their philosophy. He did not think it was proper or correct that these merchants were not ruled by nobles or princes. At the Kontor of Novgorod they had treated him as an equal and, unbelievably, they had even infected the people of Novgorod, who now had a Posadnik elected by the local assembly, the Veche. Thankfully the city was also jointly ruled by the Archbishop of Novgorod, who although of Orthodox persuasion, was a noble, and he could talk freely with him rather than the upstart commoners.
     
    Vor dem Holte failed in his mission to get military support from Novgorod but did not suffer any consequences from his superiors. It did not go equally well for the Posadnik and Veche of Novgorod. When Alexander Nevsky heard about the discussions, and in fear of Berke Kahn’s negative and possibly for him, fatal response, he punished the Posadnik and the leading members of the Veche by chopping off their noses and adding a third more ermine pelts to the tribute due to the Grand Duke of Vladimir. Berke Kahn was indeed pleased with the extra ermine furs.
     
    But all this was in the past and the Juncker had come back to be the Freiherr. His immediate plans were to revenge his father. He looked at the harvested fields with some satisfaction until he noticed at each corner of the field that stalks of rye had been tied together and left as some form of votary or shrine. He brought his discovery to the attention of the Franciscan who scowled in response and launched into a monologue about someone called Burchard of Worms who had warned all good Christians against witchcraft in his Canon Episcopi. And this, said Thomas, was Witchcraft.
     
    Vor dem Holte began to get a sore head and regretted his decision to involve the Friar. It was always this way when priests started going on about something or other. They could never be satisfied with how things are. They needed to find something to disagree with and then, to preach about it for longer than he cared to listen. He thought of maybe dismissing the Franciscan but he owed him a debt of gratitude for solving a problem that would certainly have led to a compromising situation both with his superiors and with a certain Posadnik. He had to act to stop this incessant noise in his head. Vor dem Holte shouted to one of his Sergeants, who were both keeping a safe distance from the noble and the friar and trying to amuse themselves by standing on homeless field mice, to bring him the local priest.
     
    Father Mathias was brought, have dragged, half stumbling in front of the Freiherr and the  Friar. He was an older man, no doubt one of the peasants who had been ordained by his father to save money and keep the populace happy. It was unlikely that he could read Latin and probably mumbled the prayers thought Vor dem Holte. 
     
    Vor dem Holte demanded to know the significance of the tied rye stalks and who had done it. The old priest tried to explain that it was a harmless country practice and was just a custom the villagers indulged in. As their priest, he ignored such minor sins, as he believed, did God. The Franciscan could take no more. He ranted and raved, spittle flying from his mouth as he screamed about pagans and witchcraft. The old priest flinched and whimpered as the two Sergeants held him upright.
     
    Vor dem Holte had had enough of the Priest, who was whimpering and the Friar who was raving. Beat him he said. He walked away as the sergeants beat the old man with their spear butts.

    The next day, Vor dem Holte sat bored in his hall drinking watered wine. His temper had not improved since yesterday. He had intended to go hunting but the sudden storm had put paid to that. He tried to engage one of the sergeants in a game of dice but the man, terrified of winning, had made sure he lost each game. Vor dem Holte was about to have the man beaten to toughen him up but decided it might not be good for morale in general. A better idea was that he would use the time to get his new set of clothes fitted properly, the shirt was not right and the hose was too loose. He called for his tailor but was interrupted by one of the guards saying that there was a man wishing to speak with him.

    Vor dem Holte looked at the man approaching him. He was small and oddly wrinkled. Remarkably, he was not wet from the increasingly heavy rain that was beating on the shutters. The wrinkled man swept his hat off and proceeded to advise Vor dem Holte that, for his own safety, he must replace the rye stalks at the corner of the fields. It was Vor dem Holte's turn to rage and rant about commoners coming to tell him what he should do and attempting to bully him.  He demanded to know who the man was and threatened to have him evicted from his no-doubt festering hovel on the estate. The wrinkled man just smiled and said his name was Eckhart, sometimes called the faithful, and that he was a servant of someone he referred to as Frau Holda who sometimes was also known as Percht mit der eisen Nase. He therefore did not need evicting if the Freiherr should please, but he must with utmost haste replace the rye stalks. Vor dem Holte replied he knew no one called Frau Holda and even if he did he would not be menaced in his own home. He took a cudgel from the wall and began beating Eckhart. When he had vented his anger and was somewhat calmed, he ordered the sergeants to chain Eckhart in the cellar to await execution tomorrow. And if they found this Frau Holda, chain her up too.

    Later that night the storm intensified. The old Priest, Father Mathias stood in the door of his small house watching the clouds race across the sky, wincing slightly from the bruises on his body. He could hear the howl of hounds and knew the Hunt was abroad. Fearful that he would be caught up in their wake, he turned to go inside and bolt the door, as most of his sensible parishioners had done. The movement in the sky caught his eye and he could not help himself looking at the Hunt which was outlined against the full moon. To his horror he saw two figures followed the Hunt, one a tall man and another wearing the robes of a friar. He crossed himself and bolted the door.

    In the morning the sergeants were surprised that Eckhart had escaped his chains. Fearful, they went to tell their Lord but he could not be found either. His bed had not been slept in. Thankfully that dreadful Franciscan had disappeared too.
×
×
  • Create New...