An Uneasy Welcome

As you walk down the path reflecting on the wealth of information you have received today, your ever vigilant senses detect unnatural noises and foreign aromas which rather easily manage to distract you from your various lines of thought. It took you a few moments to recognize the sound as music of some sort or another with a few instruments being recognizably heard such as drums and horns, others however were completely unknown to you. The smells were still quite faint, just barely distinguishable from within the salty sea breezes which occasionally blew toward you from the west. Your people were no strangers to music, but music for your people was always utilitarian. Some songs were used to tell stories and educate children while others were used to soothe the sick or dying. Still each song and each instrument that played it had its own purpose. There were songs for celebration and songs for times of war, these thoughts inevitably led you to wonder, what is the purpose of the music you are hearing? An understanding of this could potentially provide valuable insight into the customs of the wayward folk of Atmor. You and your impromptu companion had not walked very far before you decided to ask her, “What does it mean? The music, why is it being played?” She listened carefully for a moment, “Sounds to me like they’re having the Hjertalskibë festival without me this year. I had intended to use the festival as a distraction for my escape, nobody could’ve caught me in that crowd.”

“So it is an annual event then. What exactly are they celebrating?” You ask as you continue to lead the way through the forest back to the plateau where you had left your kin.

“The cause for the celebration itself is a matter of opinion. The locals would have you believe that the festival is in honor of Hjertal, one of the most beloved skalds of Atmor, who was born in Ayersbruk decades ago. If you ask me though, it’s because there isn’t an atmoran alive that isn’t thrilled to have another excuse to get fall-on-your-face drunk. As a consolation, it seems I’m not missing out on much, the honey rolls don’t smell as sweet this time around..” After saying this the blonde ranger let out a wistful sigh and took a small leather bottle from her pack.

“I’m afraid I don’t quite understand what you mean.” You said, having no frame of reference for atmoran festivals or foodstuffs.

After uncorking the container she took a long swig followed by a sharp exhale between her teeth. “I would offer you some but I’m afraid there isn’t enough to do someone your size any good.” You couldn’t be sure what was in that bottle but you were certain it wasn’t water, it smelled of honey and overripe berries.

“It’s just as well, I’m more interested in the ‘rolled honey’ you mentioned than soured berries anyway. Tell me what function does rolling the honey serve?”

“Very funny. It’s not the honey that’s rolled you lout it’s the dough that’s rolled. You do know what dough is right?” She chuckled lightly, as she stowed the bottle back into her pack.

“Not at all.” You reply tersely, your interest in the subject waning rapidly. She appeared most amused by your response.

“By the treasury it’s like talking to a child. I’m guessing you don’t do much baking where you’re from then.” She says with a slight grin. Without ceremony you change the subject to more important matters, as you were not far from your destination.

“When we arrive at the camp try to refrain from speaking until I advise you otherwise and keep your weapons in plain sight.” Tolerant though you were of her, you could hardly expect your followers to simply swallow hundreds of years of hardship and exile on your word alone. She would be the first atmoran they had ever seen, many would call her **** justice while others would likely only see her **** as the beginning.

“Won’t they see that as a threat?” She asks somewhat confused.

Any Ardri already knows threats are everywhere, seen and unseen. Common sense tells you it would be better to have them see her for what she is than mistake her for what they assume her to be.

“They certainly should. Why does a wolf bare it’s teeth when it meets a strange pack? If you conceal your weapons from sight so that others think you are unarmed, you will appear weak. If you conceal your weapons from sight but others detect what you have hidden, you will be a deceiver. Prove to them therefore at every opportunity that you would be better kept as an ally than taken for a foe.”

“Such strange ways.” She scoffs under her breath. “Maybe I should kill the first person I see just to show them how scary I am.” She said wryly.

“It could work.” You respond, half-sarcastic and half-serious. “Still, it would be best not to go poking the moruga so-to-speak. If I were you I would just wait for one of them to try to kill you first, somebody is bound to do it. Then you can make an example out of them and they would only have themselves to blame.” It was honestly the best advice you had to offer her at the moment, simple as it was.

Suddenly her humorous and nonchalant attitude vanished, leaving behind a surprisingly severe mien. “These are your own people we’re talking about here. I have to wonder if you are worth following if you can’t be bothered to assign some measure of importance to their well-being.” She said sternly, almost angrily.

“Certainly I am one of them, but they are only ‘my people’ because they choose to follow me. They alone can decide whether to heed my words or dismiss them and likewise they alone are responsible for the consequences that supersede that choice. I am no more responsible for such things than you are for the tides.” You can’t quite understand her concern, your attitude toward them was for the best. They were still free, as they should be, to make their own decisions and as such should be expected to have the courage to see those choices to their fulfillment.

“So it’s anarchy, except when you have a directive in mind. Then it’s tyranny.” She questions, somewhat taken aback.

“No it isn’t tyranny. It is the way of the wild. The aurochs go where the biggest bull leads them. I brought them out of our exile and they followed me, they made that choice and now I believe they intend to see it through. If I am to lead, I am to lead those who follow by choice. If I cannot do that then I might as well do nothing at all.” By the time you have finished your sentence you begin to see your people clustered about beneath the trees in groups of various sizes. One by one their conversations either fade away into whispers or cease entirely as every eye falls upon you and the atmoran woman close behind you. After walking for a short while you pick up on Riggas scent and follow it to her as she reclines on a pile of furs nearby, plucking and eating the leaves from some nearby wood sorrel.

“You took your time getting here. I suppose you didn’t have much choice though, she appears to be quite cumbersome after all. I explained to Zeitsya and Hjalund what had happened a while ago, so I’m guessing most everybody has heard by now. You have to know it doesn’t look well Ogma. I don’t know how you expected them to react but I don’t think they are all just going to sit idly by whilst the man they’ve bet their lives on and followed out of exile shares his food with one of those who drove us there in the first place.” You aren’t exactly eager to admit it out loud but it’s obvious that she’s right. Looking around you now the people are gathering, many eyes are fixed on the ranger. Some are simply curious but there are others whose glaring gazes are lit with an understandable and unmistakable animosity. Your brother Garrans familiar face emerges suddenly from the crowd and he approaches you intently, “Little brother, we need ta talk.”

Upon hearing his voice you immediately recall your earlier conversation with Inslod. “We certainly do, but I need to speak first. I’ve already talked with Inslod and made it quite clear that I will not be responsible for protecting that hatchling of his. However, I will not be responsible for its **** either. If you want it dead then by all means go and kill it, but know that Inslod intends to defend it and he has every right to do so in my eyes.”

Garran scoffs at your words, “Well, that was fast. Every right eh? Of all the foolish.. Let me ask ye this little brother, since you and yer mate have not yet weathered yer first winter together, I’d like ta know who here knows ye better than I?” The answer to that question was so overtly obvious, you wondered why he would waste words by asking it.

“Nobody Garran. What are you getting at?” You reply, expecting your brothers obstinate nature to make an appearance any moment now.

“Aye nobody knows ye better. So believe me when I say ye’ve lost yer grip. I’ve hunted those ugly bastards since before ye could scrape yer own arse and I ought ta know they are no friends of ours. Just try ta imagine what it’s like to be a father. What if the wee abomination had a mind ta eat your child? Would ye say then that there’s no cause for care.” Although his voice remained calm you could feel the tension in the very air around you rising with every passing moment.

Despite his best attempts to conceal it, he was obviously emotionally invested in the topic at hand, in fact he seemed uncharacteristically concerned. That observation in itself bothered you much more than any spiderling. “One cannot help but wonder why you are so wary of this one spider? How many have you killed in your life? Why does this one worry you so?”

“This is a matron Ogma, ye would know why I worry if ye had ever hunted even just one of ‘em. They don’t stay small forever and we’d do well ta kill it now before it gets where it’s going. I’ve killed exactly four of ‘em and every time I didn’t think I was going ta live ta see another day. It’s not like hunting an auroch or a nadal, it’s stronger and smarter for certain. Ye never forget fighting a matron, the wounds they leave behind will see ta that. I can’t remember how many winters it’s been since I killed that first one, all I can say is that the scar it left me with hurts as bad now as it did then.”

“I know better than to hunt them brother. Everyone knows they are all risk and no reward. Besides I’ve already discussed this with him Garran. Inslod knows the price he will pay if anything ill occurs.” Your words do nothing to calm the hostility in the atmosphere.

“Aye he certainly does, and by then it will be too late.” Before you could so much as begin to offer a reply your discussion was unceremoniously interrupted by an unfamiliar voice. “Get out of my way or I will go right through you..” He growled. Turning to find the source of the voice you realize that you had been so preoccupied with your conversation that you hadn’t noticed a man approaching Sugain. Rigga on the other hand, was already on her feet standing midway between the man and the ranger who already had her bow drawn. The man was a bit taller than yourself and well built, the colors of his tartan told you he was from the Urbos, one of the mountain clans. One look at his scowling face left no doubt, he had **** on his mind.

“Thinly veiled threats are only made by fools who cannot hide their intentions or cowards who do not dare to state them plainly. If by chance you are wiser than you appear, you will remove yourself from this situation immediately.” You proclaimed at him, commanding his attention.

A hollow chuckle escaped the man’s lips as he tightened his grip on his spear. “If I were a fool I would allow that atmoran hag to live amongst us and if I were a coward I would just stand there gawking at her like everyone else. We haven’t been in this land for so much as a month and you’re already sheltering the enemy. My forebears didn’t suffer and bleed for generations just for you to rut the first atmoran you lay eyes on.”

Every word he snarled out was like venom spat from the mouths of vipers, frenzied and hostile. “Strange, I don’t recall you complaining when I led us out of the unnamed lands. Where was this bravery when night fell on the Black Forest? As I recall it, I am protecting her no more now than I protected you then.” You remark, hoping to remind him of who it was he was speaking to, and to remind him that it was upon your shoulders that he was able to stand here in the old land.

The man shook his head in apparent disgust. “I saw nothing wrong with you then, but now it is not so. Why do you defend this filth? Who gave you the right to speak to me as though I were your child? By the blood of our ancestors she and those like her should suffer as we have!”

“Brother do not lose sight of our true goal here. Once the tyrants of Atmor are no more then all people, yourself included, shall roam this place as we did the unnamed lands. I will ask no more of you in those days and each person shall live according to our ways and his own will.” You could understand why it would be easy to forget freedom in favor of vengeance, but surely the former aim was of greater importance. “If you find yourself no longer inclined to do as you are asked then you are welcome to leave, but do not forget whose leadership guided you here in the first place. Our ancestors are no more, passed unto places we cannot follow, do not claim their suffering as your own. We have lived with ease by compare. This woman, by joining us, is facing a trial of her own not unlike theirs. Is not **** a mercy when compared to life?” You finish.

For a moment the man appears to contemplate your words, when the ranger interjects. “Should I kill him?” She asks you from her place several feet away in a hushed tone.

“Didn’t I tell you not to say anything.” You hiss through clenched teeth, never taking your eyes off of the man.

“Yeah, I don’t think that’s working. Unless there’s something I’m missing here, that guy doesn’t like me.” She continues to whisper, and with every word she utters you watch the man’s resolve deepen and his anger rise.

“On the contrary Sugain, he’s pointing his spear at you as a gesture of good will.” You say as sarcastically as possible, quickly abandoning any hope of turning the man away peacefully.

“First you call me fool and now you call me brother, yet I would doubt you could call me by name as you have her.” He shouts at you, a menacing scowl carved deeply across his reddening face.

“That’s true, but you aren’t the first of your clan I’ve met and I doubt you’ll be the last. Honestly, I don’t even think you’re the most memorable member of the Urbos either. Which one of you was it that lost a hand trying to steal eggs from an Ironback turtle as it was laying them? What was his name.. Cydrik maybe? That one was memorable.” Fully aware of the all but inevitable conclusion of this confrontation, you can’t help but laugh at the similarities between the man and his relative. Now, just as then, an Urbos was metaphorically sticking his hand where it shouldn’t be.

“As Ogma’s kin I can say for certain that a man may be a brother and also a fool and as a matter of fact if I had to choose one or the other, I don’t think I’d ever have called him my brother.” Garrans entrance into the conversation surprised you a bit more than it should have, considering it was your discussion with him that was interrupted in the first place.

“True as that may be, Garran, it cannot explain away you brothers actions. Ogma has hardly taken two steps into atmor and he’s already pardoned those who cast us into ruin. I cannot and will not allow such a thing.” Growled the man, clearly undaunted by your efforts to defuse him.

“If I have pardoned anyone this day it will have been you for your ignorance. I ask you this, If a man from our tribe goes among the atmorans and learns the secrets of fire and begins to cook his meals or build a dwelling for his family is he one of us any longer? No! Such a man would be counted as an atmoran for he conforms to their ways and rejects our ways. If this be so then how can you condemn a woman who rejects the atmoran ways for our own? If the man may be condemned as an atmoran for following their ways then the woman may be vindicated as one of us for adopting ours. If you doubt my strength then test me any further kinsman and I will show you just how mistaken you are.” By the time you had finished saying this you had come to accept that this man would not be dissuaded from his task. Certain of this though you were, he did not answer you immediately.

“What I wouldn’t give for an Atmoran to Bark-Chewing Heathen dictionary right now. This is my first experience with troglodyte jurisprudence, and I can’t understand half of it.” Whispered the ranger, almost under her breath.

After spending a moment in thought the man gave his response. “Bold words spoken from a man who stands upon powers not his own. If I were to challenge you now I wouldn’t be testing your strength at all, rather I would be testing the strength of the magic you use to brace your weak spine. She is one of us you say? Then let her answer my call for Tikrokarits (which means “The Locking of Horns”).” His voice had calmed only a bit, clearly he had gained some mastery over his indignation at last. Tikrokarits was a part of the unwritten law of the Ardri, an age old test of physical skill and endurance. It was originally a common way to settle disputes over territory between individuals and rival clans, although in more recent times it had become a common method of settling petty disagreements. At best the game was dangerous, at worst it was fatal. The all too common broken bone could render an unlucky participant unable to hunt or defend themselves as necessary. Although weapons were not allowed in Tikrokarits, this did little to alter the potentially lethal consequences of a serious challenge. An Ardri shows no weakness, shows no hesitation, shows no flaw, especially in Tikrokarits. That is precisely why his challenge posed such a problem for you. If she refused, the new ranger would appear weak and further convince the crowd she did not belong. If she did not, she would face an ardri male that towered over her in unarmed combat, and said male was not likely to show her mercy. Your response had to be given in such a way as to take precedence over his informal challenge to her.

“I am certain she would. I wonder if you would do the same if in response I were to offer a challenge to you in the same manner. What then is your decision?” You ask, thereby forcing him to prove his resolve to defy you personally or else abandon his appeal to unwritten law.

“I would accept were it not that you are unfit to challenge me Ogma, for you are nothing more than human hide manipulated by dragon magic. Weapons are not permitted in Tikrokarits, nor is magic for it is but another form of weapon. Let this then be settled by those of us who are still human.” He responded coolly, a slight smile curling up ever so subtly at the edge of his lips. He was evidently well prepared for your response.

“I’ll hear no more of this. Mere words amount ta nothing. Ye find yerself possessed of the courage ta cast doubt upon the character of my brother yet ye quake at the knees when dared ta act upon yer accusations against him. Tell me what feats of strength ye have ta contend with his? Understand this much, if ye will not accept his challenge then ye must accept mine. Droskol Urbos, lock horns with me or depart!” Garran declares, his words carrying with them a familiar weight that you have not forgotten since your earliest childhood. Taking several steps away into the parting crowd, Garran casts down his mammoth bone club with a clatter on to the ground and begins to disarm himself completely, one weapon after another.

“I have said nothing against you Garran Spiderstalker, you are not guilty of his wrongdoing. Your name is not lost to me, you have earned respect from many of us who fought by your side when we were beset by countless pine widows in the old lands. Even before that time you were well known by those of us who roam the mountains, for you hunted and dwelled in places many of us deemed too dangerous to tread. It was out of respect for you and for him that I followed and fought, but I will not bear the burden of your frailties anymore.” The man turns to you and plunges his spear into the ground. “A pity that your ancestors gave all of their pride to your brother and left none for you.” He snarls, turning to face Garran.

As the two opponents come to face one another, they lock their hands together above their shoulders and wait for the call. From within the crowd your hear someone shout “Ka!” (Which in the Ardri language means “Crash!”). At the sound the two combatants begin their struggle against one another while the crowd roars to life chanting, “Ka, Ka, Ka!” Droskol immediately attempts to utilize his height advantage over Garran by trying to **** Garrans hands backward toward his wrists and down to the ground, forcing Garrans wrists to lock painfully so that Droskol might **** him to the ground. This however proved a poor strategy indeed, particularly against Garran. In an instant Garran rotates his wrists, along with Droskols, upside down and then lifts up forcing his opponents wrists to bend back toward the forearm. Droskol realizing that his opponent could potentially snap the ligaments in his hands with this technique, leaps backward into the air and drives both of his feet into Garrans chest, breaking the starting hold.

Now free to engage Garran at will, Droskol circles his opponent before throwing a series of heavy blows at Garran. Several of them strike their mark but Garran barely has time to strike back. It quickly becomes apparent that Droskol is much faster than Garran, and his reach is somewhat greater as well. Undaunted Garran continues to defend well against the ****, but his defense is far from perfect. After a short while it becomes clear that Droskol is targeting his sides. Several punishing blows land, such that you can all but hear your brothers ribs groaning under the strain, if they aren’t already broken. Suddenly, you brother drops his guard from his head to defend his sides. Seeing this, Droskol seizes the opportunity and throws a wild haymaker at your brothers head, which he immediately regrets. In a bold move even you might’ve declined to make, Garran headbutts his opponents hand mid-punch. The reaction is immediate and the damage clearly visible, several bones in Droskols hand shatter upon impact, breaking knuckles and phalanges alike. Shaking off the recoil from his gambit, Garran then throws a punch of his own into the hip joint of his opponents leading leg which succeeds in dislocating it. In response Droskol slams his elbow forward into Garrans face, which succeeds in little more than splitting his brow cleanly. Though bloodied Garran is able to stand, whilst his opponent now struggles to remain upright. With a single motion Droskol rams his dislocated hip into a nearby tree forcibly resetting it without so much as a gasp of pain, his hand however could not be healed in such a way, that is if it ever managed to heal right at all. After this, to everyone’s surprise, Droskol approached Garran yet again. The fight had not yet ended.

“Shouldn’t somebody stop them?” You hear the ranger ask, now standing next to you.

“It can’t be helped. It will stop when they decide it will.” You say returning your attention to the fight.

It was now Garran who pressed the advantage, but to no avail. Droskol defended well against him, deflecting what he could until he saw an opening. His maneuver took the form of a swift jab to the kidney, and with it he managed to fend off Garran for the moment. It was then that you saw the look in Garrans eyes, it was a look that haunted you as a child, a look that was always followed by blood. Garran charged his foe headlong, Droskol proved unable to avoid it on his damaged leg. With violent **** Garran rammed his opponents back directly into the trunk of a sturdy elm tree, knocking the wind out of his opponents lungs causing his limbs to go limp. He repeated this once more by colliding with another tree nearby until he finally released Droskol, who slipped into a gasping slump at the bottom of the tree. Garran stumbled back from his foe, sucking in heavy, shallow breaths. As Droskol lay there, bloodied and battered, the fight had seemed to reach its conclusion. That is, until Garrans foe lifted his one good hand, and began to beat a wild and familiar rhythm on his chest.

Suddenly this was no longer Tikrokarits, it was a duel. Droskol leapt up from the ground in a burst of astonishing energy, his riastrad in full effect. Having stepped back in anticipation of his victory, Garran attempts to close the distance and lock horns with him once again, his opponent had other plans in mind. Moving as though he were completely unharmed, Droskol tears a knife from the belt of a nearby onlooker and launches it with all his might toward Garran. Instinctively you move to intervene, when you hear the ranger whisper almost inaudibly, “Left hand.” Instantly an arrow buzzes past you and strikes the knife out of the air mid-flight, another arrow follows in almost immediate succession and strikes the still outstretched hand that threw the knife, pinning it to a tree. Snapping the arrow as though it weren’t there to begin with, Droskol frees his hand and rushes headfirst to meet Garran for the last time with blistering speed. With a grace you didn’t know your brother to possess, Garran deftly sidesteps his attacker while grabbing ahold of the back of the mans skull. In a simultaneous and fluid motion, he drops all of his weight onto that one hand, driving Droskols head down into a protruding tree root on the ground, instantly caving the skull in. Kneeling there spattered in blood both his and his opponents, your brother began to wheeze out a sort of pained laughter. “And I.. was... just starting.. to.. like... him.”

Most of the crowd had already begun to disperse, now that the spectacle had concluded. Taking your outstretched hand, your brother rises to his feet. Meanwhile others wearing the Urbos colors come forward to claim their fallen. “Forget Droskols disgrace, if you can. His designs were his alone, his insults were his alone, and so his penalty should be.” The eldest said plainly.

“Atmor will bleed, that I can promise you. I have kept my word thus far and will keep it still. Whether you believe what I say and remain or disbelieve what I say and depart, keep in mind that if he had but chosen either one, he would have kept the law.” As you spoke this to the eldest, the others began carrying the body away. “He fought well. My brother and I shall remember only his resolve, not his cause.” You finished.

“That is well Ogma, we shall do the same.” The elder replies before departing to follow the rest of the clan.

“I’ll be... honest... with ya brother.. I didn’t fight him because... I... disagreed with him. I did it.. because.. he... interrupted me.” He chuckles breathlessly as he gathers up his belongings.

“You know I can win my own fights, right Garran?” You ask rhetorically.

“Got tired.. of.. waiting!” He says smirking through the blood and sweat covering his face.

“Of course you did. If I were you, I’d go see Zeitsya, maybe she can help you out a bit. At the very least get some rest. Let me know how you feel tomorrow.” You advise him.

The crowd having now dwindled to but a few remaining people, you ask the person nearest to you, a somewhat short but comely brunette, “Can you carry a message to Hjalund and Inslod for me?”

You ask as politely as you can.

“I don’t really know them..” She says somewhat timidly. “I’m with Zeitsya’s group.. I suppose I can ask around though.”

“That’ll do just fine. Just spread the word that I need them both to meet me here before the moon is high. It’s very important.” You try to speak with a bit more of a smile as she seems genuinely anxious to be around you.

“Okay.. I’ll do what I can!” She chirps, making a bee line away from you. Turning back to face Rigga and Sugain, you find your mate has snuck up behind you.

“That went well.” She said, it a tone that was equal parts sarcastic and light-hearted.

“As well as it could’ve gone I suppose.” You reply. “Guess it’s time for me to say it.”

“Say what, exactly? That I was right? No need, dear mate. I already did.” She smiles coyly, drawing closer to you. How remarkable, you thought, that even in this moment with just a gentle step, with every lilting note of her voice, she managed to cast your concerns aside and draw your every thought back toward her. “Maybe you want to tell me how lovely I look this evening? You don’t have to of course, the way you’re looking at me right now already told me that... Among other things..” She said with an alluring smirk as her gaze dropped down to the growing tent of cloth between your legs.

“I guess that will have to wait.” She whispers in your ear. “You have other matters to attend to.” Following her gaze you turn to see lnslod approaching.

“I was nearby and heard you were asking after me. I hope it’s about that awful noise they are producing down there, they’ve been at it all day and I don’t think they plan on stopping at any point in the near future.” As soon as he finishes you recall the ranger explaining the atmoran festivities.

“It’s an annual celebration I’m told. Our new addition over there,” You say indicating Sugain, “Explained to me that the participants in said festival are known to intoxicate themselves with fermented draughts. She didn’t say how long the festival lasts. Let them celebrate their festival today, for tomorrow the celebration will be ours. Tomorrow they will hear our reply, and tremble at its utterance.”

“That would explain why the noise grows louder and more chaotic with every song. I had half a mind to start playing over them just to keep my ears from bleeding.” He complains.

“I didn’t know you played. Better to save your song for our victory tomorrow, this is their last night to play in that city after all. Besides, tomorrow your group as well as Zeitsyas should remain here. We aren’t sure what the atmorans are capable of yet so we can’t risk putting the children in harms way.” You say taking a seat by your mate. Rigga takes a handful of dried meat strips and hands them over to you from her pack, taking a few for herself.

“I’ll be taking Hjalunds group and possibly Garrans, as well as any volunteers from the other groups. Come, have a seat, Hjalund should be here soon.” You barely finish your sentence before you begin tearing hungrily into the tough auroch meat, and recline back next to your mate to wait on Hjalunds arrival.