Wishes from Kaldgrim

Serrilda. Serrilda looked up at the night sky and growled in frustration. The last race was the capstone of a long line of frustration. She and the other raiders had hopped for a fight and instead the chief had lead them to an easy victory against an almost undefended encampment. She hadn’t even wetted her blade. Again she had not had a worthy fight. This had been the pattern for the last few years. Ever senses the new chef had taken over. While the tribe prospered the cowered refused to find challenges. He always looked for the easy soft target. Trade caravans, merchant shipping, and camps when the warriors are out raiding like today. It was frustrating she knew he had the skills and strength of arm but he lacked the strength of spine to take the risky gamble and lead the warband to a proper fight. Looking up she saw a burning streak of light and without really thinking wished for her chieftain to have the courage to lead his people as he should. In a burst of light Serrilda disappears and her now former chieftain feels the nagging doubts and worries finally go silent and a suppressed burning desire fills him as his gaze turns south where he somehow knows a proper challenge will soon be.

Illenwyn. The lonely Queen they call her. Her people have gathered together this night. The augeries have predicted that this night is the best and possibly only chance for the ice elves. She looked over the entirety of her people. Once numbering in the thousands now only several hundred remain. Cursed to be as barren as the ice they command my that foul daemon they are a dying people. Now Illenwyn looks to the heavens and sees the hope of her people. A Dragonfall. She can only pray that the cost she will pay for her people will be something she can endure. She casts out her wish and like the shattering of the last spring ice a greater power breakers the daemons curse. Then the mountain fortress and all the elves within and the daemon held prisoner disappear.

Jolka. She sat by her lonely fire in front of her tent. Jolka was putting of goin to sleep for several reasons not least of which was how tired she was of lying alone in her cold bed furrs. As a young woman she had been so proud of her strength. Now she wished she hadn’t been quite so strong. She now was alone because no man had bested her and non were coming to try. She wanted a man strong enough to best her and honorable enough to treat her well in that victory. She had become **** enough to seek the wisdom of the clan’s shaman. The old dragon had done what magic it could and told her that one who could give her what she wanted would come at the rising of the dark moon this year. So she sat watching the horizon for that first blotting out of stars. As she caught the first indication of the dark moons rising sometime lose in the sky caught her eyes. The burning decent of a Dragonfall. Was this what the shaman had foretold? As she considered the price that may be required a cold breeze reminded her of her cold bed and empty tent. She cast out her wish wanting a strong mate to hold her more than anything in that moment. In answer a glowing portal opened and she grabbed her axe and jumped through the flash of the portal closing leaving only the fire behind

Brynhilder. She lay on her back in the snow drunkenly cursing every god and spirit she could think of and some who may not be real. Once again a tankard of ale and two shoot of good spirits and she had been on her face on the floor. The bar keep had rolled her out of the door as they closed. She had been trying so hard to build her tolerance to booze but it felt like she was getting no where. She could fight and forge as well as any of the kin and better than most, but she just couldn’t seem to hold her booze. She lay in the street looking up at the sky with tears in her eyes. Then she saw a streak of burning light and almost on reflex she wished she could drink any dwarf under the bar table. In a flash of light she vanished.

Gromna. She sat outside the camp of her fathers tribe crying quietly. Once again she had been passed over for other women. She was to slender, her breasts and bottom two rounded and large on her frame. Her face almost human or elven. Some in the camp thought she was a sign of the chieftains blood being to weak not able to produce a strong daughter. She sat alone silently crying. It was so unfair. She was as skilled a fighter, fisher, and dancer but the men of the tribe wanted women with muscles. She had overheard some of the men joking that if the tried to fuck her she would likely break in half. Now she again sat alone after a mating dance and being rejected. As she looked up to the sky to offer a prayer she saw a burning trail. A Dragonfall, she made her wish before she could think and a flash of light wicked her away.

Frunda. She sat at her fire looking at the head of her latest foe. Th Ork champion had lead a war party against a clan where she had been trading for some supplies. Seeing a chance she had strode out and challenged the leader of the war band. The fight had been over in moments and the war and had then retreated. However, something had been off, she had felt ever so slightly slowed. She had known and feared this for some time. She was getting older, how long she wondered, how much longer did She have on the battlefield. She had seen it in others, once great champions felled by a younger opponent do to the slowing and weakening of age. Or worse yet those who lived and became old wrecks of there former selves. That was an end she truly feared. She had searched for years now for a way to preserve her mind and body against the wear of time. She leaned back and looked up. As she contemplated the heavens a point of light caught her eye. The point of light quickly grew into a burning trail and she knew. A Dragonfall! She had her chance if she was willing to pay the price she could have her wish. After the last fight she felt this may be her only chance. Bracing she cased out her wish. A portal flashed into existence and she strode through it to her new fate.

Ignar. He looked at the twisted wire and interwoven plates forming the crown. Made of the last bits and pieces of Dragonite he had been able to scrap together and hoard. Now he would either have to work with inferior metals or pray for more of the rare metal to come to him. He stepped outside and looked to the night sky. If only he could find some more Dragonite. He snorted, the absolute best he could hope fore would be some noble wanting either his armor or weapon remade. That would be almost as bad as most people would only want inlay work or resizing. He grumble, oh what he could do with proper raw Dragonite and a dragon to smelt it. Preferably with a more exotic breath to really push the nature of the metal and truly test his craft. Then, as if in answer to his prayers a bright point lit up the night sky. It couldn’t be, but as he watched he quickly realized that it was, a Dragonfall. He had to try, he would not miss out on this chance. As soon as he cast out his wish a bright light encompassed his shop and himself and he was gone.