Gymir's Talons: Scatha (Samheen 18th)

[Guest]

(OOC: Continued for Scatha from: Fronigtalle: Scatha (Samheen 18th))

It was hard to tell for how long exactly the aerial ride lasted, but at least Scatha could be quite sure no nights had passed the time she spent at Anhar's mercy this time.

The image of heaven was no less overwhelming, and the snow-capped mountains surrounding Fronigtalle no less tiny from above than when Anhar had carried her for her maiden flight. As far Scatha could gather from the position of the sun, the hippogryph was taking her southwards, perhaps south-west, above ancient peaks and ridges. These grew as Anhar descended, and a gathering of greyish clouds above her seemed to lessen in size. The hippogryph's powerful wings beat in slow, rhythmic motions each side of Scatha. Its fur and feathers were warm despite the windy cold.

As they maneuvered in between two peaks clad in layers of snow, Scatha felt a cold, wet caress to her hand. A snow-flake had settled there, and indeed, suddenly a thousand of them, descending approximately the speed of Anhar's descent (one hovered falling right before Scatha's eyes a little while until it was blown away by a little gust of win) surrounded her. The hippogryph paid no heed. Above the flying twosome, clouds had gathered, though the sun still shone unhindered a little to the west.

The mountains came nearer. Closer. And bigger, somewhat. Snow fell like a flour on mountain-sides and hardy bushes and trees alike. Anhar took Scatha to lower grounds, between tall, alpine peaks, where the feet of mountains met. Below lay sturdy, spread woods, covered in shadow to all times except a feeble mark midday when the sun stood just overhead.

Then they were down. Scatha's mount landed gracefully on a dune of snow with spread trees and rocks dotting the white surface. Anhar gave the young woman a last, long, grave look with its large eyes before a cloud of snow suddenly flurried about Scatha as the hippogryph readied a quick flight, its beating wings disturbing the otherwise quiet snow on the ground. The white layer came well above the Dortenese's ankle. Then Anhar was off. Towering mountains surrounded Scatha in all directions. Grey and white mixed in an endless blur reaching upwards and upwards, blocking any horizon.

A twig broke somewhere close, followed the half of a curse. All of a sudden, from behind some trees in the distance, appeared a familiar, bearded face. Evan. About Scatha, the snow roused by Anhar's departure was settling around her again.

[wyrdgirluk]

Scatha stood and stared at Anhar as he left, a flurry of scuffed snow falling all about her; I could get used to riding a hippogryph, she thought to herself wistfully, watching as the beautiful creature dimisished and eventaully faded from view. She shivered involuntarily; despite being so high up, she'd been surprisingly warm, clinging to Anhar's body. She looked around, taking in her surroundings; now where am I? Ankle deep in snow somewhere in Trothgard. I wonder what other strange beings I am destined to meet here...

As if in direct response to her thoughts, the sharp snapping of a twig from nearby trees focused her attention. Scatha narrowed her eyes, trying to make out who or what it was... then smiled, as she heard and recognised the bearded figure of Evan. She raised her hand and waved, and started running towards him; "You will not believe what has happened to me," she panted...

[Guest]

"Uh...Scatha?"

The large figure that was Evan stood dumbstruck. His rich, darkly brown beard reached mid-torso, and was decorated with a bead depicting a white bear, marking him a Waelkyrige. A snow-flake fell fittingly over the wooden decoration, colouring the bear in more than the name. Evan's eyes were fixed at Scatha's approaching figure. She didn't come too far though.

As she ran, suddenly, the comfortably soft ground disappeared beneath her sole of her right foot. At the very same moment, Evan finally had his wits about to wave frantically back, though the hurried gestures conveyed 'stop' rather than 'welcome'. But it was too late. Scatha's one leg was covered up to the thigh in snow as a momentarily invisible drop in the ground had allowed for considerably deeper snow between the two of them. The likewise deep snow around her covered leg made for difficulty in maneuvering anywhere as arms and legs alike couldn't really catch sure hand- or foothold anywhere.

Evan's arms fell to his sides. Then he finally seemed to come to his senses and quickly lumbered over to Scatha, easily making his way through the snow before he reached the young Dortenese. Oddly, the snow only reached the big man just above the knees while it almost covered Scatha to her waist.

Then he picked her up...

...threw her over his shoulder, and began to make his way onto safer ground with big strides. "I won't believe it, ye say? I'll believe anything these days," he said in a gruff, worried tone. More to himself than to the object slung over his broad shoulder. And in a lighter tone (though only barely lighter): "Tell me."

[wyrdgirluk]

Scatha emitted an ear piercing shriek as the snow suddenly seemed to collapse beneath her. In seconds the dry, powdery substance was up to her thighs, and to her surprise she realised she was quite stuck. She started flailing about, stirring up clouds of white feathery powder which settled on her hair and went up her nose and into her ears and her mouth, and then...

Scatha felt herself being hauled out of the snowdrift she'd stumbled into. For a split second she was grateful, and was about to say 'thank you'when she realised that Evan had hauled her over one broad shoulder, and was carrying her away like a prize sack of potatoes.

Scatha was outraged. First Lirahn, now Evan... what was it with Trothgard men? Being carried around over a shoulder with her bottom stuck in the air was not dignified, especially if she was going to save Trothgard from almost certain doom. She hammered on Evan's back; "Put me down," she spluttered, spitting powdered snow...

[Guest]

However much strength Scatha put into her hammerings, they hardly seemed to penetrate at all through furs and wool and what else was covering Evan's shoulders and back. The big man offered only a little grunt in response.

As they reached safer ground (in whatever way), Evan finally gripped with two large hands around Scatha's waist and put her down - perhaps a bit more harshly than absolutely necessary - where the snow reached only just above her ankles. . "Now keep quiet..." the Trothgarder growled under his breath. His brows seemed on the point of merging above the bridge of his nose as he glanced with hard eyes at her.

Then, a moment later, his eyes softened and suddenly the burly man looked quite awkward. "Uh...sorry, Scatha, didn't mean to be mad. Just you popping out of nowhere now, three days after..." He didn't finish, but it was quite clear to what occasion he alluded.

"C'mon. We'll go back to camp." Searching with his eyes around the terrain, he began to walk briskly, expecting Scatha to follow. Peeking at her sideways, he seemed to be on the verge of telling her something or other, but instead, fighting to keep his voice low, asked stuttering: "How...how, Scatha?" He gestured to where he had first seen her.

[wyrdgirluk]

Scatha thrashed and kicked, but it seemed to do no good; Evan's clothing seemed to absorb her best efforts, and in the end Scatha just hung there, red faced and seething, getting angrier and angrier, frost covered bottom stuck in the air as Evan carried her through the snow.

At least he drew to a halt, and lowered her - none too gently - to the ground. He started talking to her, but Scatha was far too cross to listen. The action of putting her down sent another flurry of powered snow into her eyes and nose, and Scatha spluttered and coughed them away; when she cleared her eyes, she found that Evan had simply walked away, and was looking at her with a quizzical expression; seething, Scatha ran up to him through the snow. For one moment she was going to hit him, then realised that it probably wouldn't hurt him him through all his furs and clothes... so she hit him anyway. "Don't you know it's impolite to manhandle a lady," she hissed, trying to make some impact through his furs. Scatha knew she was not a lady, but she was hoping that Evan didn't know that. She was so angry that she looked around for something to hit him with, couldn't see anything apart from snow, and so she tried to scoop that up and throw it at Evan. It was very dry, powdery snow, and all that Scatha succeeded in doing was covering herself in a small cloud of dry, white powdered snow. It went up her eyes and nose and mouth and Scatha tried to swing at Evan again... and fell over. She was so cross that for a few seconds she just lay there, thrashing about in it and sending up a small blizzard of powdery crystals... until at last the cold bit in, and Scatha sat up, panting and only slightly calmer than she had been.

"Don't ever pick me up like a sack of potatoes again," she hissed at him, scrambling to her feet and trying to dust the snow from her. It was in her hair and on her clothes and on her nose; Scatha realised that she probably looked like a haystack that had been left out in the winter. Some of the ice was melting on her face; she used the back of her arm to wipe her nose clean, and pursed her lips; "Where is everyone? Where is Arvana, and Brynhild? How long have I been away? And where are we?"

[Guest]

Evan stopped and stood quite dumbstruck at the foreigner's wild flailing about. Whether the manhandling of ladies was an issue beyond Evan's scope of comprehension as there was hardly any ladies in Trothgard (and Evan certainly had never set foot anywhere else on Tazlure), his social antennae still seemed to recognize Scatha's violent fury to be most unlady-like. First he only looked at her thrashing. (Whatever strength Scatha put behind her hits they seemed to penetrate a wall or iron beneath the furs.) Then Evan grinned, revealing a magnificent set of white teeth. "Is this how ladies of your land behave?"

The snow continued to fall gently from the skies. The weight of the mountains surrounding them made even large Evan seem small. "Patotaes?" He tasted the word, clearly foreign to him. And instead of assuring Scatha about anything at all, Evan warily began helping to brush some of the snow of her shoulders while gazing suspiciously at her, still grinning. If anything, her outburst seemed to have put the Trothgarder in a better mood.

"It's the 18th of Samheen," he began, and his tone became grave. "Three days since you...were taken away. Arvana is safe in Rimehold as far as I know. And Ellena. Brynhild, she is disappeared. As a matter of fact, she is whom we seek." He didn't define further whom 'we' actually were. "The Bergliin woman, Hex, she...I don't know. We left and I didn't hear what she decided to do. You see, Scatha, the chamber in the Ice Queen's Temple where is kept the little of a written lore we have, was raided - I don't know if they have figured out by whom - the same day you disappeared. Hex da'Bergliin and Priestess discovered it. And then Brynhild da'Waelkyrige disappeared."

Evan fell silent for a moment. An angry expression formed on his face. "We're in the south-west of Gymir's Talons, the endless mountain range in which the vale of the hippogryphs, Fronigtalle, lies. But we're not heading there. We're on the tail of - we believe - those responsible for Brynhild da'Waelkyrige's disappearance, and the raid on the temple. And then...then you appear out of nowhere!" His gaze met Scatha's eyes.

"Come. We'll return to the camp while we talk."

[wyrdgirluk]

Scatha gave Evan a hard stare; "Ladies in Dort behave just like what I do, and don't you forget it." She wiped her nose with the back of her hand; "You don't even know about potatoes, for goodness sake." Actually, Scatha didn't know too much about potatoes herself, other than that you dug them up and ate them, but she wasn't going to let Evan know that.

Scatha shook the snow from her hair, trying to take in Evan's words. "I've been away for 3 days???" She paused, trying to work out what had happened. "There was a time after the hippogryph dropped me, when I don't remember anything... that must be where all the time went." She looked at Evan in concern; "You say Brynhild has gone? What has happened to her? How long has she been missing?" Scatha rubbed her face thoughtfully; "I was taken by the hippogryph to a strange place - green and lush and pleasant - and I met a very odd woman, who told me that something bad was going to happen to Trothgard. I wonder if she meant the things that were taken from the Ice Queen's Temple." Scatha shook her head; "I don't pretend to understand any of it. All I know is I'm supposed to help... somehow." She shivered; "How far is it to this camp?"

[Guest]

Evan suddenly seemed very interested as Scatha began speaking of the green vale. His blue eyes gleamed in remembrance and concern. And surprise over a foreigner having treaded the sacred ground. The large Waelkyrige heaved a sigh of relief as the young Dortenese gave her description of it. "Say, Scatha, it looked quite alright, didn't it? The valley, I mean. Fronigtalle."

They made their way downwards and soon met a steep slope dotted with snow-capped stones and boulders that at first sight looked quite impassable. However, Evan followed his own tracks in the snow, slowly covering now with the falling snow, and a rocky path seemed to emerge out of nowhere. As they walked, Evan continued hesitantly, clearly confused, and giving sidelong glances at Scatha frequently.

"There is a legend, Scatha, here on the Northern Isle. It is beyond all reason, but you seem to have stepped into its core, the valley called Fronigtalle, vale of the hippogryphs. This valley is kept lush and green through the power of the Ice Queen, our goddess, so that the hippogryphs can survive. In addition, it is where all Trothgarders go to pass their Clanhood Rite when of appropriate age. I know a da'Svafa woman, Ashilda, went there only these days?" He looked questioningly at Scatha. And worried. "But I digress. It is said that the power that keeps the valley fertile is trapped in a crystal in the mountains around Fronigtalle. No one knows its location, but is is critical to the warmth of Fronigtalle, and thus the survival of the hippogryphs."

Within a patch of trees down and away behind the rocky slope, on more flat ground, Scatha, could now see a few bustling figures. Perhaps a dozen. Evan signalled with his arms that everything was alright despite the new figure at his side. "Now," he continued, "I didn't even know there was a map, but apparently, with the raid on the Temple, the only indication of where this crystal is hidden was stolen: an ancient hide. There have been those linking Brynhild to the incident as she disappeared the same day, after the hunting. Either as a victim...or as an accomplice of whoever carried through the foul deed."

Evan stopped before they reached further towards the camp and grabbed her arm. "Now, tell me, Scatha what woman approached you in Fronigtalle? What were you told?"

[wyrdgirluk]

Scatha followed Evan, musing over his questions; "The green, lush place... it was lovely. But there was something odd about it at times, like it was a dream... it seemed to shimmer occasionally, as if it wasn't truly there. " She paused; "Actually, it didn't shimmer... it was more like a shuddering, as it something was wrong with it. I hope not, if those beautiful hippogryphs need it to live."

For a while she walked in silence, mulling over her thoughts, and Evan's words, until at last they came in sight of some other people in the far distance. Scatha pursed her lips; "This crystal you speak of, the one that is supposed to protect Fronigtalle... is it sacred to your people? Something that you are not allowed to touch? And would the maps that have been stolen show the way to it?"

She would have asked more questions, but before she could Evan grabbed her arm and started asking her even more questions. Scatha didn't mind people talking to her, and asking questions, but she did object to being grabbed. "Let go," she hissed, and slapped Evan firmly across the face. "I am not a sack of potatoes to be carried around and grabbed." As soon as she'd swung out, Scatha regretted it; "Sorry," she mumbled. "I just need time to think... my head hurts with all these questions." She started down towards the figures in the distance; "The woman's name was Deia.... she said I had to help Trothgard, and something about a Traitor, and something that is buried, something called a ploy. She said I had to do something no-one else of Trothgard could do" Scatha loooked helplessly at Evan; "But I don't know what it is. Do you think she wants me to get the maps back?"

[Guest]

"I'm sorry, Scatha," Evan mumbled in return and let go of her. He glanced overwhelmed at her briefly at what she said of herself and her role. And suddenly he looked at her with a sense of awe...and perhaps wonder, as if he was asking whether she really was sure. "Deia? Traitor? I don't know, Scatha. The map is no more than a tool. It is not the goal. That would be too simple. What is it Trothgarders cannot do..." The Waelkyrige man trailed off, mulling.

Evan did not immediately comment up Scatha's words of Fronigtalle. Instead he - perhaps unknowingly - increased his already quick pace. "I hope not, no," he mumbled finally.

"No. Yes. No. I don't know. It's more of a legend than a truth, I think. Thought," Evan corrected himself. "All crystal is sacred to us. It is a gift from the Ice Queen to the Clans. The Melorka Clan are experts in mining it. Most is found in Grimkell, south and west from here, at the foot of the Talons. Members of the Jofrio Clan are particularly good in crafting it. As for the location of this crystal- I don't know. Only the Priestesses have seen the map. For what it's worth. Tonight I'm sure Bjorn," he nodded down at the camp, "will recite the verse concerning the crystal for you. Perhaps you can see something in it we don't, Scatha." The large man sighed.

Finally they reached the camp, though it wasn't much of a camp. A small fire had been made up beneath a enormous protruding stone, hindering the smoke from rising in one visible column. six women and five men were around, not including Evan and Scatha. They were greeted quietly, several suspicious eyes found the foreigner. A pair of men were busy repairing a sledge.

A tall, rigid woman immediately approached Evan and took him aside, glancing sideways at Scatha. A feather was bound in the hair right side of her head; one bead attached to it depicted a running deer. But there were more beads: copper, garnet, hermatite, and silver. Evan, whose only bead (left side) was a white bear, showed great respect.

In a burn they were finished. The waft of roasted meet reached Scatha's nostrils from the little fire. A rabbit was on the menu, and another additional two lay beside the fire. Their furs were half grey-brown, but turning white, it seemed. "They change cloak for the winter..." Evan started explaining, but was cut off by the tall woman.

"So this is you," she said in a cool, serene voice. "Taken off by a hippogryph, supposedly, and brought to Fronigtalle, I hear." Evan stood aside. "A foreigner in the vale of the hippogryphs, taken there by a hippogryph. Tell me, Scatha Ashtir, have you the slightest idea of what this means?"

[wyrdgirluk]

Satha gave the tall, rigid woman at long, hard stare. She reminded Scatha of her aunt Etain, a witch of a woman driven by the need to "do the right thing" at the expense of her own (and others) happiness. Scatha registered the emphasis on the world supposedly, and was instantly reminded of how her aunt Etain always used the same word to try and catch her out when she was trying to get outside and hide from her. I'm going to have to watch this one, Scatha thought to herself, and involuntarily pouted.

"There isn't any supposedly," she announded, as haughtily as she could manage. "A hippogryph snatched me up, and carried me away to a wonderful place - I think Deia called it Fronigtalle - and I was told I was to help you. And then the hippogryph carried me back. But apart from that, I don't know what it means." Scatha looked at the tall, rigid woman; I bet she's a lady. And I bet she knows about potatoes. And I bet she knows what a ploy is, too. But I'm not going to let on that I don't. Scatha fought an almost irresistable urge to stick her tongue out at her, and instead turned her attention to the rabbit; "Now that smells good," she exclaimed enthusiastically, realising that she was in fact extremely hungry...

[Guest]

"Did it indeed," the tall woman replied neutrally at Scatha's comment on her adventures with the hippogryph, neither dismissing nor approving the story. Tilting her head and narrowing her eyes, she gazed inquisitively at the young foreigner and pursed her lips. Then proceeded to tap a finger to her chin as her eyes slowly lost focus and stared into nothingness.

And Evan was at Scatha's side again. He was about to grab her arm, then hesitated, suddenly displaying an awkward smile. He nodded towards the fire and the rabbit. There sat a man and a woman. "Have something to eat, Scatha, you must be starving," announced Evan.

The woman was small for Trothgard standards, but she offered Scatha a sweet, welcoming smile. The feather in her hair sat to the right, and the adorning bead depicted a leaf. The man was another business. Most burly and with an enormous black beard complemented he was a sight indeed, outdoing Evan easily. Something his spine did little to undermine. For it seemed to have gone all awry, his spine. Not only was the big man stooping, but his back was quite bent as well, so that he always leant to the right.

"Mereta and Bjorn," Evan said. The little woman only smiled, Bjorn raised an arm and waved. His eyes came visible under a hair perhaps even thicker than his beard, and surprisingly appeared cerulean and piercing blue with an intimate focus in them.

Meanwhile, the bead-rich woman with the stale tone had moved off to the couple restoring the sledge, and was appearing to be giving a good reprimand.

[wyrdgirluk]

Scatha scowled as the tall woman turned away from her, and then stuck her tongue out, making sure that she didn't see her... until she realised that Evan was talking to her. Scatha went quite pink with embarrassment; "Ermmm... yes. Yes, I am hungry," she said, and hastily made her way over to the fire.

Scatha gave her best smile as Evan introduced her to Mereta and Bjorn; they seemed nice people, especially Mereta. Scatha looked appraisingly at the black beared giant; "Goodness... you look like you could eat an elk, let alone a rabbit," she said with a smile. The delicious smell of rabbit cooking tweaked her nose, and Scatha half closed her eyes in appreciation; "May I have some?" she asked Mereta, who seemed to in charge of the cooking. Scatha lowered her voice; "Who is that?" she whispered, gesturing to the tall woman...

[Guest]

After having introduced her to the twosome by the fire, Evan left Scatha alone with the pair demonstrating extreme contrast when it came to body size. Beneath the somewhat protruding cliff formation above, few flakes of snow reached in here; the ground was covered with greenly yellow grass and moss.

"That is Magritt so'Waelkyrige," said Mereta soothingly, and went on as if the issue was of no consequence. As indeed it didn't seem to be with the two of them. "Here," she offered kindly as she handed the young foreigner some roasted rabbit. With it came a crust of bread. Bjorn was also served, but sat motionless gazing at Scatha with his deep blue eyes. Mereta didn't appear to notice, as if she was too used to it to notice.

"Did you try to taste the snow?" asked Bjorn enigmatically and all of a sudden, out of nowhere.

[wyrdgirluk]

Scatha smiled at Mereta; "Thank you," she said, and wolfed the rabbit and the bread dow, spitting crumbs everywhere. Maybe it was the cold air, or the thought that she hadn't eaten for 3 days, but it tasted good. As she chewed, Scatha looked speculatively at Magritt; "Waelkyrige? Is she a relative of Brynhild? Is she a priestess?" Scatha suddenly realised that she was talking with her mouth full, tried to swallow, nearly choked and instead emitted a strangled half belch. "Sorry," she said apologetically. "Better out than in." She would have asked more questions, but instead found herself the target of one. For a second, she didn't quite understand what Bjorn meant; then guessed that he was commenting on the thin layer of powdery snow that covered most of her. "I guess you could say that," she replied with a grin. "A bit too cold and dry, and no substance. Are the men of Trothgard like that as well?"

[Guest]

"You must be hungry, Scatha," offered Mereta gently, acknowledging and accepting the foreigner's apologies. "Here..." She rummaged through some skins, a walrus tusk, and whatnot and came out with a sort of a bottle made out of a walrus tusk and some fur. "Have a swallow of this. It's cod-liver oil, very strengthening." And the little woman handed Scatha the little drinking device, having uncorked it.

Evan joined them with a slightly nervous smile. The sledge under repair was coming along it seemed, or perhaps not, depending on whether Magritt so'Waelkyrige's harsh tone reflected progress or stand-still. The fire crackled. A crispy breeze - bringing with it dallying snowflakes - reached Scatha's skin through her clothes. Evan threw her a fur cloak. "Woman walking is never cold, woman sitting in furs must infold," he recited, as if it was a saying here. And perhaps it was.

Looking sideways at the large Bjorn, Mereta smiled. As the former seemed everything but intent on answer, the smaller and latter voiced her opinion. "You could certainly say they appear so," she said gently, in a tone that could - but not necessarily was - ironic. "But snow has many substances." Evan grinned.

Bjorn, on the other hand, paid no heed to this, and continued to stare at Scatha with his large blue eyes. Then he suddenly stuck out his tongue in imitation to the gesture of a certain newcomer not many burns ago. A snowflake landed there, and as it melted and disappeared, it embarked on a journey behind the teeth of the big Trothgarder.

[wyrdgirluk]

"Thank you," Scatha smiled at Mereta, before looking at the peculiar bottle she had handed her. Cods liver? Scatha knew that a cod was a type of fish you got from the sea, altough she'd never tried it, and she'd seen plenty of livers on the farm when her she and her father and brothers had slaughtered cattle... but she'd never thought of fish having livers, let alone having oil coming out of them. Perhaps its a riddle, like a hippogryph crossing the road...

Any further thoughts on the matter were interrupted by the return of Evan, along with fur cloak and an even more intertesting comment. Scatha mused on it as she wrapped the fur cloak about herelf, enjoying the immediate sensations of warmth and peculiar muskiness of the cloak, part animal, part previous owner; a woman sitting in furs must infold? Scatha wondered what infolding was, and whether it painful. She was about to ask Mereta, when she noticed Bjorn sticking his tongue out at her. For an instant she was outraged, and was about to make a tart remark about some people having no manners, let alone knowing anything worthwhile about potatoes, when she suddenly registered what Bjorn had said earlier about tasting the snow. Maybe its something they expect everyone to do, like shaking hands... Scatha had never given a great deal of thought about her manners - in fact, her aunts used to insist that she had none - but she wasn't going to be impolite, especially to people who were kind enough to offer her cooked rabbit, a fur cloak and the oils from the intestines of a fish. Very deliberately, Scatha stuck her pink tongue out, and waited for a snowflake to land on it. It didn't take long, and Scatha waited to see if it was any different from the snow on Dort. Strange customs, these Trothgardians have... but I like them. Smiling, Scatha unstopped the peculiar bottle, raised it in thanks to Mereta, and took a deep swig.

There was a moments silence, and then... Scatha practically spewed the foul oily liquid out onto the snow, before scooping up handfuls of crisp dry snow and shovelling it into her mouth in an attempt to take away the foul taste. "I've been poisoned," she spluttered though mouthfuls of snow, spitting out flakes and the last bits of rabbit. "Mother of earth, why would anyone drink that?" Scatha made a mental note to cross cod off her list of things to eat, especially the liver...

[Guenhwyfar]

Evan and Bjorn goggled at Scatha's outburst, concern giving way, albeit slowly, to amusement as she scoured her mouth out with snow. Evan shook his head at her, mock scoldingly, as if to suggest that this was further proof that he found her claim to be a lady somewhat suspect.

Meretha merely smiled and held out another piece of bread to Scatha. "No need to freeze your tongue off," she said. "Eat this -- it will take some of the taste away." Indeed, the coarse, earthy taste of the bread would be enough to appease Scatha's taste buds, although a less-than-pleasant aftertaste seemed certain to linger on.

"You're worse than my children," said Mereta, amusement crinkling the corners of her eyes. "So I'll tell you what I tell them: 'bitter down your throat it flows -- better through your limbs it goes.'" The gently sing-song tone of her voice did seem the sort to make a child feel better, even if the sentiment did little to remove the foul aftertaste.

Bjorn grinned and took a swig from the horn himself, shuddering dramatically then smacking his lips, and Evan wrinkled his nose with exaggerated distaste. "Bitter down your throat it flows -- better in the snow it goes," he retorted to Mereta, who gave him a quelling, though not entirely unamused look.

Suddenly the two men tried to rearrange their features into some semblance of seriousness. Magritt had appeared directly behind Scatha and was surveying the scene before her.

"You do not find our hospitality pleasing?" asked the tall woman, lip curled faintly in disdain.


OOC: Hey, Wyrdgirl -- I'll be taking over your thread for a little while. Don't hesitate to PM me with any questions or directions in which you'd like to see your story go.

[wyrdgirluk]

OOC :
Hi Guenhwyfar... glad to have you looking after me! I seem to be going through mods like there is no tomorrow... hope you manage to last a bit longer

IC :
Scatha snatched the bread from Mereta's hand and chewed on it furiously, try to remove any remaining taste of the vile fish liver juices from her mouth. "Thanks," she spluttered, scattering crumbs everywhere. It did help, but there was still a faint aftertaste even after she'd finished. Scatha grimaced as she watched Bjorn guzzle it down; "How can you bear it??" she asked, part in disbelief, part admiration. She would have waited to see if Bjorn threw up in the snow, but instead all attention was directed to Magritt, who had suddenly appeared behind her. Scatha peered up at her; my aunt Etain used to suddenly appear from nowhere as well... "Oh, its lovely here," she said disarmingly. "Everyone is so friendly... and the snow is extremely tasty," she continued, winking at Bjorn. "Its just that one flake went up my nose, and make me cough," she explained, lying through her teeth...

[Maeve]

Margritt arched an eyebrow, obviously not entirely sure the young woman was telling the truth, but not challenging her openly either. Such would be against the hospitality rules.

And so the eveningtide continued, with stories shared at the fire and Margritt throwing glances at the stranger at their midst. At the end, just before gravetide she suddenly called out to Scatha, silencing the others in the circle with her challenging tone "And so Scatha, what will you do on the morrow. Will you go visith the Kona to tell your remarkable tale? Or will you simply let this pass without meaning?"

OOC: I'll be covering this till we can find Guen for you

[wyrdgirluk]

OOC: thanks!

IC: Scatha pursed her lips; whilst she didn't particularly care for Margritt, it was a fair question, and deserved a fair answer. "I think," she said slowly, "that I must see your Kona... many strange and wonderful things have happened to me since I have come to Trothgard, and I have had a clear vision of someone - or something - that I think your leader must be told." She glanced up at the others, almost shyly; "I do not know why I was chosen, but if I can help... then I will." She looked back at Margritt with a smile; "We will go and see the Kona tomorrow, and let her decide what is to be done... if that lies well with the rest of you?"

[Maeve]

Scatha saw nods all around and even Margritt gave a short gruff kind of nod. The weather had turned misty and far in the distance the call of Trolls reminded them of the wilderness that was so close.

Samheen 19th

It was once again a bright day with blue skies, despite the fact the area had seen much new snow that night. Mereta was waiting with breakfast. A lump of bread, some cheese and some scented water from the stove. She poked in the fire "I took some of our dried rations and put it in your pack. Evan found a blanket and some other stuff to keep your warm during your travel."

Bjorn came wandering in at that point, and he grinned at her, obviously one of those types that like to get up bright and early.

[wyrdgirluk]

Scatha sat up and yawned, then used her fingers to try and bring some sense of order to her hair. She felt a bit cold and stiff, but nothing too bad; after all, she was used to sleeping outdoor on Dort, but Trothgard was colder, and somehow the cold seemed to have crept into her bones. Scatha took the offered breakfast with a smile, and wolfed it down; maybe its something the air that makes you hungry, too... She took the blanket that Mereta had given her, and wrapped it around her shoulders, trying to keep in as much of the warmth as possible.

Bjorn appeared, and Scatha greeted him with a warm smile; "Where is everyone else? And when do we make a start back to see the Kona?"

[Maeve]

OOC: Okay, hold on to the seat of your pants!
Here is the deal. Your new moderator will be Finodborn as soon as you arrive in the citadel. I'm going to do a summary post here and you can add your own thoughts and feelings etc. and we'll call it a day. I'll skill this thread and any you list that hasn't been done yet so that you'll have a clean slate.


IC: In between bantering with Bjorn and packing the camp the morningtide passed swiftly and it was nearly tradetide before they were on the move again. Their desitnation was Rimehold so that Scatha could be brought forward to the Kona. Throthgard was such a small society that any issue of authority was mostly dealt with by the Kona.

When Scatha arrived in Rimehold and was brought to the mother house, the first thing that struck her was the scent of sage. A half circle of woman sat facing her, near the fire. They were mostly covered with furs. Some of them were young, but most were toothless crones with whispy grey hair. On an elevated chair covered with soft furs sat a blond-grey woman with icey blue eyes who observed Scatha well. A gryphon feather clearly indicated her to be the chosen one, the Kona.

The Kona listened intently to Scatha's story, sometimes interrupting her to get down to the details of what happened.

When Scatha was done it was silent for a moment, as the Kona folded her hands and spend some time in thought. When she spoke it was crisp, cutting through the scent like ice "Scatha, you are one of numerous questers telling us of the situation at Fronnigtale. Something is killing the valley of the Icequeen, the place of her holy gryphons, and it is distracting her beyond reason. At the moment we believe that a foreign force might be behind it all, interfering on Trothgardian soil."

The Kona observed Scatha for a while as if trying to determin if she would be worthy "Scatha, you come from outside, yet the Icequeen has sought you out to spread the tale. The council therefor things it should be you that is the messenger ot the Capital of the Seven Isles, to the embassy of Trothgard in the Citadel. As you may know Aesa d'Yrsa is engaged to Ceasar Anochrim and she needs to be aware of this information so she may lead the nation." There was a chuckle among the women and the Kona winked at Scatha "Whatever men will think, it will the women at court who are leading."

Not awaiting any protestations form Scatha the Kona rose form her chari and walked into the back where a curtain seperated a small aclove from the rest of the room.

Behind the curtain stood two pillars with a little bow spanning them, encrusted with gems and runes, forming a dooropening of some kind. The whole object was strangely out of tune with the culture of Trothgard, as if it was imported from the Citadel and planted here in the middle of the wilderness. Where a door belonged was instead a swirling hole.

The Kona held out a crystal to Scatha. It was a of a perfect cut, and caught the light of the flames back where the old women sat, splattering it in a rainbow of colors over the walls. "This will proof that you speak for the Kona. Nobody can take a crystal of this clarity from Trothgard without our permission. If Aesa thinks this is wise it may serve the mages of the University of Magick."

The Kona looked at Scatha, and she felt slightly dizzy as if there was something unnatural in those eyes that made her stomach twist "GO, the ambassador awaits you."

OOC: Just for your information the Kona put a minor spell of persuasion on your PC which will entice her to follow the mission without too much protestation. You may roleplay this if you wish as something that is "outside' Scatha if such a thing would not be natural for your PC to do.