RP:Comes the Star-Wharg, Bearing Disappointment

Venturil Castle

Jerica stood at the white mare's head, the horse's back held a saddle and a few of Jerica's few traveling items. A bedroll and bags tucked away holding food and other small necessities. Jerica traveled light much to her body guards' delight. It meant they could move fast if they needed to. Jerica nonchalantly looked around, watching for her sister-wife and the rest of a suddenly extended family.

Heard before it's seen, in the loud ring of many hooves on the stone of the long, paved main road, a company of Plains Riders appears through the city gates. They travel swiftly, Raidh and grim Avaldi at the fore of six Riddarnir men (two of whom are actually women). All bear long-spears and shields, various weapons and sacks tied to metal rings.

Raidh raises her spear in greeting to her sister-wife, and Avaldi greets Jerica likewise. "Ready?" the shieldmaiden grins, "I hope your men can ride as well as you do, lest they fall behind us." And what a pity that would be, says her expression.

Jerica mounts the mare nimbly and takes up the reins in bare hands. She really only needed gloves when on a job and this wouldn't be one of those times. "I'm ready," she grins back just as the clank and clang of armor announces her own men settling into saddles. "They'll do or they won't. They learn rather quickly." In fact, they were all decent horsemen. They just had a problem keeping an eye on Jerica. A light tap of her heal and Leikna nearly leapt at the chance to get out of the city. Jerica chuckled and eased her back with a squeeze of her knees and light pressure on the reins.

Raidh brings her mare alongside Leikna and asks Jerica, with a glance over to her brother, “So how’s the lessons going?” Her grin displays the fact that Raidh knows all too well how lessons with the Half-Arm generally go. The man in question is speaking with Hvitr and a broad-boned female Rider with hair the colour of a blood bay, beckoning the guards to join them as he lays out the proposed route of this quest into abject folly, as he sees it. He is every bit as eager as Jerica’s mare to be out of the city, though, so he is not as grim as he otherwise might have been.

Jerica stroked the graceful arch of her horse's neck before glancing back at Half-Arm with a scowl. "Painfully," she admits, "But at least I won't get myself killed riding now. And you can bet those lessons will continue while we hunt for Griffins." That thought wasn't a very pleasant one to have at all. Her shoulders, back and behind already ached and they hadn't even started moving. Not that Jerica would give the plainsman the satisfaction of knowing she was keeping a liniment in one of the saddle packs.

Raidh laughs, and gives Jerica a wicked look. Nidrun, half a second later, bursts into a flat-necked gallop that has mare and maiden flying along the main road to the north. She whoops as she encourages that hectic pace, urging Nidrun into greater speed yet. Clearly, it’s a race! To where? Who cares!? The day is new, the horses fresh and there’s adventure out there, somewhere, just waiting to be had!

So far, Raidh is winning.

Jerica shakes her head, not nearly so boisterous as Raidh is, but she gives Leikna a nudge with her heel and the mare springs into an instant run after Raidh and Nidrun. Her long strides ate up the ground and Jerica didn't even bother to look back and see if Avaldi noticed the sudden departure of the women, or if Toby and his men had for that matter. The assassin inched her hands up the reigns to lay snug against her mare's neck and just let the horse run, giving her head but leading with legs and softly murmured words of encouragement.

Raidh’s horse is by far the more experienced in battle, but she is also more than twice Leikna’s age and the white mare manages to catch her despite the head start. Neck and neck they run, startling bands of soldiers and wagoneers heading south for the markets as they thunder past. Including that potato farmer (remember him?) who instinctively ducks, despite they’re nowhere near likely to leap over him and his cart this day.

Following close behind the King’s wives is Avaldi on Glaesir, the great black stallion, and behind him the Riders, trailing them the King’s men. Plenty of dust is stirred! Glaesir could surely have caught up with the mares, if Avaldi did not secretly enjoy his sister having a little fun; she is still young and full of the hijinx of youth after all, and there’s little stupidity she can indulge in this close to the city. As they pass into the farmlands, though, the Half-Arm allows Glaesir his full stride, and the mighty black, swifter than any horse outside of the deep plains, quickly brings Avaldi aside the two.

Raidh slows her pace and calls to Jerica to do the same. Slightly breathless, she calls, “West!” – there’s a clear trail from here which will carry the company into the rocky foothills.

Jerica leans into the turn as Leikna makes it, heading west ward. Toby and the other men would catch up in due time. Jerica was young, probably not nearly as young as Raidh, so she could still enjoy a bit of hijinx herself. If the smile she wore was anything to go by, she was enjoying this immensely. She barely noticed Avaldi Half-Arm or did a good job ignoring him. Despite the soreness still lingering from recent 'lessons', she kept her seat well and Leikna in check for the moment while they ran and followed the trail.

Raidh set the pace, for it is she who knows where they all are headed. Or rather, where they all are best to avoid as they search for their quarry; it is not so long ago that she witnessed the Thunder Bird, bringer of maelstroms, battle the dragon Sacrilus on the peak of the very tor they are headed for now. Raidh has already explained the sighting of that rare, vast and elemental creature (though she left out the part about Sacrilus) to Avaldi, whose pale blue gaze now roams the northern hills of chert and the peaks beyond, for sign of that legendary beast. But the skies remain clear today, and so onward they ride, further into the mountainous reaches of the far north-west.

The Half-Arm is keeping a close eye on the King’s wives. Raidh, because, well, she’s Raidh and trouble’s bound to follow her. And Jerica, with a critical eye, because she is an apt pupil despite her not being plains-bred, and Avaldi is pleased with her progress, not that he’ll be telling her that any time soon.

Rocky Outcropping

Raidh keeps that steady pace for some time and then slows further still until the whole company has caught up together, and then she halts. They are in rocky terrain now, and cannot travel much higher on the flaky chert without risking the horses, for the stone of these lower reaches is fragile and treacherous. Raidh squints toward the peaks. “If the legends speak true, this is the place we’re most likely to find sign of griffins. But from here, we’ll have to go on foot.” She glances back to Jerica, then Avaldi, “What say you, we make camp here and rest a while, before we..” she points up, up, into the spikes of rock whose heads are hidden in mists above, wincing at the very idea of being that high off the plains-level ground.

Jerica followed with the wind and her own breath in her ears. At least this time she didn't attempt any tricks, and she was glad to let Raidh lead the way. Once or twice she caught Avaldi from the corner of her eye and whatever glimpse she caught brought a slight grin to her mouth. She didn't search the skies, not knowing she should since she hadn't heard the tale of Thunder Birds (with the part about a dragon left out) so her eyes remained trained ahead to watch for anything that might cause injury to Leikna. When Raidh stops so does she and Jerica looks back to see the rest of their party catching up. The glimmer of armor was a bit of a ways off yet, the heavier armored men slowing their mounts considerably. They would catch up, eventually. Looking back to her sister-wife, the assassin nods and starts to dismount with a glance upwards. At least she didn't seem put off by the prospect of a climb. "Camping here is as good a place as any." Catching that wince she smiles, "It won't be so bad. Climbing that will be easy."

Raidh snorts her disbelief, and too dismounts, unclipping her various belongings from Nidrun’s saddle-rings, until all that’s left is the surcingled saddle itself, which is next unstrapped and its folds shaken out into an expanse of felt. She converses with Jerica as she goes about this, leaving the organization of the others to her brother. “Climbing is for squirrels and highlanders,” she is trying to save some face here, and probably failing. “Though I will admit, it’s not so bad once you get past the flaky stuff.” Neither rain nor darkness are close, so she does not make the felt into a tent, merely hangs it on the blunt end of the spear she’s poked as far as it will poke into the unforgiving earth of this place, to air.

Nidrun wanders off, finding hardy hill-grasses to nibble on.

Avaldi joins them once Glaesir is freed, towering over both women (but Jerica especially). “I’ll find us some food,” he tells them, striding off to hunt through the rocks for whatever wild-life is here, beckoning one of the female Riders to accompany him, the swart and thick-set one.

As they go, Raidh gestures toward them, “Her name is Birta, but everyone calls her Brynja, the Armor. Because she's impenetrable…” she stops there, having preemptively answered the inevitable question, a little color flushing her cheeks, “Some of the men aren’t very kind about her, but she’s a good warrior.”

Jerica pulled her own supplies from Leikna's back, the special saddle was rested over a rock rather than hung on a spear. Since she didn't have one. The bridle was removed as well and the mare went to join the other horses in scrounging for food. When Avaldi left with the rather solid looking woman, Jerica tilted her head towards Raidh, "She's never...?" Jerica didn't finish, judging by that blush doing so would have put her sister over the edge of embarrassment and that wasn't her goal. Yet.

Raidh shakes her head and her cheeks redden even more, “Men talk,” she says, as she inspects some nearby rock-shrubs for kindling material, “They do not always know what they’re talking about. All I know is, Brynja would make any warrior a fine wife, yet she’s refused marriage-trade with every family so far.” The girl shrugs, “So they say she prefers the beds of women.” The shieldmaiden thinks that’s just a dandy place to make a change of topic, so with armful of dead twigs, she tilts her chin up toward the peaks. “Griffins. If he were not my own father..” her smile is wry. “For his sake, I hope there’s a few left.”

Jerica is quite alright with the change of subject. Growing up in a traveling show, a girl doesn't stay that innocent for very long. She took started looking for fuel to go into the eventual fire which would then cook whatever Half-Arm brought back to eat. Jerica had hard-tack in one of the bags but would save it for when it was really needed. "At least one left," she agreed, adding her small offering of twigs to Raidh's.

Raidh deftly builds a small, mostly smokeless fire which she feeds with a pat of dried dung she found over there (ew) marking these foothills as the migratory route of some sort of large ungulate, a fact bolstered by the faint imprints left in the now-hardened mud of the last rain season. Big hoof prints. Really big, and Raidh frowns at them. Not Bull-men, she decides, with sighed relief. Something four-legged. Meanwhile, she’s saying to Jerica, “The songs say they were hard to catch and harder to tame. The Riders stole eggs from their nests and raised them in camps far from the herds, as Griffins like horse-meat second only to that of the Nidhoggr.” She adds, a second later, “Reptiles. That’s their main food, dragons. And with the passing of the dragons and so many of them slaughtered in the old wars, they dwindled into legend. Though some of the songs say...”

Raidh is interrupted by Avaldi’s return without the woman named Armor, bearing a brace of fat ground-squirrels. These are dropped at Jerica’s feet, and the Half-Arm grins to her through his pointed yellow beard, “No maids or butlers here. I fear you might have to get your hands dirty, Your Majesty.”

Jerica had just crouched next to the small smokeless fire near Raidh and was -about- to hear about that song when the brace of squirrels land at her feet. Something mischievous and slightly wicked made her reach out to the soft fur and stroke it almost regretfully before she drew a small but very sharp knife from her boot. It wasn't designed for skinning, but it would do. "It's a good thing that having butlers and maids is only a recent development," she replies drolly. Not looking up from the squirrels' whose coats she expertly peels from the meat beneath, after deftly removing the heads, feet and gutting them (away from camp of course), she suggests, "Avaldi, would you be a dear and get a good stick to use as a spit for this wonderful meal you've provided? I may have some herbs somewhere in my pack to season these with." The herbs she used for her toxins were harmless when cooked.

Raidh rolls her eyes at her brother.

Avaldi chuckles heartily at Jerica’s words and hoists a short-axe over his shoulder, heading off to a small stand of wizened trees growing amid a cluster of boulders not far away. His words drift back, “Your wish is my command, Highness.”

Raidh shoots his back a dirty look, “He’s never going to let that go,” she mutters, then peers at Jerica’s pack, “What herbs, sister?” She’s hoping they’re new ones, always happy to find new plants to work with. “Anyway, as I was saying, it’s said that sometimes the griffins of the West bred with the archaic wild horses of the hills, producing strange offspring that were even wilder than either parent. But no-one’s seen anything like that since the days of the Great War, if they ever did. The old songs don’t lie, it is against our way to sing untruths, but they do embellish things at times.” She prattles on so, until her brother returns with not only six whittled skewers but his one and a half arms loaded with thicker cuts of wood.

Avaldi says to Jerica, “You’ve got her started on about the old days, haven’t you.” His features are grim as he shakes his head with foreboding. “There’ll be no stopping her now.” And with that, he droops his shoulders and grimly strides off to find Toby, who might enjoy a sip of kumis now they’re settled for the day.

Jerica says, "The blue pouch in my bag over there. You can smell it if you like but I don't recommend eating it raw." After that, she listens to Raidh's tale, nodding thoughtfully as she rubs the squirrel with the herb. Whether or not Avaldi let her words go or not, Jerica was having a grand time poking at him now and then. Rebuttal for the recent abuse in training. Just as he returned with the requested spit, she had finished seasoning the squirrels. "Avaldi, dear brother, I don't think I could have stopped her." Jerica passes a quick smile toward Raidh, who she really did like very much and was getting used to by now. "Here, help me get these over the fire then maybe I can try one of your drinks." She watches speculatively while Avaldi and Toby wander off with a skin between them, their heads bent as though they are deep in discussion. They probably are, talking about how similar the two women were. Especially with their penchant for sneaking off when the mood struck them.

Raidh still has the pungent scent of herbs in her nose as she pokes the fire into suitable submission for the cooking of meat, and sets up a couple of rocks to balance the skewers across. Toby and the Half-Arm are glanced at, a faint smile on her lips. She’s never known her brother to be so affable with people as he has been here among the Utlendrvolk. Raidh checks herself, she cannot use that word now she’s married one and claimed others as family and friends. She busies herself with the cooking, chit-chatting to Jerica mainly about how excited she is to meet Aethelric, and how Eboric has planned a trip to Rynvale to collect the boy and of course Jerica will be joining them, won’t she? Chit-chat, until the robust frame of Brynja appears once more, striding across the chert path with a swift cracking of boot-heels on rock. The redheaded, much-freckled warrior gestures greeting to Raidh and nods to Jerica and the others, but says nothing until she reaches Avaldi’s side, where she and the Half-Arm and Toby confer at some length. Raidh’s eyes narrow toward them briefly, but cooking is her task of the moment. Soon she and her sister-wife have the squirrels roasting nicely, and one of the men is passing around a large horn of barley-ale, while the skin of kumis does the rounds of the company also. All in all it’s a pleasant respite, though Brynja takes no drink and only a little meat before she's away again toward the sharply-rising rising crags of stone to the north.

“I hate it when they do that,” Raidh grumbles. “He’s sent the Armor to scout, so we won’t.”

Squirrels and Ale

The party is joined by Emi the farm-girl and an evening of merriment (if you don’t count the Armor, dour as she is) ensues, which will likely be described here more fully at a later date.

In the Middle of the Night

Raidh is fast asleep with her belly full of well-spiced meat and strong drink, in her little tent made from a folded-out saddle. She dreams, of a great bird with wings made of black storm-clouds and talons of blue forked lightning, its hunting cry a vast boom of thunder that shakes the world below. In this dream, she is not much different than awake, a skinny girl with an axe and a shield, cowering in the face of the elemental creature, in all its might and glory. Then it swoops! Snatches her up like a fear-frozen rabbit! All is air and the wet sting of driving rain. All is wind and the snap of wings, the agony of talons piercing her, frozen air searing her lungs.

The bird releases her, and Raidh falls… And falls, and does not stop for a long time, the longest time, and then her flesh hits the earth like a sack of ripe fruit, splitting open, spilling her everywhere – yet, by some miracle she does not die. Raidh lives, somehow. Stranger still, she has somehow become the bird, and as the bird she launches to the air and soars, high into the sky, past the moon and stars, out into the vast dark between those eternal, relentless lights. To her eyes, the world is small now. It is an egg, fragile and easily cracked. She feels motherly toward it, for it is most precious, and croons it a song with thunder for words. But suddenly comes a great shadow out of the darkness! Suddenly, the shadow attacks and Raidh is wounded! She is stabbed! In the ribs, by a beast from the darkness between the stars! A star-wharg! Its teeth gleam like comets, its eyes glare like dying suns! It has come to eat the world! She tries to fight, to save the world, but again it stabs her!

In the ribs. With the sharp toe of its boot.

The star-wharg growls at her, its voice low and mean, “Wake up! Stupid girl.”

“Go away!” she tells it, clutching her blanket.

“Raidh. Get up. Before I beat you awake.”

The wharg sounds suspiciously like her brother. Raidh groans, opening one eye, “What is it, Avaldi?.”

“Sh! Get up, wake Jerica and the farm-girl. Take them back to the city. Now.”

He smells, Raidh realizes in the darkness, of blood. “Why?” She is already sitting up, pulling her boots on.

“Bull-men. Scouts. Both dead.”

Raidh’s heart is squeezed by a small, cold hand of fear. Scouts are always followed by a larger war-band, and their little exploration party is in no way equipped to take that on. “Be careful,” she says, knowing he probably won’t be, and quickly folds her saddle.

“I’ll try to be back before we sail for the island. Go.”

Raidh nods, and for once does as she’s told. Wide, brutally, awake now and in silence she passes by the other riders, who are all up and ready to ride. Brynja, her freckled face spattered further with gore, a bloody dripping axe in her fist. The King’s men, up and armed, staring like hostile dogs into the dark.

Perhaps griffin-hunting is frowned on by the gods, is Raidh's wry thought as she goes to wake Jerica and Emilia.