RP:Eboric Learns a Valuable Secret
Deadlands
Raidh doesn’t have to look very hard to find the trail of the King now, for here in the south-east of Venturil there is a wide swathe of destruction: the twisted bodies of animals and men, shattered buildings, great gouts of earth torn loose from the world like wounds gouged in the flesh of an innocent farm-wife. The shieldmaiden does what she can to remain stoic in the face of all this, though it feels as if a cold and armoured fist has seized her heart and squeezed. The damage extends more easterly still and into the mountains that keep Venturil separate from the distant forests of Sage. However, of those vast woodlands Raidh is as yet entirely ignorant. All she knows is that her husband rode off with one monster on his horse and another, larger monster on his heels, and they all went this-a-way. Nidrun’s nimble hooves are worth the mare’s weight in gold here, where the ground has become treacherous - twice so far maiden and mare have almost fallen to their peril in sinking hollows of soil and rock. Yet onward Raidh rides, her blue gaze scanning the gaps between these craggy reaches for sign of the King’s passing, or better – his return. Avaldi would maim her for disobeying him; he’d ordered her back to the safety of the capitol while the rest of his riders pick off looters in the north. But to hell with that, it isn’t Avaldi’s husband out here, perhaps wounded, perhaps something worse.. Raidh won’t think about that now, though. She urges Nidrun to leap a pile of shattered beams that were once the home of a trapper and his family, cuts her way through a rampage of weird creatures fleeing west. She will find the King, she knows it.
Eboric returns to Venturil without fanfare, sitting stiffly in the saddle as his horse slowly walks over the broken ground. The ghostly steed itself seems weary, its wind nearly broken. As he enters the final descent from the mountains to the shattered ground, the werebear's head lolls, and he nearly slumps from the saddle, exhausted. He recovers himself at the last moment, straightening and halting the horse's forward movement. Weary eyes survey the damage from the foothills, from which vantage point he can see the massive crater where the Burrower's main bulk had been, as well as the branching tunnels and pits from its various limbs and protrusions. Already, the bottom of the main crater is flooded, fresh water pouring in from somewhere underground. It is there that Raidh will see him, perched stiffly on his horse, high on a hill.
Raidh exhales relief as she spots the king and his pale horse on high. The axe she’s never let leave her hand since she and Emilia met with the looters is raised once more, this time in a gesture of victory, to honor Eboric’s success and safe return. She lets out the shrill war-cry of the Plains- women, to inform her husband that she has fought and won this day. Then she urges Nidrun on, though the mare slows her pace to step with greater care where the damaged earth has become boggy and more dangerous still. Soon, though, they are moving over the solid rock of the foot hills, hooves clattering on shale as Nidrun trots her rider closer to the man they’d sought all day, all the night past and into the dawn. Both look weary and are spattered in blood and filth, but the mare’s head is proud and her gait has spring in it, and the girl atop her sits tall in her saddle. At last, she reaches the King and Raidh offers him a brief smile. “I heard you ran off with yet another woman, Eboric,” she jests, “I take it she wasn’t to your liking after all?”
Eboric raises his head at the sound of Raidh's call, squinting down the incline until he can make her out. Exhausted as he is, he takes his own axe from where it hangs at his belt, lifting it up in an answering salute. Dropping it back into its leather loop, he waits for Raidh to approach, all the while surveying the damage to his land. At Raidh's words, he glances to her and gives a wry smile. "No, she was not suitable. I dropped her off for some other poor man to find." He turns to gaze back the way he had come, staring at the path of destruction left by the wild ride. "We are safe now. My city is safe." Those last lines are uttered in a more serious tone, as the cyning looks back to where the resting place of the monster slowly fills with water.
Raidh has misgivings about that, all things in the day past considered.. But she isn’t about to spoil the moment. Of course, she will not fuss over Eboric, or point out how exhausted he looks, but her fierce gaze is filled with respect not won easily. “Avaldi and the Riders are north, picking off looters. The city is secure, the people at ease – I ordered a simple feast,” she pauses, a meek smile is her way of apologising for such a liberty, “Of soup, bread and ale, and a few cheap bards to help settle them.” She is silent for a time, then, joining Eboric in surveying the ruined farmlands below. Eventually she says, nodding toward the remnant mayhem, “That’s a long story, isn’t it.”
Eboric nods his head. "Long and ancient." He shrugs, and adds, "And you have done well, providing for the people. I will speak to them soon, to help keep them calm. I will need them, and all the workers I can get. With this threat gone, I can finally expand this city into a nation." Frowning, he says, "Looters? I will dispatch some of my men as well. Any taken alive will hang."
Raidh grins, “I doubt you’ll need to waste good rope on them.” Knowing her brother, they’d be sliced meat for wild dogs, by now. Raidh herself is daubed in the gore of several herself, but feels no need to boast of it. Her blue gaze sweeps the King’s broad frame, checking for wounds. Finding none in dire need of mending, she gestures to the land below them, “Let us return to the city then, husband.” It wasn’t a term she’d use often, and only when either very proud or very angry at him. Today, it is a word weighted with admiration. “And wet our throats with some piss-weak ale, unless Avaldi’s managed not to drink all the kumis.”
Eboric looks back to the beginnings of the lake once more, the once-dry spring now unblocked, and water from underground rushes to fill the crater the Burrower left behind. Looking to the west, he catches sight of the ghostly figures of the barrows, glowing, to his eyes, with the soul-might within. Tearing his eyes away with an effort, the werebear barks out a laugh at Raidh's course words. "Oh, we will find something good left, I am sure." At his unspoken command, Beorthanfeax begins to trudge wearily toward the white city.
Next Morning, Castle Venturil
Eboric awakens from a heavy sleep, groggily rising from the bed and dressing. Stepping into the next room, he dons his armor as swiftly as he can, shrugging the hauberk over his shoulders which, along with his back, ache from the previous few days' exertions. After the armor is on and the weapons belt is buckled, he lowers his simplistic crown onto his head, settling the golden circlet as best he can. As he does most every morning, he sits down and draws his weapons, each in turn, using a small whetstone to renew the blades' edges.
Raidh was up hours ago, and down to the kitchens for a simple breakfast before checking on Nidrun. Then back to the palace for quick ablutions, only to find Eboric still snoring like a drunken badger. A sigh, and she was back to the kitchens (she’s become expert at shooing maids and other servants away, for goodness’ sake, does nobody do things for themselves around here?) to fetch good beef sausage, a thick heel of fresh bread and a mug of morning ale for the King. She can be heard shooing maids and greeting guards with a joke, before she elbows her way into the royal chamber with the tray in her hands. “Good afternoon, Majesty,” she quips dryly, though the morning is not yet past. The sun is high, though, a fine clear day promised Eboric and his surprise-wife. She doesn’t look much like a royal wife presently, however, in simple tunic and breeks. “So,” she sets the tray on a bedside table and flops onto the bed. “What have you planned?”
Eboric re-enters the bedchamber, and takes a seat next to Raidh, digging in gratefully to the food she brought. He casts a rueful glance out the window, noting the angle of the sun. "I had meant to rise earlier. I was weary, I suppose." His joints are stiff, but the raw wounds on his legs and lower back, where the saddle had rubbed the skin away, are already closed up and healing. "Today I will address my people, and announce my plans for the future. This land has so much potential, and now that the blight is gone, it can be realized.”
Raidh is flat on her back still, twiddling the two ends of her long braids, one to each hand, while the King enjoys his breakfast. There is much she wants to tell Eboric, good news as well as several less pleasant concerns, but is loath to cram the royal head with it all before the man has a chance to stand in his boots. Instead, she chooses to plague him with the majority of it later, and says, “The people need to hear your voice, Eboric. They are unsettled, and there’s talk of famine to come, as the farmlands have suffered even more than they already did.. “ Sitting up, she puts some cheer in her tone. “You can tell them help is at hand. For the Riders will come, if I ask my father for them, with wagonloads of wild grains and game-meats to ease the hunger, and strong hands not too proud to work in dirt, if the Jarl wills it.” Her gaze seeks Eboric’s now, keenly. “You are great enough to make your nation great also, my King. You are Venturil’s strength. Whatever you need of me, you have only to say, and I will gladly give it.”
Eboric smiles as he finishes his meal, downing the ale in a long gulp. "The lands north of the city have been desolate a long time...no crop planted there could ever be relied upon. That is why I have had men clearing the jungle to the south. Winter is ending, and it is time to plant. There are miles of fertile fields, waiting for the plow. The land around the Burrower's crater will be arable soon, too, at least for hardy crops. There are cattle in the prairie, and meat aplenty from the beasts of the jungle. We will not starve. Instead, we will have excess, and can trade with others." He stretches, pops and cracks sounding from his joints as he moves. "I will build burhs, fortified towns, throughout my realm, so that no invading army can ever get too far inside my borders. We have lumber from the jungle, and stone from the quarry. Soon, Venturil will be unassailable."
Raidh assails Venturil! Or at least its King, her arms wrapping around him from behind while he stretches. “So the Nidhoggr are being ousted from the south?” Raidh sounds very happy about that. She will have no need to harangue Eboric about moving the stables, now, to give the poor horses kept there the peace they deserve. She slides around to face him now, though her arms remain around his middle, and blue eyes look into Eboric’s own - almost directly, being as tall as she is. “I am glad to hear there’s good earth for planting.. “ This isn’t what’s on her mind though, and her gaze makes that clear before she continues, “After you’ve made your speech to the people, Eboric, there’s some things I must tell you. Perhaps important things. But first, your speech.” She narrows her eyes at him. “Am I supposed to be there, too? Waving and smiling, and the like?” She doesn’t look too certain she’ll be any good at that part of being married to a king.
Eboric raises an eyebrow, and waves a hand in a dismissive gesture. "I will not speak until later today. The morning is filled with the tasks of the home, and people would miss my words. But when it comes time, you might wish to be there with me, so that the people get used to seeing you, and can begin to trust you." He shrugs, then says, "I would hear of these important things of yours now."
Raidh nods, and backs up somewhat to vacate Eboric’s personal space, all playfulness leaving her as she summons to mind the relevant issues. The backs of her knees hit the edge of the bed and she drops onto it again. “Well.” She seems to be looking for the right words, and is not finding them. “My father, as you know, has several wives. There is a saying we have – ‘to keep many wives happy in one bed is the dream of fools and unwed boys’,” she’s blushing now. “My mothers all have their own yurts, and the Jarl visits them in turn. It’s the way of the Riders, to keep peace among the families.” The shieldmaiden looks as though she’d rather face down another wharg, three-legged or whole, than have this discussion. “So I believe it may be best for me to have my own place, for when Jerica is at home. Especially as she is not of the Riddarnir, and sharing a husband is strange to her.” Raidh looks hopeful, as she suggests, “I could stay at the Rider’s camp, I would be quite safe there. Or there’s a nice loft above the stables..”
Eboric grins at Raidh's words, and shrugs his shoulders. "You may have you own home if you wish. I would even have one built for you, if you wanted something more stable and roomy than a yurt." He reaches out to place a hand on her shoulder with exaggerated care. "But as I said before, be sure to be seen among the cityfolk too, let them get used to you." He cocks his head to one side, and adds, "Do not sleep in the stable, though. No wife of mine will sleep in a peasant bed!" He grins at her, giving her shoulder a gentle squeeze. "Is that all that was troubling you?"
Raidh isn’t sure what a ‘peasant’ is, but it rhymes with ‘pleasant’ and thus doesn’t sound too bad, to her.. Rather than admit ignorance, she simply smiles. “I’ll think on it, Eboric. And yes, I shall definitely spend more time among the people of this city. They are very welcoming, what I have seen of them. I have been meeting lots of people, lately.” Now she isn’t smiling. “Travelers, though, on the roads. Mostly harmless.” There seems to be something weighing on Raidh. Her shoulders slump, and her gaze drifts to the floor.
Eboric frowns; even he is able to see that something else is wrong. "Speak," he says, in as gentle a tone as he can. "Tell me, has something happened?" Despite his tone, the beginnings of anger can be detected in the warlord, the righteous ire of a bear whose territory has been threatened.
Raidh fidgeted for a moment, then patted Eboric's hand where it lay on her shoulder before rising. "Wait, I must fetch something." She strode into the adjoining room, returning not long after with a small bag, such as would be attached to a saddle. Unbuckling this, she drew out an item wrapped carefully in thick felted bison-wool. "I call it Fanghorn. It was a gift." It is rightly named, for it is indeed both a horn, carved hollow and open at both ends, for blowing., and it is a fang. A dragon-fang, of a size rarely seen in the lands anymore. More commonly seen in distant ages past, and the soft yellowing of the tooth's enamel suggests such origins. Raidh hands this to Eboric. "A great treasure. But its purpose.. don't blow it, my King!" in case he was thinking of doing so, "Its purpose to summon the one who gifted it to me, for sharing a roasted ground-squirrel with him at my overnight camp in the grasslands a few days ago." Raidh swallows hard. "I thought him just a madman, wandering as they do, telling mad tales about the most ancient of times, gods and eldred foes. Dragons.. and he claimed he was there. Of course, I didn't believe him. Until he showed me his true form." She's gone a bit pale, reluctant to speak the truth of it.
Eboric turns the tooth over in his hands, scrutinizing the item. He peers down the hollow tube, a grunts in appreciation of the horn. "There are many strange beasts and beings in the land. Dragons, vampire, lycans like me...what kind was this one?" At hearing the horn's purpose, the warlord hands the horn back to Raidh.
Raidh cradles the gift in her hands, “A dragon.” While Eboric knew something of Riddarnir history, he is lacking the long cultural heritage which would make sense of how much dread sounded in those two words. “Not any dragon, Eboric – but Sacrilus reborn, the wraith of olden days harking back to the time of Arrecation, and is called the Face of the Damned.” Her voice has dropped to a near-whisper. “Not a true dragon, not all of him, I think. He showed no threat to me, or Nidrun, only kindness. But still, he makes my flesh crawl..”
Eboric frowns, unfamiliar with some of the history mentioned. "Dragon, wraith, or demigod, if he causes trouble in my land he'll fall, just the same as any other criminal. Dragons are not so hard to defeat. I have overthrown a few myself, and am none the worse for it."
Raidh studies the plenitude of scars on the were-bear's face, and one hand rises to touch the amulet she wears on a string around her throat. "I have no doubt of it, Eboric. But the dragons of old were different to the lesser kind who infest Lithrydel now. My people fought them, and the best of us died finding ways to drive them from the plains. For centuries, we were their meat. Then the gods gave us our shamans, who lead us to...." she goes quiet, here, as if deciding whether to say what she's thinking, "..in the lands of the Minotaurs, our legends say, the shamans found a metal-bearing stone they called Dragonbane. It was poison to the great dragons, weakened them so they could not fly or spit fire, and were easier marks for our weapons. This is our legend, but Amma said it was true history when she gave me this," the amulet, shaped like hollow arrow-head, is lifted so Eboric can see. "And I have never doubted a word my Amma told me."
Eboric leans forward, interest kindling a spark in his eyes as she speaks of the strange stone. He scrutinizes the amulet as it is displayed, his mind already running through the possibilities of such an item. "And you have tested this? Does it truly weaken the beasts?" He does make at least a small attempt to restrain his enthusiasm, but he is quite obviously intrigued. "Such a stone could give my men an edge against any who would bring dragons to war, including the Xalious range."
Raidh drops the amulet, which dangles on its new chain. “I have not. Nobody on the Plains has had cause to use it for many centuries now. In time, it has become legend, but our shamans have always spoken of it as a true thing. My Amma had a bone-map of where it was found, but I don’t know what became of it. Only a shaman would understand it, though, so I dare say it’s in the hands of one of our elders. Still, we have this amulet.” Her blue eyes hold a fierce spark as she glances up from it, “Perhaps we can test its powers. All we need is a dragon.”
Eboric gives her a feral grin, and jokes, "And to think that you had one in your hands and let him slip away! Now we must hunt one down..." He returns to seriousness, his mind fixing once again on the idea of the weapon. "I will need to know where it was found, and all the stories, the legends, all of it. I will have to arm a warband to deal with the minotaur herds while we search, and either build a road or dig a tunnel to bring it back here." The king seems to be thinking aloud, tugging absently at his beard as he considers.
Raidh is learning to like it when the were-bear grin like that. She doesn’t return the expression, however, her own rife with brief concern, “I would not test the amulet on such a being as Sacrilus.” In case it doesn’t work, remains unspoken. “Perhaps a lesser example of the species would be better.” A faint smile does broach her lips now, “Are we going on a quest, Eboric?” The idea stirs her ancestral blood, and her heart beats a little faster for it.
Eboric raises an eyebrow. "Not quest, no. I am a king now, so it is called a hunt." He grins again, already planning it in his mind. "Would you like to see my old home? It is in Rynvale, across the sea. There are dragons there, too, and we could catch one on its own and attack it with your amulet."
Raidh pales, on hearing his offer. “Across the sea?” She says it like he’s suggested she leap into an active volcano. No Plains Rider of her generation or the several before it have ever seen the ocean in person, and in their songs it is regarded as a thing of great danger and mystery. Raidh swallows, hard, “Of course I will cross the sea with you, my King.” Like she’s accepting a sentence of death.
Eboric cannot help but notice her fear, and he shakes his head. "No, there is no need. It is such a long journey, after all, and yes, by sea. I have heard of dragons in other lands. Larket may have a few, and I know Enchantment does. Frostmaw has a few as well. There are also the more...intelligent ones in the Xalious mountains. We do not need to set sail." He offers a slight smile, and shrugs his shoulders. "Take your pick, although I do not know how well I would be received in Enchantment."
Raidh is not familiar with any of these places, except the Xalious mountains. “The mountains,” she says, though even those nearby peaks are alien to the Plains-bred girl. Her head is swimming a little, with the sense that after all her life spent hearing of the epic battles and adventures of old, she might just become part of a new one. “May we bring Avaldi? He might not forgive me, if we don’t.”
Eboric cocks his head to one side slightly at her choice. "Are you certain? The dragons of Xalious are mostly the ones who speak and walk amongst us. If we go to their home and kill one of them, it may become a war." He shows his teeth again at the thought. "Which, if it works, would be a war easily won, but it would not win me many friends among the other nations." He shows no fear at the prospect. "As for Avaldi, I believe he has a busy schedule, although I do not mind if you ask him all the same."
Raidh needs no further encouragement to leap into the process of preparing for the hunt, but before she vanishes from the King’s chamber, pauses for a few words, “I think hunting in any of the city-provinces might cause more trouble than it’s worth, my King. So if there’s wild dragons in Rynvale and none to be offended by it, I will cross the sea with you.” As scary as the notion is, Raidh is also excited – she will be the first to view the ocean in many a year, and what songs it will make! Eboric will just have to catch up with her later if he wants to discuss it further, for his new wife is already bolting out the door in search of her brother.