RP:Talk of Two Rivers
Along the Fengoth
___________________________________________________
Raidh’s note reads: ‘Dead forest, downriver’ and Eboric will find it spiked on the spikier bit of his armor when he wakes. If he agrees to come as asked, he’ll find his Riddarnir wife on her horse (and yet again guard-less), overlooking wasted river banks not too far from the Fengoth’s source-cavern, where little sign of recovery is evident as yet. The water stinks less, though, and runs clear but for the middle of the river,where it is very dark, a hint to depths below. She’s not in her maille or helm, just wool and a fur-trimmed cloak, and under her shirt at belly-level is a large bulge, which she cradles. If this is not reason enough for Eboric to have a minor hiccup in his heart valves, the lump is moving, sliding around from left to right.
Eboric appears, riding down the riverbank on his own horse, the pale steed easily visible in the gathering gloom. For his part, the warlord is dressed in armor; he is seldom without it, and his weapons lie ready at his belt. As he approaches, he cannot help but notice the strange bulge, and he raises an eyebrow, spurring his horse closer. "What," he asks by way of greeting, "is that?"
His wife grins as she pats the bulge. “A great gift, indeed, my King.” She is suddenly looking very maternal and sweet; let him sweat a few seconds longer! But the tease is spoiled when the lump wriggles up, higher and higher until a bright golden head, sleepy and lop-eared, pokes out from her shirt. The puppy yawns, its tongue curling. “His name is Bjarki,” Raidh strokes the pup’s fluffy noggin, looking to Eboric, “Brynja fetched him from my father’s yurt, last she rode home. I intend to bring more and start a kennel.” She positively shines as she adds, “War dogs.” Then, that surprise bestowed, she nods toward the river. “This place needs clearing, look at all the filth and debris along the banks. The new byrg could make much of this area, if it were so.”
Eboric eyes the dog with an expression that seems somewhat less than excited. "Well, I hope it gets bigger, else our enemies will only die of laughter." He smiles to show that it is a jest. "I have seen what well-trained dogs can do. By all means, start the kennel." He turns his gaze to the river, noting the clearing of the water as the poison washes away. "I will have the men at Diernebyrg begin work immediately. They will also be set to clearing the dead trees from the forest, so that it may grow again, unchoked by the dead wood."
Raidh shares his smile, “Aye, they do get somewhat bigger. Thank you, for allowing me the kennel.” When he addresses the matter of the river’s terrible state, she nods, “I would like to explore this forest, soon. It has a,” she shrugs, sending Bjarki into a fresh bout of wiggling, “You might say, a certain feeling about it, something solid and safe.” She cannot explain it any further, and could not if she wanted to. “Come, husband,” Raidh turns Nidrun toward the falls, which can be heard roaring nearby, “I have another thing I wish to show you.”
Eboric gives a wry smile at the description of the forest. "It seemed less so when I fought my friend Svilfon, and the very trees exploded. But since the monster left, it has a different feel to it, I agree. Perhaps in time it will need a new name." He spurs his horse to follow, pulling alongside Raidh as they move westward along the river.
Raidh laughs again as the King speaks of battling friends. All too well she knows the joys of such brawling. Why the trees might explode is a question for later, though, as they soon arrive at the scenery she wishes him to see. They’re closer to the falls now, where the water’s a little less cluttered for the force of the flow, and she has to raise her voice somewhat due to the persistent roar. “Up there,” if he follows the line of her pointing finger, there’s a patch of stony land high on the Fengoth’s opposite bank, naturally tiered into three separate levels. “That’s where I want my long-house.”
Eboric squints in the direction indicated by Raidh, and raises an eyebrow. "It'll be a noisy home, don't you think? But naturally defensible, and with a fresh source of water, at least. Food, too, if life returns to the forest and the river. I will order it done. We have a surplus of builders, now that the byrges are complete. Although," he frowns, and tugs at his beard. "I am considering building one more, north of your father's plains. Would he object to that, do you think?"
Blonde brows pucker a little, “You and your byrgs. I cannot speak for my father on this matter so perhaps we should take that journey to the deep plains soon, as we planned.” Her expression darkens somewhat, then, “The Armor brought news, and little of it good. There’s been more raids along the River of Poppies, many more than usual. The Bull-men are growing bold. My father is gathering all the tribes, he wishes to make all-out war on them.”
Eboric 's frown deepens at the news. "Such a war could mean a heavy loss of life, and I am not yet convinced that I want the minotaurs wiped out, which is what would surely happen if I lend your father troops. Let us set out as soon as we can. I wish to see if there is anything we can do to prevent that war."
Raidh nods, “Day after tomorrow, shall we say? There’s yet a few things I must see to here, and I believe we have that time, at least, before things go badly on the borders. The Jarl is not one for recklessness, he plans his battles well ahead. That’s one of the reasons they call him Ironseat, he will not ride from his yurt until all is prepared and success looks good.” Her features relax into a faint smile, “It seems my geis, to live with stubborn warriors.” The pup whimpers, and she pats her shirt. “I promised Hvitr I would take one of the young stallions out for a run today. But tonight, perhaps, we might speak of the Jarl and the Bull-men further? There may be ways to break through his determination. Perhaps.” Her frown returns with that last word.
Eboric stares thoughtfully into the rushing torrent. "Yes, we may speak further of it. I will put my mind to it while you are running your horse, and see if I can think of anything." He turns his own steed back upriver. "It may be that some of the minotaurs must die, but the more that live, the more we can conscript as shock troops."
Neck hairs prickle at the back of Raidh's skull, though outwardly she smiles, "Let us hope the gods will aid us to turn all to our favor. I will make a sacrifice, perhaps they will listen." Inwardly, the shieldmaiden is deeply divided; the Jarl and her husband might come to disagreement, if not blows (knowing them, it's very possible) on this issue. Plus, she herself has no great desire to make any kind of peace with the sworn foes of her birth-tribe. But that's a thought for later, she decides, as she follows the were-bear back toward the White City.