RP: Emergence

Synopsis: A chance meeting between Gunvald and Raidh leads to a newly-revealed hidden valley and renewed hope.

Narrow Defile, Dyrnederu, Venturil

The cliff walls press close on either side here, sound echoing eerily from wall to wall. High above, the sky can just be seen, a slender ribbon far above. The path twists westward here, while to the south open space can be seen. Eastward, the cliff drops sharply, and the sound of seething water can be heard, lending its roar to the echoing sounds in the pass

The chronology of Raidh's journey through the valley she'd come to know as 'Dyrnedenu' is hazy, and to nobody more so than the shieldmaiden herself. Most of her path from the caverns to the open plain was a sojourn in almost absolute blindness, made slower for the weakness of limb induced by long-term malnourishment and hardship. In weakness, and shame for that weakness, she'd fallen to her knees and in shame she pled to her gods for succor from suffering, promising them many sacrifices and acts of devotion. A great wind, the susurrus of a feathered behemoth, an armoured claw snatching her up like a tired mouse caught by its hawk... Her flesh still crawled with the thunderbird's electric aura even hours after it dropped her here... in this nondescript bit of stone-walled pathway, hardly memorable from the days prior to her captivity. Here, she'd given up the battle against sleep, but won the fight against dreaming. Now, she stirs, her eyesight still vague and sensitive to light but all the better for her rest. Here, she forages for a bit of lichen, a freshly fallen bird egg slurped off a rock, hardly a feast but enough to stave off death for one more day. It's while she's licking sticky yolk of her lips that her sharpened sense of smell, honed in the perilous dark, catches the scent of blood, and the man who is leaking it, and groping for a sword that isn't there, the Bearwife seeks its source, soon to stumble into a stony enclave where Gunvald is gifting the barren earth his life in drips and drizzles. She hesitates.. assesses his capacity for harm.. This man smells of rage, a particular acrid musk she knows all too well, for her own brother Avaldi shares it, at times. She steps toward him, alive with caution, but bolder for the knowledge of at least part of who this warrior may be. "Don't touch that blade..." she says, coming into his direct view. "It's plugging the river. " Her voice is creaky from lack of use. She resembles some filthy, mad hermit-woman or a half-rocktroll fallen on hard times.

Step after step is Gunvald closer to the gates of the great halls of his ancestors. This narrow defile seems more to him the passage to the afterlife than the path into the mountain at the moment as his life ebbs ever so slowly from the wound he bears. But then through the haze of it all comes a voice. Be it the blood loss and delirium it comes with the voice seems almost heavenly in contrast to the reality of the situation. His vison fades, he is unable to focus but somehow he keeps himself standing even as his current situation has him believing a Valkyrie has come to usher him towards eternal peace. "Begone!" He calls out, waving his hand in dismissal, trying to shoo away the creature before him. "I am not yet ready to feast in the great halls of my forefathers." Each time he speaks he uses what precious energy he has left, but still he persists. "I.. I will avenge my clan.. I will drink from the skull of the betrayer...he shall…not have my King's throne.." Here the warrior grabs hold of the armring he wears with pride. " For I swore an oath... to my king... and I.. mu...must... honor..." To one knee he falls, hand holding the hilt of the blade protruding from his gut to keep it as steady as he can. His breath comes is gasps, his great strength wavers, but he still says. "I shall avenge my family..." A serious look, even as he fades still, falls upon his face as he says. " Ivarr shall never sit upon Eboric's throne." His breath is ragged, wheezing and shallow. Something must be done, and soon, or no matter how stubborn he can be, death shall take Gunvald Jurajsson this day.

Not that Gunvald will notice, with all his valorous declarations and anemic wooziness, but Raidh lets out a soft snort at being mistaken for one of the Valkyrjur. Patiently she waits for his blood-pledging to wane before taking his side, knees cracking in protest as she squats in the rock-dust to examine the wound. "Be quiet now." Her tone is that of authority, of one who will not be questioned. "And still, lest you gain the honour of meeting the Alllfather. " Why anyone would not wish to, being this grievously wounded, she doesn't know, but the man's mention of Eboric is the spur to save his life, for Raidh has questions to ask and the dead are notoriously unreliable that way. As swiftly as her complaining body will allow, she goes to pluck dry mosses and chewy lichens from their stone-mothers, munching them into a paste with her own saliva. Returning, she packs the wound around the blade with this mush and waits for the blood to begin congealing. Scratching at her mangy locks, she peers at the knife, not sure whether Gunvald is sensate enough to heed her but speaks anyway: "Nothing will save you, if the gods want you home. But it may be they have use yet for you in this world. Sh!" she admonishes, in case he wants to respond, "Let me ask now for a sign." What follows is a brief and threadbare ritual, a series of prayers intoned in a scratchy voice, and when Raidh begins to apologise to the gods for the lack of an adequate sacrifice..... well, the gods indeed reply. A well-hidden hare breaks its cover among the scattered stones, zigging and zagging in desperate haste while above, a hungry hawk explodes from its silent perch into a winged missile, seeking its prey. B ut the hawk will go hungry for, as the hare races by, the shieldmaiden's hand claws out to snatch the animal from its path and offer it another, more honourable fate. A swift twist of the neck and a sharp bite, and blood weeps from the hare onto Gunvald's chest, as Raidh intones prayers, finally grasping the hilt of the blade and jerking it free of Gunvald's unwilling flesh. "I have taken your knife, aethling and shall not offer it back, for it's now the property of Othinn and works only in his service." The man may live or die-- but in any case, the wound doesn't bleed, and his lung doesnt flatten like a slashed wine bladder in the cavern of his chest. While she waits for fate to work itself out, Raidh tears into the hare like a wolf, swallowing bits of skin and fur along with the stringy, raw meat.

Gunvald is lost in the realm between life and death at this moment, seemingly floating in the aether of existence. The gates of the afterlife can be seen at the end of the great bridge, behind their glorious splendor the great tree of life spans out into all the realms. It is either a true glimpse of that which waits thereafter, or pure hallucinations of a man about to die, either way the warrior will never know for those gates slam shut as the blade is wretched from his body, the pain snatching his back from the beyond and forcing him back into his body violently and without mercy. It seems the gods are not quite through with him just yet. Pain is what welcomes him first, as what feels like fire courses and surges through his side where his injury is, and weakness from the bloodloss catches up sapping from the man the strength to rise. The protest in which culminates his regained senses is a bellowing roar of pain and confusion, but mostly pain, that echoes against the stone walls of the path and sends a flock of ravens scattering into the wind. No meal for them this day. Moments are taken before his mind fully settles, and with what strength he has left currently does the man finally see the ragged and wild looking woman who just saved his life tearing into the hare with feverish hunger. Before much else, the man loses consciousness once more and slumps upon the ground. His breathing is as normal as can be, but for now he is just unable to do much else. Between the wound and the toll the berserker state he almost slipped into takes upon the body, it’s a feat he was able to even walk as far as he did and not be dead. His dreams will be of his clan’s death, of Ivarr's betrayal, the gates of the afterlife and.... a wild woman devouring a hare. When he awakens, things shall be quite interesting.

Raidh doesn't quite sleep as the healing warrior slumbers fitfully, though her body nags and whines at her insistence on denying its rest. Too well does the Bearwife know the dangers inherent to this rough-hewn road and the valley formerly hidden beyond, and she's not willing to give up her patient to a hungry sabretooth. Not, at least, while he lives. To keep herself alert and soothe the agitated Gunvald, she tells the story of how the Dyrnedenu came to be revealed, after who knows how many millennia of isolation from Lithrydel's denizens. Raidh recounts a battle between a mighty serpent, a fell creature of brimstone and rage that hunted her high and low until, being cornered and at a disadvantage, the shieldmaiden shrieked a desperate prayer to her gods... all of them. And just as she thought she was on her way to the Great Hall to meet her ancestors, a vast winged creature made of lightning, wrath and wild, driving winds descended to shatter the reptile's victory. So fierce was their battle, the two epic beasts sundered the thick rock barrier that had held the valley secret, laying a narrow way bare through which the heavily-wounded Raidh had slipped... She winces, recalling the path of her fate from that point forward. Enough story, then. Time for more spit-mashed lichen. Oh, joy.

Gunvald is lost within a feverish slumber that is plagued by dreams, or visons, of many images that have already passed and some that yet may still come. Be it just that, a dream, or the Gods toying with his mind he will never truly know, but for most of the night flashes of a great bear battling endless hordes plays out only to give way to his father's execution, his clan's demise and a world in flames. Then, like the shattering of glass, does it all fade away to reveal two great beasts of stone, earth, wind and lightning battling in a place beyond time. It seems as if the end of it all is near, but a cloaked figure reaches out to him and places upon his chest a burning mark that takes the shape of an ancient rune. It feels as if fire courses through the warrior's very veins, giving way to a rage that has him transform into a snarling wolf like beast! He hunts for hours, days, it almost seems and endless time before he finds his prey, a serpent that coils itself around Venturil, crushing it underneath. Here the warrior wolf bellows out a great howl, and from the plains rides a horde of warriors lead by a shrouded woman atop a steed far larger than anything the man has ever dreamt before. She commands a power, has the loyalty of an army of ancestral spirits and together they fight the great serpent in a ferocious battle for the ages. On and on it rages, and only ends just as both the woman goes to drive her blade into the serpent and Gunvald would sink his teeth into the foul creature's throat at the same time. Then, nothing, the man awakens with a fright, sweat coating his muscular form as he breathes heavily and props himself up upon two hands as he tries to get his bearings. A moment is taken, and even though his side still pains him he somehow knows that any infection, and thus any would be life threatening condition, has passed in a single night. Looking about he finds he is not alone. She was smart, weapons are nowhere near to grab, and even as tough as he may be Gunvald doubt he could fend off a child just yet. But he is alive, and not bound, this shows the man the stranger hasn't plans to kill him... yet. Given the situation, he'll take it. "How long was I out?" Is what he asks first, his throat dry and his voice coarse. He studies the area, but can't recall anything about it. He truly has no idea where he is at the moment.

Raidh grunts, "Not long enough..." before catching herself in an act of unmannerliness unworthy of the name 'Jorgunsdotr'. "I mean to say, you could do with more rest." She's busy stripping the last of the meat from the hare, but glances aside to the warrior. "You're Kuronii.." Ever the oligarch of obviousness, Raidh continues, "And so was that knife buried in your chest." She thrusts the bloody scraps at him, silence inviting explanation.

Gunvald cannot get a true read upon this woman, this stranger who helped keep him alive when he was as easy of prey as a helpless newborn. But the kuronii are a people who, in many ways, wear their hearts and souls upon their sleeves. They boast proudly of dreams and ambitions, speak openly of their thoughts and do not shy from being blunt, even when a wiser man may hold their tongue. And so, as this strange woman points out the obvious nature of his heritage, and that of the weapon which nearly killed him, he replies with. " I am Gunvald, son of Juraj the former Ealdorman of Denubyrg." He hasn't the heart at the moment to speak of his clan, their demise still too fresh. " I was attacked by a usurper, a man named Ivarr seeks to claim the title my father had, as he seeks to use it to move on towards the throne of Venturil." A moment is taken, as he shares a sad truth. " As it seems many others have taken to this mindset in our King's absence." The pain of it all, emotional and physical, still courses through him causing him to pause a moment of three before he says. " I will find a way to end this poisonous leech's life before the rot festers longer." A bold claim for someone with no plan, no allies, no army and still nearly on his deathbed. Sounds good tho, right? "All of Venturil is sitting upon a pyre, the flames of revolt and war being kindled by the greed of men who lust for power." He looks off, recalling the time when all banners, all clans of Kuronii answered Eboric's call and came to Venturil, what many consider their ancestral home, as a single united people. Now they were dissolving into squabbling packs of sliver tongued murderers and worse, politicians. Some Ealdormen side with outside powers, while others break sacred oaths to seize control of key areas and titles. All the while Venturil sits, ripe for the wolves that could swoop in and take away all that Eboric has fought for. " I won't let it happen.." he says more to himself than anything, almost forgetting about the wild woman who shares his company.

Raidh’s mind isn’t functioning as sharply as it could be, all things considered it was literally a miracle that she was coherent at all. Gunvald’s words were, however, of such grim import that even her ordeals in the caves couldn’t stop them hitting home. Shaken, she mutters, “How long was I….” but shakes her head before addressing the warrior directly, “I am Raidh Jorgunsdotr, Mistress of the Ride, Queen of the West and Cyning Eboric Pendersson’s wife. And –I- will not allow this to happen”. That speech appears to have exhausted her, being more words strung together than she’d spoken in… an age, it seemed. She straightens her back though, still resembling a mad, impoverished woodwitch but of somewhat more regal bearing than a moment before. Scraping back the rags that cover her forearm, Raidh swivels to offer Gunvald a view of what is worn there – a fealty band that every true Kuronii would recognise, and beside it the unmistakably royal design of her marriage pact ring. She too has apparently forgotten her present predicament in the face of her beloved nation’s potential fall.

Gunvald knows that such items are not easily forged or replicated, and having never met the Queen himself, her words and presented evidence is all the warrior really needs to know she speaks the truth. As weak as he still is the man finds the resolve it rise to a knee, not so much kneeling as in a bow, thats never been kuronii way. He just can't fully stand just yet. Here, he takes the armring he wears and presents it before Raidh as he says. "Then the oath I swore upon this to your husband, my king, now falls upon you in his absence." As beat up as he is there is a strength in the man's eyes, a conviction to his words as he speaks. "I stand at your side, just as I did your husband." Many speak impressive oaths and make promises left and right, Kuronii know their word is their honor, and their honor is something that must stay in tact, less they become nothing but scum. Looking around, the man then asks. "Though I believe we are in need of much before we can storm in, even though you are the Queen, I dare say some would even appose Eboric's return." That thought makes him smirk, he'd pay to see that slaughter.

Raidh’s features pinch up with all this talk of Eboric… old wounds split open and sting anew. There’s a catch in her voice, when she speaks. “Well. We are neither of us fit to topple a lame donkey, at present, so shall we save the talk of war for after we’ve eaten something…” the Bearwife stares at the gory remains of the hare, “…a bit less rare than what’s on offer here. I have a yurt in the valley ahead,” she hopes it was still there, anyway, “There’s mead, and a fire pit, I’ll hunt us something to eat when we get there,” Raidh tugs the warrior’s arm, grasping it above his fealty ring. And it’s to that ring she speaks now: “I accept your oath and bind you thenceforth to the service of King and Nation, and to myself as Eboric’s representative until such time as our Cyning should return.” The young woman smiles, faintly. “And what a shite-show that would be, for our enemies. Let us go. Here.. I’ll support you if you cannot walk alone.”

Gunvald is now sworn to another once more, and happier for it. The weight of that which has transpired he still carries upon his broad shoulders, but with this meeting he feels the first step towards righting many wrongs has been taken. The mere mention of fire, food and of course mead gives some strength to aid him to rise, and here he'd follow Raidh to her abode, trying damn hard to not be a burden upon the worn and ragged looking woman.

Hidden Valley

What awe and wonder must fill the hearts of those who step through the final portion of the crack in the mountain, for where the narrow pass ends it opens suddenly into a panoramic view of a magnificent, verdant valley below. The air is strangely warm and plantlife flourishes in myriad forms, from thick stands of birch and blue fir, to gullies filled with tall ferns. There are patches of open grassland, too, on either side of the whitewater river which divides the valley into halves, and which no doubt carved this pocket of paradise out of the unforgiving rock of the mountains surrounding it. Animal life abounds too, including herds of primitive-looking horses, long-toothed predatory cats and immense elk, among other creatures that have been long extinct in the world beyond. The crashing of water can be heard at a distance, perhaps the source of the turgid river which winds away into the roots of an ice-capped mountain range to the north. The immense tors and crags of steep rock cradling the valley east and west are riddled with cave-mouths, some quite shallow and others deep enough to promise further adventure into the unknown. A steep descent is here.

Raidh bears as much of Gunvald’s weight as she can, while being mindful of his pride – so very important to all her people, plains-riders and Kuronii alike. The path is narrow and in places treacherous but eventually the exhausted pair arrive at a panoramic vista overlooking a wide, green valley. Raidh’s wiry frame is shaking with exertion, but it’s not herself she worries for. Gunvald’s wound is serious, and while her holy prayer and spit-laced lichen might’ve stopped him bleeding out, there still damage that only rest and nutrition would fix. The journey to the valley’s floor is long and steep, however, and the Bearwife motions Gunvald to take a seat on a flat rock while she catches both thought and breath, pondering a means to carry the man down safely. At that very moment, a distant winged behemoth shrills a cry among the clouds over the vale, and Raidh all but hoots as hope and memory spring at once to their aid. She shoots Gunvald a swift look, “Don’t panic.” And without waiting for reply, presses her fingers to her lips and emits an earsplitting, oddly tuneful whistle. And ….. nothing happens. Some crickets chirp, that’s about it. This doesn’t seem to faze our intrepid shieldmaiden one bit; she nods to the weary warrior, “Really. It’s important that you’re not afraid.”

Gunvald is at the point due to his current situation that if something was to kill him the most he can hope for is to take it with him, or at least leave it a nice scar to remember him by. His strength is all but exhausted, he is ravenously hungry and honestly tempted to just close his eyes and let the Gods toy with him as they will. But then again, he is stubborn and has things to do. He did -just- swear an oath to aid Raidh, and he does have to drink from Ivarr's skull, so death will have to wait a while longer. And since death isn't an option, fear has no place within him at the moment. He simply nods, wondering what in the hel this winged beast could be, which also reminds him that this entire area seems so strange and out of place. He swears he has travelled every inch of his home, but apparently time had kept this area to itself, just now allowing the rest of the world to see what it has been hording. So, eagerly waiting to see what is about to be revealed, Gunvald takes a break upon that stone slab offered moments prior and lets the woman do her thing.

Raidh‘s ‘thing’ is, apparently, to stand there – doing, and saying, nothing, only peering out in tense expectation over the valley below. The wind whistles as if in reply, and a few dark clouds start to clump in the distance but certainly nothing’s alarming about those. After a while, she slumps a little and sighs.. well, it had been a good idea, but obviously wasn’t going to…. SCREEEEEEEEE!!!!!! From directly above the pair the wind starts to batter on their heads, and a nerve-shredding cry rings sharp. Raidh does indeed hoot for sheer joy, jumping up and down a little bit on her toes like an excited child, clapping her hands together, as a hawk-headed creature the size of a very large horse lands on its four clawed feet and shakes its mane, folding its massive wings. The hippogriff cants its head toward Raidh first, then Gunvald, fastening its bright, predatory eye on them. The Bearwife tentatively reaches to offer the beast a little pat on its huge, cruelly hooked beak. “Good boy,” she murmurs, then speaks something so softly Gunvald may not hear. In a trice, the huge wings unfold once more and next thing… Gunvald is being carried like a sad little fieldmouse in the clutches of a raptor foe, through the brewing sky and down, down, toward the valley floor and the simple round tent-house that is nestled there beside the river.

Gunvald has had pranks pulled upon him in his day, has been made to look like a fool when he was training with axe and shield, sword and spear from warriors of far greater skill. But never, and I mean -never- has he felt as embarrassed as he does being quite literally carried by some strange creature like a newborn babe being delivered by the stork. He must have had made the Gods mad for something, for his poor pride was the butt of their joke. The only saving grace coming with the fact that they were alone, isolated and no one else could see. Yes, thank the high ones for that small reprieve.

Whatever indignity the warrior might be suffering, Raidh is reasonably certain the hippogriff won’t cause him harm. Or eat him, or anything. She watches them descend to the valley, the journey completed before she can finish pondering her own best course to lower ground. Before her journey to the caverns, she’d set up a yurt and enjoyed the simple pleasures of hunting and fishing in absolute solitude, this long-hidden part of the realm a treasure beyond compare, especially to one so deeply in mourning for her lost King. In time, she’d mapped the valley, discovered its boundaries and perils, and not a few of its secrets. Making sure the bloody knife she’d removed from Gunvald’s injury is tucked safely in her belt, she sets off on foot, intending to forage for useful herbs and fungi, and maybe snare some small game on the way down.

Raidh's Hideaway Yurt

The hippogriff, having deposited its burden as directed, gallops off across the plain in pursuit of a tasty tarpan, leaving Gunvald to find his own way into the yurt. His entrance, however, is very likely to be greeted by a barrage of vicious warning growls from a wicker basket near Raid’s all-but-empty weapon rack.

Gunvald is plopped upon the earth by the majestic beast and left alone for the first time since this utterly strange encounter as Raidh wanders off and the hippogriff goes on the hunt. Here the warrior takes the sights in and inhales a deep breath of fresh air, though pain from doing so racks his body once more. He'd need time to properly heal, but he knows that he will recover and be ready to do what needs to be done. After a few moments of looking around he finds the entrance to the yurt, but as he nears the growls and threats of an animal inside cause him pause. By the Gods! Is this place filled with nothing but vicious creatures out to attack? Figuring Raidh knows this place, given she seems so at home, so the man simply waits for her return, giving a wide birth to the door and whatever beast awaits inside as he finds a spot to sit himself down and conserve his strength. It’s been a hell of a few days, that’s for sure.

Raidh will eventually arrive, bearing a bundle of plant matter, a brace of rabbits and meaty birds, and a filled skin of fresh, cold water taken from the pristine river’s edge. Meantime, the snarls from within the yurt are ongoing and increasing angry. The thick litter of bone shards surrounding the yurt suggest that Raidh’s erstwhile home has long been occupied by something that has no trouble chewing its way through the thick thigh bones of large animals… The Bearwife appears in the distance, her gait that of a much older woman, for she has her own healing to do, and not all of it physical. Raidh trudges up, in time, drops her bundles at Gunvald’s feet and looks him up and down. “What are you doing ou……” she’s interrupted by a fresh barrage of snarls from within. “… oh.” She sighs and plops down at Gunvald’s side, prodding the water-skin toward him. “Best we stay here, for now, then.” She doesn’t ask whether he’s hungry, she’ll soon be roasting that game she caught on an open-air fire, and there’s plenty for them both. Instead, she says, “Has there been any news of Eb… the King? At all?” Her eyes are sharply on him, her smile fragile, hope and despair mingling in the expression.

Gunvald has his head leaning back and his eyes closed as Raidh approaches once more, the rather large man seemingly lost in his own mind for a moment before the sound of footsteps snap him back once more to reality. The thing about the kuronii people is everyone is equal, and chores and work is shared amongst them all unlike some more "civilized" kingdoms that think a woman should only be in the kitchen and preparing herself to be a "lady", while the men only do the hard labor and "manly" tasks. The warrior clans of kuronii and riddarnir are nothing like that. So as Raidh comes with the fruits of her labor the man tries his best to help, after a few good gulps of that delicious water. It wasn't because she was a Queen, or even a woman, it was because she was a person, and nothing more. One of the whole, and really the man just doesn't know any other way to live. He'd help skin the hares, pluck the birds and ready the fire while allowing her to lead as this is her home. Though her question, about Eboric, leaves him sighing deeply before replying. "No. He simply vanished, no real word, no warband taken with him, he..." Here he shrugs, really not knowing what else to say. " He simply left." He knows his next statement may sting, but the truth is how they communicate. "His absence left a void that allowed the snakes to slither in. Power is a seductive mistress, and loyalty to an absent and lost king wanes far easier than most. It is why the infighting began, and why many now eye that throne." he goes silent now, hoping he doesn't say too much and put his foot in his mouth. But if anything, at least she knows he'll never hold his tongue just to possibly save feelings. He has more respect for the, in all essence, former queen than that. Her marriage made her royalty, but the actual power was Eboric's. With him gone the most she could do now is possibly call for a vote, but with the current climate and lack of support she'd face serious opposition. It seems careful planning and inevitable battles lay ahead of the pair. Here, he asks the question he knows they will all ask of the former queen. "Where have you been all this time?"

Hope fades from Raidh’s eyes, their bright-sky blue dimming a little as though bitter disappointment physically clouds their shine. “I’m sure…I know he will have his reasons,” she says, her tone assuring as much for her own sake as Gunvald’s. “And I have to trust that. We all must.” The Bearwife plucks a bit of meat from its bone, munching as she listens to further details of the Kingdom’s travails. When the warrior is finished speaking, she replies, “We must hold the throne for him. At all costs.” Simple words, with a world of intent behind them, and it appears that is all she has to say on the matter. “As for where I’ve been? She splays long, thin fingers covered in rabbit-grease, lifting her arms in an encompassing gesture, “I’ve been here. I didn’t mean to be; I just sort of… found it.” It’s a long story, for another time. “Hunted, fished.. I had every intention of returning to the palace, but then,” her features settle into a mask of non-disclosure – Raidh isn’t very good at obscuring the truth. “I got trapped in a cave.” It wasn’t exactly a lie, so she’s comfortable with these words. “I was in there for… a very long time. I’m very eager to go home.” In her heart, home is the palace and the gods only know who’s hands that is in these days. Really, it doesn’t at all matter to her. “I fully intend to sleep well in my own bed, once you’re better healed.”

Gunvald helps himself to a bit of hare and some strange bird as he listens, his hunger ravenous, made apparent as soon as the meat touches his lips he almost devours everything without even chewing. Noting this, he takes a moment to remember to breath, using the water as a way to distract from the fact he lacks any table manners at all. He listens and takes note of her actions, her body language, as she talks. Her pain at the possible loss of her husband is great, but her resolve is strong. Good, she will need that in the days, months and maybe years to come. Venturil is not going to be as to take back. He tries to tell her a bit more, and comfort her in the fact they share the surprise at the current state of things as he says. " I was off on a viking, me and my crew sailed out the western sea to strange and exotic places." memories flood back to such simpler times. " We had many a great battle, raided and plundered kingdoms of strange people. Faced beasts I have never seen, ate and drank wonderful things." He'd smirk here, wishing he was still there, lost in his own strange kingdom where he could be free. " We were gone a year, maybe two, it was hard to keep track to be sure. But when we returned... everything was wrong." He'd regale her with the details of his homecoming. Of how he was met with news of his father's execution, supposedly for trying to kill the King and Queen of Larket, though no one could ever share any actual details, only that somehow the King fo Larket, Macon by name, beheaded his father and the people allowed it. The shame upon the clan was great, and this was used as a means to remove them all from the byrg and imprison Gunvald. Days, maybe weeks went by in that dark hole. Beaten and tortured for information, he gave them nothing. But in the end most of his clan had been killed, he doesn't know how many, if any at all, survived. That tale ends with the knife in his side and his meeting with Raidh. " All I do know, is that Ivarr is not the only one vying for power. He spoke of enemies within other byrgs, other ealdormen and clans who have drawn the lines in the sand. I'd suspect we'll be in for quite the task finding any allies, but we'll need them, else its me and you versus all of our kin, and I tire of slaying my own, even if some deserve it." He'd rather split the skulls of foreign enemies than bury his axes into another kuronii. Eboric's promise of a united kingdom was well received because, at the core, the kuronii knew their greatest strength was being united as one. Apart they've never even glimpsed the former strength the once had in days of old, losing land to elves, dwarves and numerous other powers. Even Frostmaw's tribes had been pushed back by the frost giants, making them outcasts into the wastes. Rynvale fell to the high elves, pushing the clans of men into the dragonlands to fight simply for survival. Venturil is their ancestral homeland, and it too has been in the hands of outsiders for far too long before Eboric reclaimed it and held it with an iron grip. But now the clans war with one another, lust for power and greed for wealth driving a divide into their ranks across the western lands. And, as any one of them know, like the great shield wall itself they are only as strong as their weakest link. Infighting only leaves them open to outside attack, so order must be re-established, and Venturil needs proper leadership. But it has been many a year since the likes of Eboric Pendasson , the Bearking's might able to hold together the entire kingdom for so long. But this only serves to ignite a flame within the warrior Gunvald, for he says to Raidh. " You'll have your home back, and we'll set our people back on a path the leads to glory and riches once more. I swear this."

Raidh nods, knees cracking as she raises to her feet. Best she go, and sort out whatever’s going in inside her yurt, there’s need of some of its contents. Before she shoves open the woven doorflap, her reply to Gunvald’s long explanation is only, “Well. Don’t forget, wīġend, I am Riddarnir.” Raidh has no actual clue what has transpired among her native people while she’s been gone – but she knows, with every fibre of her being, that Avaldi Half-arm will have her back, no matter what. And with that, the unkempt woman vanishes into her snarling tent.