The cold Autumn morning didn’t touch me in the longhouse. The incessant voices who vied for my attention most certainly did.
“The crop has failed. We don’t have enough stores for winter.” Said one farmer.
“My pig was taken in the night, we found its shredded body in the mountain path leading east. Only a Horror could have done such damage!” Pleaded another.
“Jarl, will the sea be able to provide enough for us all come winter?” Was the most popular question of the day.
“We are strong, we have stores and the sea to provide for us. Do not fear, we will prevail in the end.” I said, “Our plans hold the same, forge alliances with the other circles of the Ragged Coast and together continue in this harsh land.” It was as true as when my wife, Mura, and I had decided that warring and fighting were no way forward. Those were the ways of the old land. Together, we could forge bonds and clear hardships much better than alone.
From outside, a commotion moved towards the longhouse. A woman’s strong voice yelled, “I must see the Jarl.” Mixed with demands to “get out my way, this is of urgent need!” It was Berljot, as fine a fisher women as we had here and a peerless sailor.
As she charged through the entrance way, a cold, sleet laced draft moved through the room which shocked the throng of petitioners to attention.
“It was the Grimtreader. I saw it smashed and deserted against the base of the cliffs to the south!” She said, red-faced and panting.
“Where exactly did you sight the wreck, Berljot.” I said, as the throng of farmers backed away, their petty self-interest was forgotten. The whole circle knew the Grimtreader was sent south to Wolfwatch to start the unity of the circles of the Ragged Coast. This news was grim indeed. We conversed for a short time about the exact cliff face the flagship had run aground on and the weather conditions in the Fjord and out on the open sea.
With haste Sigurd, my advisor and friend, and I prepared our vessel. It was a medium sized ship, made of hardwood which we milled from the local highlands. A single mast for a sail and two sets of oars for extra speed as well as a small cabin, which was of no better than kneeling height, made up the Therud. Generally used for small fishing ships in the fjord and around the mouth of the inlet, it was our passion.
As we prepared, Mura came down from our home as she had heard the news. “So you are off immediately?” She asked, with a quizzical look on her round face.
“Yes, no time can be wasted. As I’m sure you understand, my love.” I felt some pull to continue to load up our boat with supplies and check the rigging but could not turn away. “If the ship was scuttled by raiders, we need to know. That ship’s mission was our hope for a safer future.”
“So your dislike of nagging petitioners isn’t that which gives you this fury of purpose?” She joked with a wicked smile. She knew me too well.
“That could be some of it, yes.” I said seriously. “But you know the stress I have put myself under with this plan. How much I have worried about it at night. This is my fear, come out of my dreams and has bitten me on the neck.”
“Of course, I will take the petitions early then. My round as Jarl wasn’t due till next month. I had planned to leave the pig pen clean out for you.” She quipped with barely hidden mirth. “How long do you think it should be until we see your sails again?”
“Berljot said that it was scuttled not a day’s sail south. We may have to continue on to Wolfwatch as well. No more than ten days, probably.” The words were accompanied by a chuckle, a loving smile, and finally a long kiss on her beautiful lips. Not having her with me would be the hardest part of all this. Sigurd said goodbye to his husband with a long embrace.
With that I turned to pick up the final crate of dried fish and carefully stepped into the gently rocking boat. Sigurd unsecured the moorings and we were away. The calm water inside the bay was no trouble. The danger came when we crested the flanking cliffs out to the open sea. Immediately, our boat was pushed around like a toy. My hand shot up to protect my eyes from the salt laden wind which screamed past our ears. This was the danger we faced every time a boat went into open water and again, we faced it today. Waves crashed at the starboard side incessantly as we turned our vessel south. A large wave, hidden behind the chaotic tumult of sea foam, surprised us and Sigurd lost his footing. I heard a loud crack, a tumbling of crates and curse words before I could turn to look. Sigurd had slammed into some crates of supplies as he attempted to cushion his fall and a basket of dried whiting fell into the wild sea. These hellish wind and waves continued all afternoon as we pushed farther south to Wolfwatch. With the setting sun we made for a sheltered cove to moor, in safe refuge, overnight.
Fortunately, the next morning saw calmer weather and, without the assault of a raging sea, our progress was swift. I thought to myself how nice this Ironland could be when the weather decided to rest for a while. We sighted the Grimtreader easily in the calm. It had run aground on rocks and looked like a giant had somehow placed it there on purpose. With cautious diligence, we pulled our small vessel alongside and secured it with grappling hooks. As we climbed up the secured ropes and swung our feet down onto the aft deck we were instantly aware that a battle had taken place on board. The surging seas had not washed all the blood away, gashes of wood were clearly visible where a blade had embedded itself and not a soul was left of the thirty crew members who had originally embarked. Sigurd decided to check the hull while I went to the captains quarters. Most of the supplies and all of the iron had been taken from below decks. The captain’s quarters were ransacked. “Sigurd, Tove was the captain. A fine sailor. The Grimtreader was an agile vessel to boot. Surely raiders would not have been able to catch her. I know not of any pirate vessel with such speed.” I said as we met back on deck and I peered out towards the Barrier Islands, where many a self styled raider king kept their demesne.
“There is little we can gather from a desolate ship.” said Sigurd, as he stood next to me and peered to the west.
“The signs of a fight are obvious enough. But there is no where to perform the rights of burial. If it was Ironlanders, they would have taken the bodies to bury or secured them in the knowledge we would come looking. They know well enough the fate of those who die and are left to this lands’ powers.” I thought as much as said and turned to look south, down towards Wolfwatch. “It seems to me that Wolfwatch is where we might find some answers. At the very least come to know if the Grimtreader found port there and how long ago it was.”
“It is settled then. But let us stay here the night. Enough sailing today and I would prefer to chant a song of requiem for those lost.” Sigurd said with a thoughtful voice as he clutched the ship rail and starred at a large, stained cut in the wood.
“We will both chant, but later. First, let’s use this afternoon calm to try and gather the sea’s bounty.”
Sigurd’s hard expression broke and he turned to me and smiled, “Why are you always so poetic? You could have just said let’s go fishing.”
The warm sun turned cool on our faces as we sat with the lapping of waves against the hull and the muffled flapping of fish tails against the deck. A peculiar sense of peace came over me as the stars began to shine out of a maroon afternoon sky and I wondered if this small pocket of calm would be the last we enjoyed for sometime. The night passed slowly. With the smell of salted fish in my nose and our voices chanting with a deep, rolling rapidity as the chant of requiem guided us into an uneasy sleep. The warriors who were missing came to me in my dreams, shocked expressions and bewilderment etched on their faces. The power of the Ironlands was still a marvel to humans and very little understood.
The circle of Wolfwatch was three days sail down the coast. The last month of Autumn saw the trees atop the sheer grey cliffs afire with their turning leaves. Sigurd always said how he loved those leaves. He had heard stories that such trees were not to be found in the Old World. There, the trees were short, twisted things. Their leaves would pierce the skin if you were not careful due to their needle-like habit. Great seas of sand, interspersed with rocky mesas were a usual sight. Winter was a milder form of Summer. But here, winter was the blanket you were forced to have permanently draped around your shoulders. It was as if the seasons had forgotten what change was. Furs all year around, just a layer or two less in what passed for an Ironland ‘summer’.
Our ship glided effortlessly over the glassy sea and as we passed by nameless cove and lonely bay. An hour from Wolfwatch, we saw it. That feeling, on the Grimtreader, that peaceful feelings may be elusive from now on, was true. The sky ahead looked like the clouds had come in close to a babies crib, to take an extra close peek. The faint smell of burnt dreams filled my nose.
“Sigurd, perhaps we shall have our answers sooner than we had hoped.” I said with hurried hands and a predator’s fixated stare. I immediately dropped the sail with the practiced pull of the locking pin. Sigurd needed no other commands than the feel of tension I exuded. He grabbed the worn oars and we sharply turned port side, directly for the hidden safety of the coves cliffs. A simple, three-pronged hook secured our berth against the rocks, as we looked to settle the initial feeling of tension.
“We need to hurry. Too often have I seen those signs and been too late to help.” Sigurd exclaimed as softly as a voice as deep as his could manage.
“Yes, we do. But raiders ships out pace our meager vessel. Should we sail into the fjord we would be injured prey at the mercy of hungry sea lions. Nothing short of a free meal” I replied.
“You are right, Jarl. If not in the vessel, then how do we gain access?” Sigurd asked.
“We can climb the gray cliffs. Don’t try and climb overladen or you may slip,” I chided. When you are well known for falling out of trees as a youngster, these kinds of jabs will stay with you.
The first twenty minutes was okay, our arms and legs had yet to catch up to the arduousness of the climb. But as the minutes turned into an hour, our limbs then turned to mud. With as much exertion as I could manage my hand finally felt the waxy, long grass on the cliff top. I hauled my protesting body over the lip and collapsed, chest heaving chaotically, on the headland.
“Kuron, I’d hate to disturb you but, ah, can you lend me a bit of a hand?” Sigurd’s question had the dry force of a carpenter’s plain, it sheared off thin slices of my tiredness. Like a beached walrus, I wriggled to the edge and thrust my tattooed hand down in aid.
“Sorry friend, seems maybe sailing into the jaws of the shark would have been a little less taxing,” I joked once again. It had been years since I had last seen a battle. Young, and ultimately foolish, raiders had descended from the north, from Windhaven, to raid our circle. My wife, Mura, and I had fought back to back. We relished the violence. We reveled in the chance to defend our circle and put all those grueling hours of training into use. Foolishness. We had grown up on tales of heroes and the sea. Flowery stories told to young, sheltered minds. After it was over, the reality of the fighting came washing over us both like a wave of blood and screams sent from the gods.
Friends, lost. Family, maimed. We grew into Ironlanders that day. Hearts hardened like tempered iron. Thereafter, Mura and I made a promise that we would live to keep life, to preserve bonds. We’d been successful up to now. But the winds of fate are forever changing, uncontrollable.
Out of the daydream, we peered down into the fjord from our high perch. There were two ships, large and of an unrecognisable make. They were moored, inelegantly, at the Wolfwatch dock. Their hard forms opposed to the smoking remains of the circles scuttled ships. Much of the town was already burning and insect-like figures hurtled about in a chaotic fracas.
“I don’t know who these marauders are, but we must get down there quickly.” Said Sigurd who began to wade through the thick shrubs.
“We do indeed. If we keep to the ridge, perhaps we can enter via the Deep Wilds road.” I offered guiltily. Truth be told, I wanted to make my way directly to Ishana. The sickness she had contracted in the Deep Wilds would surely leave her unable to defend herself.
With this thought bouncing around my head and my heart threatening to beat its way out of my chest, we moved through the thick forest of the ridge. We stalked low, slinking like serpents. The adrenaline brought fresh fire to our fatigued legs. Unknown enemies in the Ironlands was a jolting juncture.
NOTE: First edit. I want to do a final edit but will probably work on chapter 2 of Kuron’s Tale and chapter 1 of Sibilia’s Ironsworn Tale. Just some fiction fun really, hope you enjoy it.
RPG Downtime 