The Fall of Marigill (closed for Poprockz)

[draco519]

Orson was finishing knocking the last of the burnt tobacco out of his pipe when the music started, and he tucked it away in the pouch before he handed it off to a servant. A rare treat, indeed! To watch a highborn Horrey woman dance. But the Princess herself?

Orson’s smile slowly faded as he watched the way her body moved. The sway to her hips that made her silks dance and glide over the air. Yes, it was a fun and upbeat song. It was light-hearted and it matched the mood of the room perfectly.

It didn’t lower his spirits in the slightest, but he did watch. Very closely. His furs draped over the back of Dremara’s chair. He shook his head when more ale was offered, a hand going over his cup as he enjoyed the performance of the Princess.

 

[Poprockz]

The first verse repeated itself, but in the middle of the song rang out with the word "thunderclap!" The band encouraging the crowd to start clapping and stomping in rhythm.

Clap clap stomp!
Clap clap stomp!
Stomp clap stomp!
stomp clap stomp!
clap clap clap clap!
stomp stomp stomp stomp!

Meanwhile, the princess continued her dance, her skirts flowing as though a breeze had caught them and was dancing with her. With each step, the gold embellishments jingled, and her eyes twinkled with joy. As much as her dress and chest wrappings tried to aid her, it couldn't prevent her large chest from jiggling at times. Some of the men traded glances with each other, but no one was going to dare saying a damned thing about it. Not under the King's watchful eye, at least.

At one point, she even did a three-part cartwheel across the floor, gaining enough momentum that her skirt never fell past her mid-shins. This earned her a few hoots and roars.

 

[draco519]

Orson bit his lip a moment as the breasts of his shining golden goddess jiggled. His cock hardening a bit at the sight; though he highly doubted he was the only one.

Fionn, wide eyed started, started to open his mouth to speak-

Roric reached over and punched him in the arm before he could say anything.

Fionn looked to Roric.

Roric shook his head with a stern expression that indicated exactly what the boy should do. Shut the fuck up.

Orson chuckled, appreciating Roric’s unwavering duty to look after Fionn, but the cartwheel caused glorious applause. He found even he was clapping along with the song, stomping when the music dictated he should.

–

 

[Poprockz]

The song strummed up into the climax of the last verse, and she spun around like a top, arms outstretched moving from being parallel to the floor to being raised above her head.

"Begone at the sound of the Thuuuunder CLAP!"

The band finished with a flourish, the entire room knowing to clap in unison on that last note, including Dremara herself. With the song concluded, the crowd laughed and roared its approval, having thoroughly enjoyed the experience. The Princess hoped it would keep them from thinking that she was just some stuffy aristocrat. She could dance- she could have fun just like anyone here. She wasn't above dancing and she wasn't above sharing mead and laughs with her people.

Her cheeks were flushed from dancing and as expected, she felt quite warm even without the furs. Out of habit, she looked around for Nettie to share in her excitement, but Nettie was nowhere to be found. She waved to the people and hopped off the dance floor, returning to Orson where he sat at the table. The woman was still trying to catch her breath, but she was able to ask, "have you seen Nettie? She hasn't returned to her chambers already has she?"

"Not yet!" Nettie giggled, hands clasped behind her as she approached. "Though I know I will sleep well after all the festivities."

 

[draco519]

Orson stood up as Dremara finally came back and he saw the flush on her face of exertion. A smile that lit up the room. He smiled, a hand coming down to hers to kiss her knuckles, then she was looking for.. Nettie? Where had she run off to? He tried to think about that. “Last time I saw her, she was dancing with…”

Realization crossed his features. “Cillian.” He cleared his throat, a smirk to his lips. “Well.. I suppose Nettie is in good hands tonight.” He tried not to laugh; he knew Cillian to be an honorable sort, but he did value his solace. Maybe Brannock and Fionn’s antics got on his nerves from time to time, Orson supposed. But he was an incredibly capable tracker and scout.

“Thank you.” Orson finally remembered his manners. “Your performance honors us.”

 

[Poprockz]

---

 

[draco519]

Orson saw Dremara’s concern, taking a breath as he considered it. Cillian could hold a drink with the best of them. Not like Roric or Brannock, but.. “Cillian is a disciplined man. He doesn’t drink so much that he wouldn’t be surprised if he were to awake with your maid in his bed.”

Though he didn’t know about Nettie, his hand absently coming to touch Dremara’s fair hair, getting some of the golden locks that had matted to her neck and shoulder off of her. A courtesy to her, a show of possession to his men that might have gotten ideas from her dance; though they knew they could challenge him if they so wished.

“Would you like me to show you to Cillian’s chambers if you’re so inclined to check on her?” Orson finally inquired after his moment of contemplative silence. “Is Nettie known to drink until she has no control?”

 

[Poprockz]

--

 

[draco519]

Orson watched Dremara fiddling with her hair, conflicted about the topic. “Cillian is a good man, Princess.” He reassured her as best he knew how. Genuinely, he did. He didn’t want her fearing for Nettie’s safety. “He wouldn’t force her to do anything she genuinely didn’t want from him.”

But that was what he knew to say on the matter. He did also know he had to leave at first light to go investigate the White Peaks. Duty ever called. “Faagen.” He saw the mean preparing to leave, but he gestured the man over.

“Chieftain, My Ladies..” He bowed respectfully, an inquisitive gaze at Orson.

“I fear duty never sleeps.” Orson cleared his throat. “I, and my pact, are for the White Peaks at first light.”

Faagen was genuinely surprised by that. He’d seen them all leave the hall, but.. “What’s happened? Do I need to rally more men?”

“Not until I have all the facts.” Orson said as simply as he could. “But I fear Naymeera grows in her strength. We did best a Muirgheilt on the voyage home.”

“A Sea-Wraith?” Faagen’s eyes widened, almost awed at the sight of Orson still standing after facing such a beast. “You believe it to be the work of the dreaded Lady?”

“Unless one specifically picked out the Whisker, the flagship of our fleet.” Orson shook his head slightly, his eyes moving to Y’Sennia, checking to see if she had any input, but… he looked back to Faagen. “Its eyes glowed with her balefire.”

Faagen knew now why Orson didn’t divulge every detail of such a battle. People would panic, and warriors would go charging out to the sea to demand to face one of their own to prove themselves. “RimeHaven will be standing when you return.”

Orson nodded. “Have a good night, Faagen. Give Laela my apologies for delaying you.” Turning to Dremara, he offered her his arm. “May I escort you back to your chambers, Princess?”

 

[Poprockz]

Y'Sennia gave a polite smile to Faagen, but she didn't add anything further. The poor man was probably sick of her by now, but hopefully the warming stones she gave him would sooth some of his irritation with her.

"You may," Princess Dremara accepted his offer, placing her hand on his arm and leaving the hall with him. She was quiet as they walked thinking about the lake, about what the other woman had described, about her own power... It was a lot to process, but she supposed it was going to be a long trek to the castle so she would have ample time to reflect upon such things.

"Have you... been to her castle before," she asked, trying to fill the silence.

 

[draco519]

“I have.” Orson thought about his ventures to Senni’s palace. “Not what you’d expect from the stories. What with the gargoyles and spider webs Or caskets for sleeping.” He chuckled at the humor; he’d read some of the books during his time in Hortensia; but one such as Senni likely hadn’t been in Hortensia for many centuries. They preferred the Vale. The days were much shorter.

“You’ll find she’s of a particular taste with her decor; her palace is something that would rival the one I signed the peace treaty in at the golden city.” It was true; Senni had had centuries to have it built to her liking. And it showed in every detail. Even if he didn’t know what all the rooms were.

“The Whitecaps is the mountain range to the northwest. The White Peaks is what her palace is known as. Dark, polished granite and whitewashed stone gables.” He explained. “There’s a village of serfs; farmers, mostly. A few smithys. She teaches some of the younglings when they’re particularly gifted in the mind; Faagen was one of them.”

He didn’t know whether or not Dremara was surprised by that reaction, but it was the truth. “He captured the eye of a noble lady for a reason, after all. The ability to hold a conversation and all.”

They arrived to her chambers, and Orson reached up to touch her chin. “I thank you again for your dance. You honor my halls with your presence.”

–

 

[Poprockz]

Indeed, she was quite shocked to find out that Faagen had been mentored by the lady. Perhaps that was why he felt more exasperated with her antics than angry. It was difficult to be truly angry at someone who had given you the gifts of their knowledge and time.

Though the joke he made about holding a conversation made her eyebrow raise. Was the ability to speak and banter so very uncommon that it required a special tutelage? That wasn't what she had seen so far here. Perhaps the men didn't have skills in politics or things of that nature, they were all clever in their own right. Perhaps it was more that Faagen possessed something remarkable when it came to the intellectual arts.

"It was an honor to dance for everyone and..." She smiled genuinely at the memory, "it was a lot of fun doing so. I rarely get to dance, so it is always a treat to have the opportunity to do so."

The woman turned to her door but paused and looked back at him, "<Insert applicable dialogue

 

[draco519]

Orson nodded his head an acknowledgment of her stating she enjoyed dancing; and wanted to do so more often. “You need but give voice to your desires; our people need reason to be merry in the long winters.” Though his hand was still on her chin, and he curled it up to her cheek as she asked for a handmaiden.

He took her kiss again. Lingering only for a second before he nodded once more. “I’ll send our best.” She really was beautiful, with her golden hair and eyes. But she had her traditions; the way of her people. He didn’t want to force her; but they would need to wed before winter began.

“I know we leave at first light and we have this great and terrible threat to face… But I would encourage you to think of what you’d like for the wedding. The harshest moons of our winters ice the waters over and close the harbor; and trade ships cannot travel in and out. News of our wedding must travel before then.” Allies of Hortensia that could not be bothered when the Kota were on Hortensia’s shores could come seeking to invade the Vale to claim the Princess for themselves. It would be another war.

 

[Poprockz]

Were her cheeks pink from her earlier dance of from the delicate affection he had placed on her? That was anyone's guess.

She blinked and regarded him curiously when he asked her to think about what she wanted. "I'm not sure what you mean, " she replied. "Are you asking what I want for my clothing? Like furs and things like that? Or are you asking me what I want for wedding gifts?"

 

[draco519]

Orson’s eyebrows raised a bit, curious at that. “Well.. yes. What sort of fabric you might want; flowers for garlands..all the things women tend to think of.” Did that genuinely surprise her, he wondered? “I suppose.. Gifts as well. If there’s anything you might ask of me, or our people.”

He tried to consider it. “We’ll have time to discuss it on the journey to the White Peaks, but.. There will be a hunt. Kota husbands are to be capable hunters; I must bring back meat and furs to keep you fed and warm. I must cut down the mightiest tree I can find to show I can give you fire. That wood will be preserved; and I'll build our children bassinets from it.”

“Are there any Hortensian traditions you’d want to honor?” Orson knew as much of her ways as she did of his.

 

[Poprockz]

Oh, that made sense. Perhaps it was the way his kisses seemed to make her thoughts slower, but she had assumed that the Kota would have all of the wedding events and decorations already decided for her. To have any voice or choice in the matter hadn't occurred to her in the slightest. She was someone whose life had been signed away to him; in a sense one could call her his possession.

"Ah... I had assumed, being that I..." It was difficult to say the words in a way that wouldn't offend him. Her eyes flicked away uncomfortably before coming back to him. "Nevermind. In any case, if I am to decide what sort of things will be at the wedding, I will need to consult Faagen regarding what would be acceptable and appropriate."

Meat, furs, firewood, and furniture... There was something very practical about such things.

As far as Hortensian wedding traditions? Of those, there were many. Typically the father of the bride walked side-by-side with her down the aisle, while her mother was the one to prepare her veil. Seeing that her father would likely be unable to attend, she could at least have half of that tradition if she had Nettie stand in for her mother. It saddened her to think that her father wouldn't be present, but that was her life now and she would have to accept it.

"So, for traditions. The bride wears a veil at her wedding that is only lifted once they are pronounced married- I think I would like to do that too. It is also tradition that once the married couple arrives at the reception afterwards, each of them is blindfolded. With the supervision of one trusted friend or family member, they must each find their husband or wife, and once they do, they share the first dance of the night." Dremara had always thought that this particular tradition was rather fun, especially for the guests.

Of course there was also the tradition of having a legal official come into the room during their wedding night and make sure that the man's seed had consummated the woman's privates, but that was more of a royal tradition. She hesitated to mention it, but she supposed she should. "And well, if you have a proctor make sure that we have... consummated our marriage, it will lend legitimacy to you. They don't have to be present during the event, but they typically have to make sure that the man has finished within the woman. That is something that is done in royal marriages specifically to ensure that the marriage is valid."

 

[draco519]

Orson furrowed his eyebrows as Dremara said she’d need to consult Faagen about what would be appropriate. “Very well. Laela would also be a great asset; she’s familiar with our ways as well as courtly customs elsewhere, too.”

The concept of a father giving a daughter away wasn’t alien to the Kota. “In our culture; a father’s duty to his daughter is to measure the warrior spirit. He’ll measure the worth of the furs and the meat and the wood and the bassinet, possibly the home he’s built. Then, as a final test; the strongest warrior in the bride’s family will face the groom in mutual combat. He must best this man to show he can protect her and their children.”

As far as a legal proctor went? To lend him legitimacy? Orson considered that. It sounded like they didn't trust their women at all. "I'd prefer your comfort. Such a night will be special."

It was getting late, and Orson brought his hand up to Dremara’s hip, stepping closer and allowing it to snake behind her to the small of her back. Pulling her to him, he brought his lips down to hers once again, his hand coming up to help her with her hair, finding pins and removing them. He didn’t say he couldn’t help, after all.

 

[Poprockz]

Dremara very much doubted that her father would be able to discern the value of those items stated; he was a King, and he typically left that sort of thing for the quartermaster to sort out. As far as the combat went, she supposed he already had that part under his belt. Sir Avery was easily the strongest man in her family, a renowned knight in general, and Orson had bested him in combat for all the kingdom to see.

Special? Perhaps to him it would be. To her, it would be a business meeting in which she fulfilled her obligations no matter how apprehensive she may be.

She was about to bid him goodnight when the next moment she knew, she was pressed against him, his lips tasting the ale upon her own once more. The princess had expected him to pull back like he had the first time, but he seemed to want to linger here. It took her a few moments to realize what he was doing, and when she did, she pulled back from his lips and looked away. Her cheeks were quite flushed as her golden eyes met his again. Though her brows were furrowed, she didn't seem legitimately angry.

"I'm quite sure you can remove the pins in my hair without-" Her gaze once again fled from his as her voice lowered, "kissing me." Why did saying such a normal word fluster her so? Why was she unable to look at him while saying it?

 

[draco519]

Orson felt her pull out of his kiss, eventually. Though what had persisted had been pleasant. And there she was, with those pink cheeks as she mentioned he could do so without kissing her. His smirk was small and amused. “Undoubtedly. But why wouldn’t I want to?” He released her, they did have to get to bed. First light was coming too soon as it was.

“Good night, Princess.” He said, leaving her hairpin in her hand. He turned to leave her and headed for his chambers.

—



Orson stepped out into the cold of the courtyard, the barking of sled dogs was abound. His ochre bear furs adorned his shoulders as the sun crept up over the horizon. First light had arrived; and it was time they got going. From the elevated platform on the front of his palace, one would assume RimeHaven was deserted; save for all the smoke from fireplaces. The feast had carried ale and meat throughout the city; and many were still sleeping it off.

Brannock certainly wished he was, dressed in his furs and his axe upon his back. He squeezed his studded gauntlet, trying to work the stiffness out of the cold leather as he approached his mount. A mighty iron-maned Auroch he’d named Thunder.

He was a massive, shaggy bovine native to the Iron Vale, standing taller than a warhorse, with thick, iron-gray fur that insulates against blizzards and broad, curved horns etched with the prayers of Ursui. His muscular builds allow him to plow through snow drifts and navigate rocky moors, while his calm temperament makes them reliable under battle stress.

Dagris was fixing his staff to the side of his Rimehoofed Elk; Aelrune. A towering, antlered beast with a silvery coat; shimmering like frost. His antlers branching like runed trees. Blessed by the runecasters prayer, his hooves leave no trace in snow, and his antlers can channel minor magical wards as Dagris speaks through them.

Descending the steps, Orson made his way to Ironroar, his Stoneclaw Bear, a towering embodiment of Ursui’s might. The bear’s granite-gray fur glints with icy dew, its glowing eyes like twin hearths in the morning chill. Broad as an ancient oak, Ironroar’s rune-etched hide ripples with subtle runes, its chisel-like claws scarring the earth and snow.

Iron rings, braided into its thick mane, clink softly, each etched with bear claw sigils, resonating with the Kota’s sacred oaths. The bear huffs, its breath a warm mist, its enchanted roar a low rumble that stirs the waking village.

Clad in a bear-fur cloak and runed armor, Orson grips a heavy saddle of dark leather, its iron studs and crescent sigils gleaming faintly. His weathered hands, calloused from sword and spear, move with reverence as he chants a Kota prayer to Ursui, calming Ironroar’s restless shift. He heaves the saddle onto the bear’s muscled back, the leather creaking as he secures thick straps beneath its barrel chest, fingers deft despite the cold. The saddle’s rune-carved stirrups clank, aligning with the bear’s sacred aura. Orson’s rune-etched longsword hangs at his hip, clinking against his round shield strapped to the saddle.

Sled dogs yap and circle, their breath steaming as they tug sleds across the courtyard, their barks harmonizing with Ironroar’s presence.

Orson checks the saddle’s girth, ensuring it holds firm for the moors’ brutal terrain. He pats Ironroar’s flank, feeling Ursui’s strength in its steady gaze, the bear’s glowing eyes mirroring his resolve to defy Naymeera’s threat.

Fionn and Cillian were driving the sleds. Each prepared for two passengers each and one standing driver. Polished wood glistening with the runes of Ursui and sturdy leather straps to hold down the thick furs for the comfort of their passengers.

In his wolf furs, Fionn’s red hair was a stark contrast. His spear fixed in high position on the back of the sled, his shield and javelins strapped to his back, as well as a throwing hatchet he could use to cut firewood. Each man’s mount held saddlebags with extra supplies, as well as a leather pack strapped to each of the sled; though they had to be kept much lighter.

Mounting, Orson settles into the saddle, its leather groaning under his weight. Ironroar shifts, claws scraping, ready to lead the Kota. The longhouse looms, its carved bear motifs watching, but Orson’s blue eyes fix on the misty moors beyond, where snow and stone await. Ironroar’s low growl echoes, a call to the clan, as sled dogs fall in line, their sleds crunching frost. Dawn breaks fully, and Orson, astride Ironroar, embodies RimeHaven’s unyielding spirit, poised for the trials ahead.

–


The courtyard fell silent. The tension was in the air. What were they to face this day? Orson and his men knew so little about this threat Lady Y’Sennia had brought before them. The journey to The Whitecaps wasn’t overly perilous, no more than to other places in the Iron Vale. Orson’s lands weren’t overly populated in the cold; highwaymen and bandits did exist. But it was just as likely they starved to death before they found someone on the road that could give them enough for them to see another moon. And the only people that ventured far from RimeHaven during the winter were capable Kota men. And most bandits, with their rusty weaponry, hungry stomachs, and desperation were no match for them.

As the ladies entered the courtyard, Fionn hadn’t seen them. His back to the doors. “When do I get my own mount?” He asked, grumbling about having to drive one of the sleds.

“When you learn some temperance.” Orson ran his hand through Ironroar’s fur absently, meeting Fionn’s gaze. “The Aurochs, the Stoneclaws, the Frostfangs, even the Rimehooves. They aren’t like riding a horse, Fionn.”

“It’s just a saddle.” Fionn muttered in protest.

“In time, lad.” Roric reassured Fionn, there was a time for such ambition. This wasn’t one of them. Fionn hadn’t shown he could lead such a beast yet. Sled dogs were safer for him. And his brothers, were he to lose control of one of the mighty Kota mounts. “For now, tend the dogs.”

Cillian and Fionn’s sleds each had room for two.

Cillian reached over, smacking the sulking Fionn on the shoulder.

Fionn turned, and they both bowed to Dremara, Nettie, and Senni. They could ride with whom they wished.

 

[Poprockz]

Once Orson had left her to her own devices, Princess Dremara had enlisted a Nettie's help to help her pack and get ready for bed. The handmaiden was brought current with recent events and found that she too would be going on this journey with them. While she wasn't looking forward to braving the cold, nor coming across any beasts, she was looking forward to seeing Cillian once more. It seemed she wouldn't simply be waiting for him to get back this time.

Nettie woke Dremara up in the morning and got her ready for their journey, making sure to bring her several furs that had been put to the side for her. As such, when she exited the longhouse, she was wearing brown. All of it. Leggings, dress with a shorter skirt (so that the hem wouldn't get wet with snow), boots, and a very warm coat made from the fur of a bear to match Orson. Nettie was wearing a similar outfit in black.

They strode over to the group, each of them feeling a bit tired from the night before. While they had certainly turned in before the rest of the village, they were getting up significantly earlier.

Nearby, Y'Sennia stood in the same dress she had worn the night prior, looking completely unbothered by the cold. While everyone else's breaths puffed out into the chilly air, no puff came from her lips when she would speak.

"Good morning," Dremara said, having to hold a gloved hand up to cover her mouth as she yawned. She looked between the two sleds, thinking to herself that it would likely be more comfortable if she and Nettie took one while the Lady Enchantress took the other. But which sled to take? It didn't much matter to her, but what would Nettie prefer?

The handmaiden in question drifted toward Cillian's sled with both of their packs in her hands. "Where should I put the packs?" she asked no one in particular, not wanting to single Cillian out.

 

[draco519]

Cillian had room on his sled for the Lady’s luggage and a passenger, as did Fionn, but they were both beaten to the punch by the boisterous bellow of the brash Brannock. “Why don’t you see if Cillian can dance a jig and secure them to the front of his sled? You can ride on the back nearest him!”

The rest of the men laughed.

Cillian glared at Brannock, clearing his throat before he stepped forward and took the packs from Nettie. “First rule of RimeHaven.” He looked to Brannock once he had them and was turning to carry them to his sled; a rude gesture with his free hand. “Listening to Brannock will make you as thick as he is.”

The men laughed once more. Even Orson got a chuckle out of it. His eyes alight in the spirit of camaraderie in the face of danger.

Roric chimed in, however. “Aye. Ignore him, lass. Crotchrot addles his mind. Too much coin lost at the Song.”

As the men jeered him next? All Brannock could do was smile and shake his head. “Money well spent!”

 

[Poprockz]

Nettie glanced at Dremara, and the Princess could tell she was conflicted. She wanted to be the one to ride on the sled with Cillian, but the sled with him had the packs so only one could ride in it. If Nettie decided to do that, then Dremara would have to ride with the Enchantress, a woman she barely knew.

However, Dremara was willing to bear a bit of uncomfortable silence if it meant that Nettie might get to stay nearer to this man who had caught her eye.

"Why don't you ride on that sled," Dremara suggested casually, walking over to the one that Fionn would be pulling.

Y'Sennia raised an eyebrow, but didn't argue. It was amusing to watch two young people dance the awkward dance of inexperienced courtship. Oh to be young and naive...

Nettie nodded and got onto the sled that Cillian would be pulling, secretly pleased that she was being allowed to do so.

"What is the song, by the way?" The Princess asked as she approached the other sled. Did she want to be the little spoon or the big spoon? The decision was made for her when Y'Sennie gracefully made herself comfortable on the sled.

 

[draco519]

What is the song? Brannock’s eyes lit up. “It’s where my sweet Josie lives. I intend to make her my woman once I get my share of the spoils. Take her away from all that.”
“If you got your fair share,” Roric teased at Brannock, “you’d owe us for having to smell you.”

“It’s the brothel by the river.” Cillian cleared his throat after he’d explained. “My Queen…” he paused, “Your.. majesty?” He tried to solve the quandary whilst holding the thick furs that would protect Nettie from the worst of the cold, his own blue scarf across his shoulders. “Snow will blind you under the sun.” He explained, spreading the thick furs over Nettie, then the straps to make sure she didn’t get thrown from the sled.

“Yes, my Queen.” Lady Y’Sennia knew the drill, but Fionn finished strapping in the enchantress of the night in, then offered Dremara the thick, black cloth. “Use this over your eyes when it gets uncomfortable.”

Once they were strapped in? Orson looked up for the go aheads from Fionn and Cillian.

“I’ll bring up the rear.” Roric directed the traffic. “Dagris, Brannock, the flanks.”

Orson led his party out of the palace and through RimeHaven proper, not nearly as large or populated as the Golden City, but it was growing. Fresh construction of new houses, piles of stone and lumber and metal. Men swinging hammers in blacksmiths, Auroch drawn carts pulling carts of lumber along the stone roads that were being loaded by the logs built up in the river that ran through the middle, milled there at the water mill, and the planks carried via cart on the cobblestone paths that were frozen over, ice breaking beneath the weight of the mighty Aurochs.

The largest building save for Orson’s palace was the temple of Ursui. Stone and wood melding, runed up the wooden corner log posts.

The market had a selection of different fish and fabrics. Though it likely wasn’t what Dremara and Nettie would be used to. It was a marked area, to be sure. Houses weren’t built there, a channel was being dug to bring the river to what would, one day, be a fountain. Possibly a statue? As well as the blacksmiths and the potter that already had shops attached to their homes. Seamstresses that sewed dresses and warm clothes. There was a fur peddler, but the smell of a tannery and charcoal maker’s hut kept them further away. They’d bring in their goods to the leatherworking shop from outside the walls.

Orson had explained as much to Dremara, riding Ironroar beside their sled as he looked out over his people. “It was not always this way; but there are plans to make this a market proper. One day, and I hope I live to see it, there might even be silks from the caves in the lands beyond.”

The Lands Beyond the Whitecaps; in the shadow of those mountains. The only place in all the Iron Vale the Kota hadn’t truly tamed and conquered. Restless warriors would venture there, but they were rarely seen again.

Once they’d gotten past the nearly complete gates and walls of RimeHaven - the construction was taking winters to make them strong. Life in the Iron Vale was hard, and the weather had a way of keeping the carpenters from working for portions of the long winter.

The terrain opened up to the fields where the crops grew; the road winding along the river and turned away from it. There were oats and barley, various other plants. Heated stone structures where tobacco was grown and hung to dry; glowing with the runes of Ursui. It was a luxury, and difficult to grow in the cold, but the great bear provides his people all the same. Other such structures grew other plants that wouldn’t be possible in the frigid climate.

Maple trees came to greet them once they were through the farmland; a great forest of variegated colors. Maple trees with their red and gold leaves, evergreens, black pine, ashwood. There was a stillness as the day crept on. Not much stirred closer to RimeHaven, but out in these forests? Elk could be spotted running if one looked close enough. Different wildlife in the trees, the cawing of a Raven.

That made Cillian look up, briefly, his eyes staying forward to watch the road ahead.

“I’ve hunted these lands since I was old enough to hold a spear.” Orson said, breaking the silence. “Though there are times when I'm not sure they aren’t hunting me.” He mused.

“I’d like to see a land that comes after me.” Fionn added, as though daring the challenge to come.

“I’ve got five gold coins on the land.” Brannock looked to Roric with a grin.

 

[Poprockz]

Their explanation put a small smile on the Princess's lips. It sounded as though Josie was a prostitute, and that Bannock had gone to see her so much that he had fallen in love with her. Or perhaps he just enjoyed Josie's company so much that he wanted to provide for her, to choose her as the woman he wanted to have a family with. She found that to be rather sweet.

Nettie and Dremara both accepted the furs gratefully, interested in the process of being secured to the sleds. When they travelled through the town, it was the first time that the two of them had been able to get a good look at the place, having traveled straight from the docks to the longhouse.

It wasn't grand as some cities she had seen, but Dremara saw a lot of potential in it. With the gold and wealth that the war had brought them, she imagined that construction and advancement would come in leaps rather than steps. With more buildings and artisans, the population would grow, as would medical advancement and such. It would be a satisfying thing to be there to witness the way this city would blossom over the years. She found herself looking forward to it.

The Night Enchantress also smiled at the men's banter, agreeing quietly to herself that she would also put her gold on the land. A young, fool-hardy boy like that would be gobbled up in no time if he let his cock-sure arrogance get the better of him. He probably tasted delicious, young, strong... naive. Mmm. It made her mouth water just thinking about taking a little nibble out of him. It was a shame that Orson didn't approve of such things. Not that she would kill Fionn. Just... taste him.

The woman let out a sigh, one that Dremara assumed was simply weariness from the journey so far.

"What sort of perils do you typically find out here?" Dremara asked with interest?

 

[draco519]

What sort of perils plagued his land? Orson’s eyebrow twitched at that. For there were many. A deep breath through his nose as he gave that one some thought. Dremara and Nettie would need to know these things. “I remember the orcs of Hortensia; the Kota fought them back more than once on our way to the Golden City..” He tried to think of what exactly Dremara meant.

“The Whispers are dangerous.” Fionn spoke up, and his tone was almost distant. “If you find yourself alone in the forest, majesty… Don’t go to them.”

“Aye.” Roric’s voice was grim. “It’s known among our people to shout when partaking in a search party for those of us lost in the woods. Follow the whispers at your peril. There’s only one man ever followed them and lived to tell the tale.

The group was silent for a moment, for dramatic effect, until the question came blurting from the young Fionn. “Someone survived the Cold Whisper? Who?”

Roric looked over to Cillian.

“My knee still aches from the trouble.” Cillian muttered beneath the scarf that covered his mouth and nose. “Me and a couple more ravens were looking for a lost child. We were too late. And I wound up jumping off the ravine to escape it.” He paused, lines appearing around his eyes as he smiled at the memory. “Best shot I ever made. Falling, managed to wound it.”

“We tracked the blood a week later.” Orson picked up the tale. “Wolves had finished it; but judging by the two of the pack it took with it? Cillian’s quite lucky to be alive.”

“Or he just outran the other ravens.” Brannock, again, crass and insensitive, laughed.

No one else did.

“Then there’s the obvious perils.” Orson changed the subject. “The cold, the long nights, the wind coming off the whitecaps; and the hunger of the bears and wolves of the Frostleaf.” The forest they were following the road through, on their northwesterly path along the river as they traveled.

“Not to mention the Glacivyr.” Roric chimed in again.

“They’re an old story.” Orson contested Roric, having never seen one himself, but humored the grizzled veteran all the same. Likely, Senni had seen them. But.. that was neither here nor there.

“Took this eye, they did.” Roric pointed to his facial scar and blinded eye. “Tall as a house. The bastard what got me was far more skyward! Eyes burning with glacial frostfire and their armor crackled with frost; same as their gossamer beards. Skin as blue as the sky over the Golden City.” It was obvious he’d not be deterred from his belief in the yarn he spun. He truly believed it. “Capable of felling a tree with an axe as big as Brannock in a swing or two. Strong enough to hurl that boulder” Roric pointed at one as they passed it. “Clear over the whitecaps!”

Fionn’s eyes were always wide eyed when Roric told stories. And he nearly ran his dogs squarely into that bolder.

Clicking his tongue, Orson corrected the lead dog and weaved around the other side of it. “Fionn. Mind your path.”

“And the boy wants his own mount.” Dagris teased Fionn before he cleared his throat. “It’s said that ancient Kota shamans broke away from Ursui’s teachings; determined to defy him. To deny his roar that would chase off the winters of Iron Vale. The Vyrkin, the old stories call them.” Dagris watched the side of his flank a moment before he continued the story.

“Blasphemous as it was? They birthed a new beast from their Frost-scourged thralls; known only as the Glacivyr. It’s said they’ve a fortress in the glacier at the far end of the Lands Beyond, but… no one has ever seen it.”

“Not yet.” Fionn said, now more determined than he had been.

“Not today.” Orson made attempt to temper the young Fionn. “Today we ride for the White Peaks. To investigate the Baleful Lake.”

“No, not today.. But when the prophecy comes true..” Fionn said, grinning.

“Watch your path, boot-smoocher.” Cillian teased Fionn, but wanted him to watch where he was headed.

“Not today, Chieftain.” Dagris agreed. “But the time of prophecy nears; when stories told are forged into legend. Carved, for all time, into the walls. Ursui speaks to us and through us.”

Brannock rolled his eyes as Dagris got that distant tone that meant he was about to monologue the prophecy. Again. For the next ten minutes. “Dagris; please don’t bore poor Nettie to sleep. She hasn’t gotten in a word to her raven yet!”

“I can’t tell which smells worse.” Cillian retorted. “Brannock, the sled dogs, or Thunder.”

Orson chuckled at that.