Part 1
Aoalvik, 2 Years after the Gods War
A smoke bathed wind crawled over the precipice of the heavy stonewall that split the Great Hall from the rest of the city. As it danced across the stonework the light dusting of snow which had accumulated upon age old stone was kicked into the air. The snow found its way into the eyes of the man looking out over the wall across the city and towards the large black shape in the distance that moved like a sickness across the horizon. Barric grunted as he raised a hand to wipe the snow out of his eyes. When he came to the city long ago as a boy, the snows had amazed him as no such thing existed in the humid wetlands of his homeland, now it was nothing more than a persistent reminder of the fate that lay in front of him.
A calloused hand lay flat upon the head of a stone wolf watching over the city in silent vigil. Fesrin God of the Hunt, once the great wolf larger than a grain cart roamed the night protecting homes of the faithful from demons and foul curses. The small statues honoring the God were found commonly in high vantage points for as legend says they served as eyes upon which the wolf could see through and detect evil. Once a year they would have a great feast in his honor and all the people would live plates of raw meat outside their doors to repay him for his service. Of course that was long ago, before the mages went insane with power, before mortal men stormed the seat of the divine. Like all the others Fesrin left this world and those would tried to destroy him to their fate. Now the statue was nothing more than cold dead stone, almost freezing to the touch. Yet his hand remained, the texture feeling familiar beneath his hands giving him a semblance of small comfort.
The sound of footsteps breaking through an undisturbed layer of snow drew him outward from his own musings. Without turning his head he flicked his eyes leftward where his new companion stood overlooking the wall. He was a stern faced man with a shaven head and a strong protruding jaw covered in the first signs of stubble. The pair looked like they could be an elder and younger brother, father and son almost. But in actuality the two were of the same age with the other man having been born meer months after the sailor. He was dressed in heavy furs of black and grey much like Barric himself that hung close to his body in any attempt to keep what little warmth inside that he could. Upon his chest was a small bronze pin that signified the man as the Jarl’s seneschal . Though the man did not carry himself with any sort of dignification of rank or status with a lax posture and a general air of ease about him. The two sat in silence for a long time both watching the horizon as the winds danced around them. It was Barric who finally broke the silence, still looking ever forward.
“And what are you doing out here Arvid? Isn’t a seneschal’s place next to the man he serves?” The sailor spoke in the gruff tones of a man that wanted nothing more than to be left alone.
“Figure I’m out here for the same reason you are Arvid. The Hall is too crowded and too full of fools. I would much rather stand out here in the cold freezing my valuables off.” Arvid replied without a single change in his own stern facial expression even as his comment received something of a single gruff chuckle from the other man. “That and of course the Jarl is waiting for you for the actual meeting to begin.”
“Well Sigbjorn can wait awhile longer.” Barric replied with a sharp barb of annoyance to his voice producing a raised question eyebrow from his companion before he sighed and spoke again in clarification. “What does he need from an old sailor like me anyway? The bay has frozen over and all the ships have already been scrapped to be used as tinder for the fires.”
“The people respect you, you daft fool. Before it all fell apart you were a hero to everyone not some vagrant drunk that people pity upon the street corner. It’s time you stopped crying to yourself and took life by the reins again!” His companion argued giving Barric a solid slap upon the back that stung more than he would've liked to admit. Maybe Arvid was right, maybe they did respect him once but he didn't want their respect, he didn’t want to care about anything else. Not since Signe died.
“Do you think we have even a chance?” Barric responded using his normal tactic of diverting the conversation away from himself as he gestured with his head towards the dark stain upon the horizon. Barric had fought occasional Wylding raiders that dared to venture into waters close to the city but Arvid had much more experience against the threat having lead many raids into Wylding territory to burn down villages and keep them far away from civilized society in his time as a warrior before he got into the world of politics. Barric knew if anybody knew what situation they were in the best it would probably by him. Arvid turned his gaze upon the horizon and let out a deep breath. He pretended to think about his answer but he knew it already as it was the same answer that had kept him up many a nights without anything much as a blink of sleep.
“Maybe” Arvid finally responded cutting through the long silence as Barric turned to look at him with a raised brow.
“You don’t sound very confident..”
“Battles have been won against Wyldings with lesser numbers during the first few incursions south. But those battles were fought by armies well equipped and trained for battle. What do we have? A handful of guards and the populace most of which don’t even know how to swing a blade properly. If we had a few months things might be different but as it stands now the best we can hope for is to take down as many of them with us as we can.” Arvid replied his voice distant and resigned as he scratched the back of his head with a free hand.
“Great.”
“Come we should at least try to be present at the meeting” Arvid explained dropping a firm hand on Barric’s shoulder and pulling him away from the wall and back towards the great hall. The two men moved in relative silence letting the dreary weight of their conversation set in as the cold winter winds cut through there furs and sent shivers down to the bone. They took small steps over the iced over path coated in a light dusting of snow, careful not to slip as they approached the heavy wooden door that served as the back entrance to the hall.
They entered a large space crammed with bodies and radiating a heavy heat that immediately made them began to sweat despite the chill they had just experienced. In the center of the hall, a great fire roared contributing to the warmth and throwing a layer of smoke into the already cramped air lifting upwards into the high ceilings. Arvid broke away from Barric with a nod of his head, moving towards the large raised table on the far side of the hall where the Jarl and his council sat while Barric moved towards a space on the wall where he could lean his back upon. Progress was slow as he moved through the thick crowd as voices rang out all around him, all trying to shout over one another. Some as he passed tried to grab Barric’s attention but he paid little heed to them as he pushed onward keeping his head down and focusing on getting through the crush.
They were supposed to be having a meeting. The first of its kind since Aoalvik had closed its gates to the deluge of refugees. The intent was to discuss the coming threat of the Wyldings and how the city was to deal with it. Instead the hall was a picturesque scene of chaos. Everyone that was anyone and many that were nothing but specks on the social ladder swarmed the hall, some wanting to have their voices heard upon a sounding board of frustration while others just wanted to bear witness to a spectacle to have some sort of momentary escape from the terrible inevitably of demise creeping ever slowly forward. The voices fought over one another in a bid for supremacy each rising and falling over the other.
As the voices rose in a terrible clamor they were all soon silenced by the sound of heavy iron slamming into wood. All heads turned towards the Jarl’s table where Sigbjorn stood hand clenched hard around his handaxe now slammed hard into the wooden surface. Sigbjorn cut an imposing figure even among the warriors of the north towering over most and as broad as three men standing side by side. His ancestors had founded Aoalvik long ago when they uprooted the giant that claimed the large hillside for his own, and built the great hall upon the remnants of his home, the great leviathan’s skull still hanging above in the rafters as a symbol of pride and honor. The giant of a man voice boomed over the now apprehensive crowd. “Did we come here to jabber like midwives or discuss what must be done?”
At his rise of question there were general shouts of agreement as the movement in the crowd began to slow down and they all stood about the talking growing to nothing more than a murmur. Sigbjorn turned towards Arvid who was still seated observing the turn of events with a look of amusement before nodding towards his leader. He stood out and announced in an official tone. “Here under the graces of Jarl Sigbjorn of Aoalvik we gather to discuss the coming Wylding threat. If you wish to address the crowd please step forward!”
There was a silent murmur in the crowd as everyone seemed to wait for somebody else to step forward. Eventually a man stepped forward, Barric recognized his face Dag a farmer who once lived outside the walls of the city but abandoned his farm so that his young family could have a better chance of survival. He was on the younger side but possessed a strong face and spoke in a sure tone. “I don’t know about all of you but I’d rather not die today or tomorrow or anytime soon for that matter. If we stay here, all we are doing is sentencing ourselves to a gruesome end once the Wyldings breach the walls. And they will breach the walls! We must start to plan our retreat from the city while we still have time to. If we make it across the frozen waters to the south we will be able to find a port in the storm to stay awhile until we can come back to rebuild the city after the threat is dealt with.”
Dag acquired a few shouts of agreement from the crowd and a general murmur of approval as many did not seem to like their chances holding out against the horde. But even as Dag seemed to sway moreover to his side, a tall female warrior in a bear fur cloak claimed the steps and in a flourish drew her sword from the scabbard. Her name was Brenna, Barric knew her only in passing but what he did know was that she was one of the best fighters in this part of the North male or female and had fought many battles against the Wyldings in her time. She looked out at the crowd with a look of contempt upon her face. “Your ancestors would be ashamed of all of you! What spineless fools run at the first sight of trouble? We are not some cowards that will sit by and let the home of our fathers and fathers before them be sacked by savages. This city is all we are and all we will ever be, it is as a part of us as our own flesh and bone. I say we arm everyone inside and those outside willing to fight and we defend what is rightfully ours to the last man!”
The warriors in the room all roared in approval towards Brenna’s speech defining the sounds of protest and many more seemed to join in support of the shieldmaiden’s cause until the room seemed to be split almost down the middle. It did not take long for the two sides to begin arguing with one another in earnest yelling words of anger and shame at the opposing side with Dag and Brenna being the loudest of them all. During all of which Barric simply shook his head from his position leaning upon the far wall watching the agitation grew upon Jarl Sigbjorn’s face before he pulled his axe from the table before slamming it down upon it hard again with enough force to make it begin buckle. The crowd turned to look towards him standing above them breathing deeply like a great angry bear.
“I did not invite you into my hall for us to fall to petty bickering and fear! I invited you all here to discuss not to argue amongst one another like fools!” The crowd seemed to quiet down again at this and they all watched as the Jarl surveyed the room watching all the faces until his face fell upon Barric’s who tried his best to shrink away into the corner. But it was already too late as the Jarl began to speak. “Barric, you are a trusted member of our community who have fought these barbarians before, what say you in this argument.”
In honesty all Barric wanted to say was that he could care less what happened to the city, he could care less what happened to anyone in that room. All he wanted was to make sure his family got out of it alright. But he didn’t say that rather he took a breath and collected himself as he felt hundreds of eyes turn to look at him. He pushed himself off the wall standing straight and tall as he spoke back to the Jarl rather than addressing the crowd. “We are all going to die some now and some later. I figure it looks better if we die fighting rather than getting stabbed in the back as we try to flee. But living to see another day does have its merits.”
At this the crowd began to explode into argument again, the tension in the room rising as it seemed at any moment an open brawl would begin.
“And he kept on trying to weasel out of it and see that he didn’t steal the horses even after I broke his jaw!” Calder explained to his fellow guardsmen as they sat about their small fire gaining a chorus of laughter in response. Of course Aleia was the only one who didn’t work face a stoic figure of concentration as she polished the blade of her axe with a rag. Everybody liked Calder, he was a rugged youth in his late twenties prone to fits of rage and getting in way over his head. In short he was the perfect little picture of a Northern, the perfect kind of arrogant arse that Aleia despised with every fiber of her being.
“If you're done telling stories of your ‘heroics’, we have a job to do Calder.” Aleia spoke up as she finished cleaning her axe and stood up cracking her neck. She was right of course, they did have a job even as most of the guard was either manning the wall or currently watching over the great hall on account of the meeting the rest of them still needed to make sure the market remained peaceful. Even after the Gods War and the impending Wylding Threat, the market still served as the pulsating heart of the city with goods and food being traded by merchants even as the prices rose by the day to accommodate for dwindling supply.
“You know Aleia, a good fuck might do you some good. Certainly might move that stick out of your ass.” Calder spoke gaining a few more chuckles of approval from some of their fellows, Aleia threw an arm outward hard into his chest and sent him stumbling back as she looked at him stern faced.
“I’m in charge of this squad Calder remember that. Besides only a dog would be could sleeping with you.” She explained with a small smirk and wink as the rest of the men voiced their amusement at Calder’s expense as he shook his head and formed up with the rest of the squad as Aleia lead them into the market proper. It was much thinner than it usually was with many of the denizens of the city up at the hall and was minuscule in comparison to its size and activity two years ago but not much could be done in the way of that without the ships coming in to port to deliver fresh goods and more importantly buyers.
Pushing through they heard a commotion and went over to investigate as they approach what seemed to be a stall selling salted meats and other foodstuffs, the merchant stood behind his stall and on the other side a cluster of people stood behind another man who seemed to be arguing with the merchant. Aleia signaled the squad forward who moved in, the crowd begin to murmur as the merchant looked at the guards as a look of relief spread across his worn features. He called out to them his accent almost immediately giving him away as a southern.
“Oh by the gods somebody has come to help me with this riffraff!” The merchant spoke turning away from the crowd with disgust even as Aleia moved up to address them, Calder shoulder his way ahead of her and addressed the merchant flashing a crooked smile.
“And what seems to be the problem here?” Aleia restrained herself from hitting Calder as she watch the proceedings unfold ahead of her.
“The problem is this fucking foreigner thinks he can let all of us good people starve!” The man shouted at Calder. Aleia did not know him by name but by judging from his general figure and the black soot covering his hands she figured him to be one of the metal workers, long since out of a job once the ore stopped flowing in from the mines.
“Is this true?” Calder asked turning his gaze towards the merchant who shook his head.
“I don’t want anyone to starve, but I can’t just go around giving away the last of my goods for free. I need to survive as well!” The foreigner responded in a tired tone that suggested that he had been trying to explain the same thing over and over again.
“He’s well in his right to sell his goods at what-” Aleia began but was cut off as Calder grumbled towards her.
“I got this.” He spoke before he turned to address the metal worker again. “I know the pain you must be feeling but, as long as Aoalvik stands this man can sell his goods for whatever he damn well pleases.”
“Really!? My family has lived and worked in this city for over five generations and all I ask is a little food to make sure that my children don’t starve and yet you take the side of a man that wouldn't be here if the bay hadn’t frozen over?” The man spoke as his own frothing rage began to mount.
“You need to leave this man alone sir.” Calder stressed but the man’s anger grew and the crowd behind him only amplified the anger and harden his resolve to step closer getting right into Calder’s face.
“I will do no such thing!” He shouted “But what can I expect for a dog working for a Jarl content to sit in his hall and watch the rest of us die!” He accented the last word with a large burst of spit that slammed right into the side of Calder’s face. The young man began to fume and Aleia watched as his fist tightened around the pommel of his sword strapped to his waist.
“Nothing to say do-” Aleia tried to stop him but Calder moved too quickly and in one motion drew his short sword from its sheath and slammed it hard into the side of the metal workers head. The man crumbled with the blow landed at an odd angle upon the floor his head colliding against the stonework on the ground. Aleia assumed the worst even before anybody else moved eyeing the foreigner as he took cover behind his stall.
One of the other disgruntled individuals in the crowd approached the man that had been struck and knelt down by his side trying to shake him from his slumber. The man continued to try and try again but to no avail. Calder watch as all the faces in the crowd turned hostile and they began to produce knives or picked up heavy stones from the street. Calder stepped backwards towards his own allies as he spoke in barely a whisper again and again. “I didn’t mean to.”
Aleia cursed and drew her own weapon and called the rest of the guards into a defensive position. For a moment it seemed that the mob would back down and forget the transgression that had occurred. Than one of them throw a stone which Aleia blocked with ease, a moment later the mob charged at their wall of shields.
If Aleia or his father knew he was there they would've killed him. In fact if anyone knew he was out there they would've killed him. And yet Falke was still there standing outside the walls of the city. It had taken him some time and carefully plucking of information from the right sources but he found an area that could be scaled on both ends if you were persistent enough and by knowing the guard patterns allowed him to slip in and out without getting caught. Some would probably think him crazy going through days of effort just to be able get out of a city the many others desperately risked their lives every day to get inside. And maybe Falke was crazy, but he knew he had to get out there, had to see what was happening with his own eyes.
He moved with his head down as he entered the heavy throng of camps. He couldn't risk anyone from the outside recognizing him at least at the moment. He made his way towards a tent closer to the wall than most of the others made out of a heavy white fabric. Teams were bringing men and women in on stretchers, the recent casualties from another attempt of those stuck outside from storming the gates. Falke closed his eyes and breathed deeply before he walked in parting the flaps of the tent. The haggard physician seemed to question Falke’s appearance for a moment but as the youth began to get to work he turned his attention back to those that needed his help. Falke didn’t know much about medicine or healing but he knew how to at least sew up a person when it came to it. Working with the needle and thread from his own pack he worked and as he did he talked to the patients and the other staff of the small hospital, gathering information on the current state of things.
From what he gathered things were even worse than he had expected. The food shortages that were hitting the city were hitting the refugees even harder as they had no food stores that they could fall back upon, disease and violence ran rampant through the tent city as the icy chill brought with it a terrible sickness that cut through men like they were made of cloth. Those of a lesser character had begun to pry upon the weak smugglers, loansharks and extronisoit trying to pull what little they could from the losing grasp of those pushed upon the edge. This combined with the threat of the Wyldings coming closer by the day pushed more and more to try and assault the walls and find a way into the relative refuge of the city. Each time sending more and more bodies back to the understaffed hospital.
Falke gathered his information and kept it stored in his head, he wondered little why such villainous types had started setting up shop in the camps. As a thief and scavenger of misery he could smell a dying corpse from a mile away, just waiting to be picked clean for a nice profit of course. But even as he was a liar and a thief, Falke wasn’t as low as these scum. He preferred the challenge not taking easy profit from those that couldn't do anything else. Part of him wished that the Jarl sent some of his guards out from behind the walls to straighten things out, but the other part wished desperately that he didn’t. That would ruin everything he had set up at the moment.
After sharing a quick drink and a hot meal with the physician who insisted on repaying Falke for his services, the young men turned back towards the outskirts of the tent city content with the extent of his observations for the day and more than willing to slip back behind the walls again. As he neared the edge of tents though three men approached him at a leisurely pace, spaced wide enough to block his own passage forward. Falke knew a trap when he saw one, but there was little he could do about it now. So the young men stepped ever forward acting oblivious to the situation, whistling an old sailor’s tune as his boots crunched over snow covered ground.
“Friend, I think you can help us out.” The man in the middle called out as they got closer. Falke recognized him from one of the descriptions of the ne'er do wells he had heard about earlier. Kaelv, small time loan shark turned bigger gang leader. He harassed many of the dwellers in the outskirts for food and supplies claiming the turf as his own. He was shorter than Falke possessing a muscular frame, straight black hair pulled back into a tight ponytail and a rough patch of stubble grew over his face.
“I think you have me mistaken sir, I have no friends in these parts.” Falke responded sounding as natural as possible as he continued to walk forward but as he did a pair of large hands came from behind him and grabbed him on the shoulder holding him in place. A giant of a man looked down at him with a big bald scarred head and a devilish grin upon his face, Falke would’nt be surprised if he was half Wylding.
“Oh I’m not mistaken. You know who I am boy?” Kaelv spoke still keeping his distance away from Falke seemingly attempting to peel the boy apart piece by piece with his gaze.
“Kaelv. You're not the nicest of men according to most.” Falke responded though it was a bit off an understatement even in his short time he had heard horror stories of what the man across from him did to those that just looked at him the wrong way.
“So my reputation precedes me... Good. So you know what happens if I don’t get what I want.”
“I imagine death”
“Oh no death is far too easy of a release.” Kaelv responded a wicked grin appearing over his face.
“Well I’d rather not die today, so maybe I can help you with whatever you need. You still haven’t told me why we are having this little.... Conversation.” Falke responded with a tone of arrogance hiding behind his own smile.
“Well some little birds have reported a young man of similar appearance to you appearing in the camp over the past few days. Only problem is when they digged around more it would appear that nobody of your descriptions lives among the refugees. Meaning that you have knowledge of something that some very evil men would kill you for. How to get inside the city.” Kaelv explained in a calm manner even as his eyes were as cold as ice.
“And I imagine you’re not one of those evil men are you?”
“Of course not, I’m just a honest citizen that wants to make sure those that have paid their share get to reap the benefits.”
“Well of course that goes without saying. But you see I really have no idea what you are talking about!” As the last syllables left his mouth Falke slammed a closed fist like a hammer hard into the groin of the giant of a man behind him. Despite his large size, the cheap shot did the trick making him let go of Falke for just a moment. Falke spun past the injured man and ran back into the mass of tents as Kaelv and his men give chase shouting after him.
Falke bobbed and weaved his way through a sea of people, ducking around corners and trying to lose them in the main arteries of the tent city. Yet they persisted hounding after him, Falke felt his heart slamming inside of his chest as his feet pounded against hardened snow packed down by many repeated footfalls. A pair of children came running out from outside of one of the tents chasing after a small ball. Falke dodged to his right to avoid crashing into them and as he did slipped on some exposed ice sending him sprawling forwards towards the hard ground. He shouted out as he fell and those amassed around him yelled out as he took down a small makeshift stall selling fish remnants as he did. People yelled and cursed at him in different dialects and as he forced himself back to his feet, Kaelv and his men closed in the distance circling around him.
Falke drew his knife and readied himself for the worst waiting for them to make the first move. It would seem that Aleia wouldn't get a chance to kill him for being an idiot after all.
A calloused hand lay flat upon the head of a stone wolf watching over the city in silent vigil. Fesrin God of the Hunt, once the great wolf larger than a grain cart roamed the night protecting homes of the faithful from demons and foul curses. The small statues honoring the God were found commonly in high vantage points for as legend says they served as eyes upon which the wolf could see through and detect evil. Once a year they would have a great feast in his honor and all the people would live plates of raw meat outside their doors to repay him for his service. Of course that was long ago, before the mages went insane with power, before mortal men stormed the seat of the divine. Like all the others Fesrin left this world and those would tried to destroy him to their fate. Now the statue was nothing more than cold dead stone, almost freezing to the touch. Yet his hand remained, the texture feeling familiar beneath his hands giving him a semblance of small comfort.
The sound of footsteps breaking through an undisturbed layer of snow drew him outward from his own musings. Without turning his head he flicked his eyes leftward where his new companion stood overlooking the wall. He was a stern faced man with a shaven head and a strong protruding jaw covered in the first signs of stubble. The pair looked like they could be an elder and younger brother, father and son almost. But in actuality the two were of the same age with the other man having been born meer months after the sailor. He was dressed in heavy furs of black and grey much like Barric himself that hung close to his body in any attempt to keep what little warmth inside that he could. Upon his chest was a small bronze pin that signified the man as the Jarl’s seneschal . Though the man did not carry himself with any sort of dignification of rank or status with a lax posture and a general air of ease about him. The two sat in silence for a long time both watching the horizon as the winds danced around them. It was Barric who finally broke the silence, still looking ever forward.
“And what are you doing out here Arvid? Isn’t a seneschal’s place next to the man he serves?” The sailor spoke in the gruff tones of a man that wanted nothing more than to be left alone.
“Figure I’m out here for the same reason you are Arvid. The Hall is too crowded and too full of fools. I would much rather stand out here in the cold freezing my valuables off.” Arvid replied without a single change in his own stern facial expression even as his comment received something of a single gruff chuckle from the other man. “That and of course the Jarl is waiting for you for the actual meeting to begin.”
“Well Sigbjorn can wait awhile longer.” Barric replied with a sharp barb of annoyance to his voice producing a raised question eyebrow from his companion before he sighed and spoke again in clarification. “What does he need from an old sailor like me anyway? The bay has frozen over and all the ships have already been scrapped to be used as tinder for the fires.”
“The people respect you, you daft fool. Before it all fell apart you were a hero to everyone not some vagrant drunk that people pity upon the street corner. It’s time you stopped crying to yourself and took life by the reins again!” His companion argued giving Barric a solid slap upon the back that stung more than he would've liked to admit. Maybe Arvid was right, maybe they did respect him once but he didn't want their respect, he didn’t want to care about anything else. Not since Signe died.
“Do you think we have even a chance?” Barric responded using his normal tactic of diverting the conversation away from himself as he gestured with his head towards the dark stain upon the horizon. Barric had fought occasional Wylding raiders that dared to venture into waters close to the city but Arvid had much more experience against the threat having lead many raids into Wylding territory to burn down villages and keep them far away from civilized society in his time as a warrior before he got into the world of politics. Barric knew if anybody knew what situation they were in the best it would probably by him. Arvid turned his gaze upon the horizon and let out a deep breath. He pretended to think about his answer but he knew it already as it was the same answer that had kept him up many a nights without anything much as a blink of sleep.
“Maybe” Arvid finally responded cutting through the long silence as Barric turned to look at him with a raised brow.
“You don’t sound very confident..”
“Battles have been won against Wyldings with lesser numbers during the first few incursions south. But those battles were fought by armies well equipped and trained for battle. What do we have? A handful of guards and the populace most of which don’t even know how to swing a blade properly. If we had a few months things might be different but as it stands now the best we can hope for is to take down as many of them with us as we can.” Arvid replied his voice distant and resigned as he scratched the back of his head with a free hand.
“Great.”
“Come we should at least try to be present at the meeting” Arvid explained dropping a firm hand on Barric’s shoulder and pulling him away from the wall and back towards the great hall. The two men moved in relative silence letting the dreary weight of their conversation set in as the cold winter winds cut through there furs and sent shivers down to the bone. They took small steps over the iced over path coated in a light dusting of snow, careful not to slip as they approached the heavy wooden door that served as the back entrance to the hall.
They entered a large space crammed with bodies and radiating a heavy heat that immediately made them began to sweat despite the chill they had just experienced. In the center of the hall, a great fire roared contributing to the warmth and throwing a layer of smoke into the already cramped air lifting upwards into the high ceilings. Arvid broke away from Barric with a nod of his head, moving towards the large raised table on the far side of the hall where the Jarl and his council sat while Barric moved towards a space on the wall where he could lean his back upon. Progress was slow as he moved through the thick crowd as voices rang out all around him, all trying to shout over one another. Some as he passed tried to grab Barric’s attention but he paid little heed to them as he pushed onward keeping his head down and focusing on getting through the crush.
They were supposed to be having a meeting. The first of its kind since Aoalvik had closed its gates to the deluge of refugees. The intent was to discuss the coming threat of the Wyldings and how the city was to deal with it. Instead the hall was a picturesque scene of chaos. Everyone that was anyone and many that were nothing but specks on the social ladder swarmed the hall, some wanting to have their voices heard upon a sounding board of frustration while others just wanted to bear witness to a spectacle to have some sort of momentary escape from the terrible inevitably of demise creeping ever slowly forward. The voices fought over one another in a bid for supremacy each rising and falling over the other.
As the voices rose in a terrible clamor they were all soon silenced by the sound of heavy iron slamming into wood. All heads turned towards the Jarl’s table where Sigbjorn stood hand clenched hard around his handaxe now slammed hard into the wooden surface. Sigbjorn cut an imposing figure even among the warriors of the north towering over most and as broad as three men standing side by side. His ancestors had founded Aoalvik long ago when they uprooted the giant that claimed the large hillside for his own, and built the great hall upon the remnants of his home, the great leviathan’s skull still hanging above in the rafters as a symbol of pride and honor. The giant of a man voice boomed over the now apprehensive crowd. “Did we come here to jabber like midwives or discuss what must be done?”
At his rise of question there were general shouts of agreement as the movement in the crowd began to slow down and they all stood about the talking growing to nothing more than a murmur. Sigbjorn turned towards Arvid who was still seated observing the turn of events with a look of amusement before nodding towards his leader. He stood out and announced in an official tone. “Here under the graces of Jarl Sigbjorn of Aoalvik we gather to discuss the coming Wylding threat. If you wish to address the crowd please step forward!”
There was a silent murmur in the crowd as everyone seemed to wait for somebody else to step forward. Eventually a man stepped forward, Barric recognized his face Dag a farmer who once lived outside the walls of the city but abandoned his farm so that his young family could have a better chance of survival. He was on the younger side but possessed a strong face and spoke in a sure tone. “I don’t know about all of you but I’d rather not die today or tomorrow or anytime soon for that matter. If we stay here, all we are doing is sentencing ourselves to a gruesome end once the Wyldings breach the walls. And they will breach the walls! We must start to plan our retreat from the city while we still have time to. If we make it across the frozen waters to the south we will be able to find a port in the storm to stay awhile until we can come back to rebuild the city after the threat is dealt with.”
Dag acquired a few shouts of agreement from the crowd and a general murmur of approval as many did not seem to like their chances holding out against the horde. But even as Dag seemed to sway moreover to his side, a tall female warrior in a bear fur cloak claimed the steps and in a flourish drew her sword from the scabbard. Her name was Brenna, Barric knew her only in passing but what he did know was that she was one of the best fighters in this part of the North male or female and had fought many battles against the Wyldings in her time. She looked out at the crowd with a look of contempt upon her face. “Your ancestors would be ashamed of all of you! What spineless fools run at the first sight of trouble? We are not some cowards that will sit by and let the home of our fathers and fathers before them be sacked by savages. This city is all we are and all we will ever be, it is as a part of us as our own flesh and bone. I say we arm everyone inside and those outside willing to fight and we defend what is rightfully ours to the last man!”
The warriors in the room all roared in approval towards Brenna’s speech defining the sounds of protest and many more seemed to join in support of the shieldmaiden’s cause until the room seemed to be split almost down the middle. It did not take long for the two sides to begin arguing with one another in earnest yelling words of anger and shame at the opposing side with Dag and Brenna being the loudest of them all. During all of which Barric simply shook his head from his position leaning upon the far wall watching the agitation grew upon Jarl Sigbjorn’s face before he pulled his axe from the table before slamming it down upon it hard again with enough force to make it begin buckle. The crowd turned to look towards him standing above them breathing deeply like a great angry bear.
“I did not invite you into my hall for us to fall to petty bickering and fear! I invited you all here to discuss not to argue amongst one another like fools!” The crowd seemed to quiet down again at this and they all watched as the Jarl surveyed the room watching all the faces until his face fell upon Barric’s who tried his best to shrink away into the corner. But it was already too late as the Jarl began to speak. “Barric, you are a trusted member of our community who have fought these barbarians before, what say you in this argument.”
In honesty all Barric wanted to say was that he could care less what happened to the city, he could care less what happened to anyone in that room. All he wanted was to make sure his family got out of it alright. But he didn’t say that rather he took a breath and collected himself as he felt hundreds of eyes turn to look at him. He pushed himself off the wall standing straight and tall as he spoke back to the Jarl rather than addressing the crowd. “We are all going to die some now and some later. I figure it looks better if we die fighting rather than getting stabbed in the back as we try to flee. But living to see another day does have its merits.”
At this the crowd began to explode into argument again, the tension in the room rising as it seemed at any moment an open brawl would begin.
“And he kept on trying to weasel out of it and see that he didn’t steal the horses even after I broke his jaw!” Calder explained to his fellow guardsmen as they sat about their small fire gaining a chorus of laughter in response. Of course Aleia was the only one who didn’t work face a stoic figure of concentration as she polished the blade of her axe with a rag. Everybody liked Calder, he was a rugged youth in his late twenties prone to fits of rage and getting in way over his head. In short he was the perfect little picture of a Northern, the perfect kind of arrogant arse that Aleia despised with every fiber of her being.
“If you're done telling stories of your ‘heroics’, we have a job to do Calder.” Aleia spoke up as she finished cleaning her axe and stood up cracking her neck. She was right of course, they did have a job even as most of the guard was either manning the wall or currently watching over the great hall on account of the meeting the rest of them still needed to make sure the market remained peaceful. Even after the Gods War and the impending Wylding Threat, the market still served as the pulsating heart of the city with goods and food being traded by merchants even as the prices rose by the day to accommodate for dwindling supply.
“You know Aleia, a good fuck might do you some good. Certainly might move that stick out of your ass.” Calder spoke gaining a few more chuckles of approval from some of their fellows, Aleia threw an arm outward hard into his chest and sent him stumbling back as she looked at him stern faced.
“I’m in charge of this squad Calder remember that. Besides only a dog would be could sleeping with you.” She explained with a small smirk and wink as the rest of the men voiced their amusement at Calder’s expense as he shook his head and formed up with the rest of the squad as Aleia lead them into the market proper. It was much thinner than it usually was with many of the denizens of the city up at the hall and was minuscule in comparison to its size and activity two years ago but not much could be done in the way of that without the ships coming in to port to deliver fresh goods and more importantly buyers.
Pushing through they heard a commotion and went over to investigate as they approach what seemed to be a stall selling salted meats and other foodstuffs, the merchant stood behind his stall and on the other side a cluster of people stood behind another man who seemed to be arguing with the merchant. Aleia signaled the squad forward who moved in, the crowd begin to murmur as the merchant looked at the guards as a look of relief spread across his worn features. He called out to them his accent almost immediately giving him away as a southern.
“Oh by the gods somebody has come to help me with this riffraff!” The merchant spoke turning away from the crowd with disgust even as Aleia moved up to address them, Calder shoulder his way ahead of her and addressed the merchant flashing a crooked smile.
“And what seems to be the problem here?” Aleia restrained herself from hitting Calder as she watch the proceedings unfold ahead of her.
“The problem is this fucking foreigner thinks he can let all of us good people starve!” The man shouted at Calder. Aleia did not know him by name but by judging from his general figure and the black soot covering his hands she figured him to be one of the metal workers, long since out of a job once the ore stopped flowing in from the mines.
“Is this true?” Calder asked turning his gaze towards the merchant who shook his head.
“I don’t want anyone to starve, but I can’t just go around giving away the last of my goods for free. I need to survive as well!” The foreigner responded in a tired tone that suggested that he had been trying to explain the same thing over and over again.
“He’s well in his right to sell his goods at what-” Aleia began but was cut off as Calder grumbled towards her.
“I got this.” He spoke before he turned to address the metal worker again. “I know the pain you must be feeling but, as long as Aoalvik stands this man can sell his goods for whatever he damn well pleases.”
“Really!? My family has lived and worked in this city for over five generations and all I ask is a little food to make sure that my children don’t starve and yet you take the side of a man that wouldn't be here if the bay hadn’t frozen over?” The man spoke as his own frothing rage began to mount.
“You need to leave this man alone sir.” Calder stressed but the man’s anger grew and the crowd behind him only amplified the anger and harden his resolve to step closer getting right into Calder’s face.
“I will do no such thing!” He shouted “But what can I expect for a dog working for a Jarl content to sit in his hall and watch the rest of us die!” He accented the last word with a large burst of spit that slammed right into the side of Calder’s face. The young man began to fume and Aleia watched as his fist tightened around the pommel of his sword strapped to his waist.
“Nothing to say do-” Aleia tried to stop him but Calder moved too quickly and in one motion drew his short sword from its sheath and slammed it hard into the side of the metal workers head. The man crumbled with the blow landed at an odd angle upon the floor his head colliding against the stonework on the ground. Aleia assumed the worst even before anybody else moved eyeing the foreigner as he took cover behind his stall.
One of the other disgruntled individuals in the crowd approached the man that had been struck and knelt down by his side trying to shake him from his slumber. The man continued to try and try again but to no avail. Calder watch as all the faces in the crowd turned hostile and they began to produce knives or picked up heavy stones from the street. Calder stepped backwards towards his own allies as he spoke in barely a whisper again and again. “I didn’t mean to.”
Aleia cursed and drew her own weapon and called the rest of the guards into a defensive position. For a moment it seemed that the mob would back down and forget the transgression that had occurred. Than one of them throw a stone which Aleia blocked with ease, a moment later the mob charged at their wall of shields.
If Aleia or his father knew he was there they would've killed him. In fact if anyone knew he was out there they would've killed him. And yet Falke was still there standing outside the walls of the city. It had taken him some time and carefully plucking of information from the right sources but he found an area that could be scaled on both ends if you were persistent enough and by knowing the guard patterns allowed him to slip in and out without getting caught. Some would probably think him crazy going through days of effort just to be able get out of a city the many others desperately risked their lives every day to get inside. And maybe Falke was crazy, but he knew he had to get out there, had to see what was happening with his own eyes.
He moved with his head down as he entered the heavy throng of camps. He couldn't risk anyone from the outside recognizing him at least at the moment. He made his way towards a tent closer to the wall than most of the others made out of a heavy white fabric. Teams were bringing men and women in on stretchers, the recent casualties from another attempt of those stuck outside from storming the gates. Falke closed his eyes and breathed deeply before he walked in parting the flaps of the tent. The haggard physician seemed to question Falke’s appearance for a moment but as the youth began to get to work he turned his attention back to those that needed his help. Falke didn’t know much about medicine or healing but he knew how to at least sew up a person when it came to it. Working with the needle and thread from his own pack he worked and as he did he talked to the patients and the other staff of the small hospital, gathering information on the current state of things.
From what he gathered things were even worse than he had expected. The food shortages that were hitting the city were hitting the refugees even harder as they had no food stores that they could fall back upon, disease and violence ran rampant through the tent city as the icy chill brought with it a terrible sickness that cut through men like they were made of cloth. Those of a lesser character had begun to pry upon the weak smugglers, loansharks and extronisoit trying to pull what little they could from the losing grasp of those pushed upon the edge. This combined with the threat of the Wyldings coming closer by the day pushed more and more to try and assault the walls and find a way into the relative refuge of the city. Each time sending more and more bodies back to the understaffed hospital.
Falke gathered his information and kept it stored in his head, he wondered little why such villainous types had started setting up shop in the camps. As a thief and scavenger of misery he could smell a dying corpse from a mile away, just waiting to be picked clean for a nice profit of course. But even as he was a liar and a thief, Falke wasn’t as low as these scum. He preferred the challenge not taking easy profit from those that couldn't do anything else. Part of him wished that the Jarl sent some of his guards out from behind the walls to straighten things out, but the other part wished desperately that he didn’t. That would ruin everything he had set up at the moment.
After sharing a quick drink and a hot meal with the physician who insisted on repaying Falke for his services, the young men turned back towards the outskirts of the tent city content with the extent of his observations for the day and more than willing to slip back behind the walls again. As he neared the edge of tents though three men approached him at a leisurely pace, spaced wide enough to block his own passage forward. Falke knew a trap when he saw one, but there was little he could do about it now. So the young men stepped ever forward acting oblivious to the situation, whistling an old sailor’s tune as his boots crunched over snow covered ground.
“Friend, I think you can help us out.” The man in the middle called out as they got closer. Falke recognized him from one of the descriptions of the ne'er do wells he had heard about earlier. Kaelv, small time loan shark turned bigger gang leader. He harassed many of the dwellers in the outskirts for food and supplies claiming the turf as his own. He was shorter than Falke possessing a muscular frame, straight black hair pulled back into a tight ponytail and a rough patch of stubble grew over his face.
“I think you have me mistaken sir, I have no friends in these parts.” Falke responded sounding as natural as possible as he continued to walk forward but as he did a pair of large hands came from behind him and grabbed him on the shoulder holding him in place. A giant of a man looked down at him with a big bald scarred head and a devilish grin upon his face, Falke would’nt be surprised if he was half Wylding.
“Oh I’m not mistaken. You know who I am boy?” Kaelv spoke still keeping his distance away from Falke seemingly attempting to peel the boy apart piece by piece with his gaze.
“Kaelv. You're not the nicest of men according to most.” Falke responded though it was a bit off an understatement even in his short time he had heard horror stories of what the man across from him did to those that just looked at him the wrong way.
“So my reputation precedes me... Good. So you know what happens if I don’t get what I want.”
“I imagine death”
“Oh no death is far too easy of a release.” Kaelv responded a wicked grin appearing over his face.
“Well I’d rather not die today, so maybe I can help you with whatever you need. You still haven’t told me why we are having this little.... Conversation.” Falke responded with a tone of arrogance hiding behind his own smile.
“Well some little birds have reported a young man of similar appearance to you appearing in the camp over the past few days. Only problem is when they digged around more it would appear that nobody of your descriptions lives among the refugees. Meaning that you have knowledge of something that some very evil men would kill you for. How to get inside the city.” Kaelv explained in a calm manner even as his eyes were as cold as ice.
“And I imagine you’re not one of those evil men are you?”
“Of course not, I’m just a honest citizen that wants to make sure those that have paid their share get to reap the benefits.”
“Well of course that goes without saying. But you see I really have no idea what you are talking about!” As the last syllables left his mouth Falke slammed a closed fist like a hammer hard into the groin of the giant of a man behind him. Despite his large size, the cheap shot did the trick making him let go of Falke for just a moment. Falke spun past the injured man and ran back into the mass of tents as Kaelv and his men give chase shouting after him.
Falke bobbed and weaved his way through a sea of people, ducking around corners and trying to lose them in the main arteries of the tent city. Yet they persisted hounding after him, Falke felt his heart slamming inside of his chest as his feet pounded against hardened snow packed down by many repeated footfalls. A pair of children came running out from outside of one of the tents chasing after a small ball. Falke dodged to his right to avoid crashing into them and as he did slipped on some exposed ice sending him sprawling forwards towards the hard ground. He shouted out as he fell and those amassed around him yelled out as he took down a small makeshift stall selling fish remnants as he did. People yelled and cursed at him in different dialects and as he forced himself back to his feet, Kaelv and his men closed in the distance circling around him.
Falke drew his knife and readied himself for the worst waiting for them to make the first move. It would seem that Aleia wouldn't get a chance to kill him for being an idiot after all.
