The Iceborn
and
The Children of Artemon
The elves were wary. Perceptions of humans were mixed, they were generally viewed as more primitive, but also a varied race. Capable both of rising to civilisation and descending into savagery comparable to that of the orcs. The rough iceborn gave off an impression that approached the latter more than the former. The elves gripped their weapons tight, fearing the worst as the strangers landed. However instead of rushing off their boat into combat, the iceborn greeted them. The members of the party hesitated. Falnor spoke up, telling the others to rush back and warn Duinmelamar should this be a deception. He then stepped forward, raising his hand in greeting as he walked down towards the iceborn.
Whilst the elves had deliberated among themselves, so too had the humans before them. "Yngvar! Look at the dress of those strange men," one of the boatsmen called out.
"Do you think that we have intruded upon their tribe's land?" was the thought that came from another.
Yngvar kept calm. "Perhaps we have crossed their borders, but surely they would not claim the lands that we have settled. We would have seen them long before now."
They discussed the situation with varying degrees of nervousness and waved in greetings, but then they saw one of the foreigners break off from the group to approach. In goodwill, Yngvar similarly walked away from his men to meet this stranger between the two parties.
As Yngvar approached he kept his hands off the handle of his sword, but nonetheless he had a sword at his hip and a shield on his back in case things turned violent. He came to within a short enough distance to call out to Falnor, and then spoke, "Hail friend! We are men of the Iceborn tribe. What are your people called?"
"Hail, man of the Iceborn tribe! We do not have a tribe to call our own, we are simply high elves, worshippers of Orowuen and subjects of king Horith." he continued to approach to a more conversational distance "I am Falnor, elf-at-arms, orcslayer and scout. Who are you?"
Yngvar's face bore a strange expression.
High elves, orcs. Those words were not known to his tribe. And then as he stepped closer, he noticed strange things about Falnor's appearance: the exaggerated ears, something funny in his eyes. It was then that Yngvar's eyes widened in shock for the briefest of moments before he steeled himself again. An almost-human. A
skraeling. It was standing right in front of them!
Yngvar did not immediately answer Falnor's question, his eyes instead darted towards the other high elves that stood a distance away. He reckoned that he could have thrown an axe and felled Falnor from this distance, but alas, he only had a sword.
Charging this 'high elf' skraeling with a sword would be suicidal; its friends would kill him before he made it back to his men, and they all might die before they could even launch the longship again. So reluctantly, and very cautiously, he would have to negotiate with the skraelings. If he showed any weakness, no doubt they would strike.
The warrior's face suddenly grew into a smile, and he recounted some list of both his true victories and tall tales, "My name is Yngvar! I am a warrior of the Iceborn, Slayer of Bears, Lone Survivor of the Battle of Giblin Cave, Charter of Unknown Seas! My men and I have come to explore these riverlands. Tell me more of these 'orcs' that you have fought!"
Falnor looked on with some concern as he saw the shock in Yngvar's face and how his eyes and thoughts darted around. Had he scared the simple thing? For a moment he felt scared himself, the man looked a fiercer warrior than he was. But he found some confidence in the man's apparent own concern and that word would get to Duinmelamar without him if it had to.
"The orcs are brutish beings, twice the size of a man. Though physically they might resemble you and I, with hands and limbs not entirely unlike our own, their mouths house fangs, their skin is sickly green and their minds are like those of animals, capable of no thought. The only thing they possess is destructive instinct. As a scout, I hunted the orcs in the open, felling them with arrows. In the battle of the river crossing, I impaled them on my spear and together we high elves felled many of them. However their hordes are unending and even the greatest victory would hardly make a dent in their numbers. They live far to the east from here."
"Our tales speak of such monstrous beings, brutish and of great stature," Yngvar spoke truthfully. "Though we had thought them long gone! Here, a drink."
Yngvar yelled out to the men by his boat, "Bring the mead!"
One of them clambered up the longship's side and began to carry a barrel over to where the two spoke. Yngvar turned to thanked him, and as his eyes locked with that warrior he mouthed the word 'skraelings'. That man's eyes widened a bit, but quick on his feet and quick of mind, he returned to the longship without panicing.
As he walked away, Yngvar drank deeply straight from the barrel of mead. Then he offered some to Falnor, "Drink with me, to high elves and glorious battle against orcs!"
Barrels are not for drinking out of but Falnor thought it best to humor the man. He took the barrel "To my people, to glorious battle against orcs and to new friendships." For half a second he thought to smell the contents first, but to avoid offense he directly raised the barrel and took a drink. The texture, the flavour; the craftsmanship surprised him, 'Artemon would be pleased' he thought to himself, it was the best thing he'd have to drink since leaving their homeland, not that he'd drank much of anything other than water. He took another gulp before lowering the barrel. "This is good mead, my compliments to your brewers."
"Ah, you have tasted mead before? Do you have a brewery of your own somewhere in these lands?"
"Sadly our brewing industry was rather badly affected by the war against the orcs, but I'm sure we will have a brewery again soon."
Yngvar had of course been prodding to get a general grasp on where the skraelings lived, and so he wasn't entirely satisfied by that answer. As if deep in thought, he paused for a moment. "Perhaps Sverker and his fools would help; they are the ones that brew our mead. If we seek you out in the future, where might we find your village?"
Falnor hesitated. He was reluctant to give away the location of the settlement to these clearly barbaric people, potentially putting them all in danger, though it seemed inevitable that they would eventually find them on their own while travelling the river anyway. He decided to relent, hoping that it would create good will, praying that he was not making a dire mistake. "If you continue up the river, you will find our village in time. Might we know the place of your tribe as well? We are a curious people, and eager to trade."
"Reaching us will be difficult; we make our home upon an island," Yngvar answered truthfully, albeit in a manner that somewhat dodged the question. "Does your tribe have ships?"
Falnor felt a sting of fear - was Yngvar trying to gauge their strength? At the same time he was not being cooperative with Falnor's questions. The sting of fear was followed by shame and regret. Was he being tricked by this barbarian? He decided to try and bring it to an end "I'm sorry, friend Yngvar, but I have taken enough liberties talking to you. If you wish to know more about our settlement, it would be better if you spoke to our leaders."
"Of course," was Yngvar's answer. "We shall leave as friends and sail back to our lands in peace. Perhaps we will return to find your village by the river and speak to your king, but I would ask one final thing: you said that the 'orcs' lie to the east, but are there any other peoples in this area that you would speak of?"
"Indeed, we have friends and partners in trade in this land. This is a peaceful territory, with prosperity for all, and I hope it will remain that way. But I must warn you not to adventure too recklessly in these parts. Dark forces stalk the wilds and while they will leave you well enough alone if you return the favour in kind, an unknowing traveller may find himself where he should not be. I look forward to seeing you again and I hope the next meeting of our peoples is more fruitful." he motioned that it was time for the conversation to come to an end.
So the elf made reference to friends that may or may not actually exist; in any case, he hadn' t given them any information beyond an ominous warning. Nonetheless, the exchange could have went worse. "It is our custom to offer a gift when we part, so have this," Yngvar said as he reached for a small knife. "It is freshly forged, so its edge is still honed. It shall serve you well!"
He held the knife out with his hand grasping onto it by the blade so that the elf could take it by the grip.
Falnor took the knife and placed it in his belt "Thank you, it will do nicely in cutting up a prey or in close combat with a foe." Falnor turned and motioned over one of the elves, who came running down. They exchanged words in the elven tongue and he handed his bow to Falnor before heading back to the others. Falnor took off the quiver of arrows he had been wearing and extended it, alongside the bow, to Yngvar. "Our gift to you, may each arrow fell an animal."
"Or an orc! You have my thanks, Falnor," Yngvar laughed back. He took a moment to admire his new bow, then turned around and walked back to the longship. With some effort, the Iceborn pushed it back into the river and boarded it. Then they began the long journey back to Dagshall whilst Yngvar recounted all that he had learned from the skraelings. If the situation had been different there might well have been violence, but as it had happened there was a chance for lasting friendship. Many of the Iceborn would still be wary of trusting a skraeling, for the tales always told of their treachery and vile nature. Still, these elves could perhaps prove the stories wrong.
Falnor sighed with relief as he saw the Iceborn heading off, back in the opposite direction of the elven village. He would have a lot of explaining to do when he returned home and he was unsure how Halwen would react. But at least peace had been preserved for now, the question was if it was at all sincere on part of the men, the prying questions and lack of reciprocation worried Falnor. One thing he knew for certain; he and his fellow scouts would be spending the weeks ahead watching the river and their giant friends in case the Iceborn came back in force.
