Dion

Naruto: The New World [High-Casual]

@Aeolian You're allowed to read along, and I'm pretty sure you can still join if you want to!

Naruto: The New World [High-Casual]

^{Empire of Stone | Chunin | Squad Four}

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^{TIME: ONE DAY AGO - 4:30PM | LOCATION: Amegakure - Landing Pad | INTERACTION: None}

The VTOL aircraft had lived up to every expectation, but being from the Empire of Stone, Sakana knew full well what the luxuries of the aircraft entailed. At almost precisely 4.30 they had touch down, and Sakana was allowed to get off the aircraft. It was faster than traveling by foot - only by a little - but it was indefinitely more relaxing, and saved on stamina quite a bit. “Good afternoon, mr. Uragiri,” one of the attendants said, bowing politely and far deeper than she had to for the otherwise unremarkable boy. “If you would just follow me this way,” she proceeded, standing up straight again and gesturing to the stairs off the landing pad. “We're a small walk away from the hotel where you will be staying alongside your companions for the duration of your stay.”

Sakana struck a casual pose, holding his two hands in his pockets while he ogled the greeter up and down. Finally, he raised his one hand up, taking the wooden toothpick from his mouth and slowly lowering it, before shooting it off with his finger. “Hai. Thank you.” Following the woman down the stairs into the streets of Amegakure, Sakana was ill impressed with the location. He'd been here before, as an envoy of the Empire of Stone. That was back when they still referred to him as 'that one kid with a deathwish,' where he was treated like some proof of the Raijin Dynasties' savageness. To send a young kid, barely 14, out into the fields of war with a seal that activated when he died? Truly savage. By now they had learned that that had nothing to do with the Raijin dynasties, and everything with Sakana himself.

Was that why he was sent here? As an insult to the Raijin Dynasty? A reminder that their banished soldiers would find a home in Iwagakure, and flourish there? Sakana had his doubts that the Raijin Dynasties would even remember his name, let alone his face. As uncommon as the duels were to challenge the leading dynasties, there were plenty of other reasons to get banished and marked with a cross. Desertion. Cowardice. Incompetence. Any reason the superiors wanted you banished for, it’d be enough. Most of the banished people didn’t make it out alive, being free game. Sakana had gotten lucky that the Iwagakure nin he found didn’t kill him on sight, but rather took him in. Now, he was standing in Amegakure. “This is fate,” he reminded himself.

A new era was about to begin. He would be at the vanguard.

---

^{TIME: PRESENT DAY – 7.30AM | LOCATION: Amegakure – Hotel Room | INTERACTION: None}

It seemed that Iwagakure had spared every expense they could, as the room Sakana had been given was rather spartanesque. Though it was far from the tribal housing in the Raijin Dynasties, it wasn’t the comfort of the Empire of Stone that he was used to. This mattered very little, if at all, to Sakana. He was here for soldiering, not to take a vacation. As soon as he got up, he ate breakfast, showered, brushed his teeth and combed his hair meticulously.

He then got dressed, putting on a black mesh wifebeater, before pulling the Iwagakure flak vest over it. He loaded the front pouch with kunai, explosive tags, and other goods, then adjusted the vest until it sat comfortably with the new weight. He wore the standard shinobi slacks and sandals, with his Iwagakure shinobi headband hanging from a belt loop. It was yet another reminder that he had had conflicting allegiances – an Iwagakure headband, a Raijin mark of banishment. Last, he pulled on his long gloves that reached up to just below his shoulders, with the fingers cut off so that he could feel and form handseals just as effectively.

All in all, he took his time getting ready, and he ended up leaving at 8.30, or something around that time.

---

^{TIME: PRESENT DAY – 8.50AM | LOCATION: Amegakure – Great Hall | INTERACTION: None}

The coordinator at the entrance proved to be quite organized, as a simple affirmation of an image on her PDA, as well as Sakana providing her his name was enough to let him in. He was given some number, which corresponded to a seating arrangement of sorts, no doubt for his team, so he proceeded to his seat without any interaction with anyone else. From the corner of his eye he caught the looks of someone he recognized, a man whose name he only knew as Homuru, recognized by his mask and jacket. He was with the ANBU, or more specifically, the Tiger Division, as far as Sakana knew. What the specifics were of that, he could not tell. What Sakana could tell was that Homuru was a skilled individual, because only competent people made it to the Tiger Division.

Sakana found his seat slightly behind and to the right of Homuru, in a different area from Homuru completely, barring any conversation between them – not that either of them were going to be interested in talking, most likely. Sakana sat down with his unnaturally calm composure, not even batting an eye as more people entered. Kuro was quick to follow his entry, and was someone Sakana was more familiar with than this Homuru. Miyako Kurosawa would’ve been easy to mistake for an Uragiri, had she had black eyes. Her black hair matched that of Sakana both in color and length, and their black clothing matched as well, as if they’d color coordinated. “Miyako,” Sakana greeted her, whenever she’d arrive, though not much else could be said, as Sakana wasn’t innately familiar with Miyako as a person. He simply knew of her.

The two other shinobi on their team were from Kirigakure and, inevitably, meant that Sakana could do little else than to regard them as hired swords. Unreliable, stubborn and untrained in organized warfare. They were no doubt here just to fill the ranks, to guard the caravan and protect non-shinobi personnel. Whenever these two, namely Shinji and Koko, would enter, they’d find Sakana’s black eyes resting on them, inspecting them without as much as a word. Withholding his commentary for now, he simply regarded them, waiting for them to speak up and introduce themselves.

ℰxpedition for the ℬanner of St. ℱriedrich

Annoyingly, Najla had guided them into his room, without giving him much time or space to even reject her. Frankly, he was not interested in talking to her, since he knew that she only ever talked about things that bothered her. Petty complaints, mostly, things that Ketill couldn't change even if he wanted to. Despite her lack of respect for him, sometimes Ketill felt like she thought him a god that could change the situation they were in at will - he knew she did not believe this, because first of all, deference to him as a God would be blasphemy to a Sawarimic believer. And secondarily, she had no love, lust or even a fondness to him - admittance that Ketill was her master in this situation, no matter how small, would never come. But still that feeling lingered. “What is it now,” Ketill openly grumbled as he closed the door behind them while Najla, as always, made herself comfortable. “Does the sultana have a complaint? Then spit it out, so I can go to sleep.” Naturally, Najla had nothing much to say to this - either she ignored him or was too busy gawking at his largely empty room to hear. So she carried on, informing him that the men were calling him chief. Momentarily Ketill pondered whether she had actually been at work as a spymaster, or had just been an amateur at work, playing with the adults. The information she presented him with was long known to him, after all.

And despite her best intentions her remarks gave away just how little she knew. He held back a grin and maintained a stoic composure, but he felt amused with her indirect and no doubt unintentional admittance of a lack of knowledge. 'For once, you seem to have a goal beyond surviving,' she'd said. That goal beyond surviving had always been there, but she had not known of it and her guesses had yet to hit the mark. Or perhaps she knew, but preferred to pretend not to know. Whichever it was, it earned her no favor from the new chieftain. “I didn't take that title,” Ketill proclaimed when she'd finished, “I was given it. And chief or not, these are my lands. You'd do well to remember that, and to learn what that means in the North. It's not just ownership - if it was just ownership, I would not have killed that man for his land, I would have bought it. It is the blood in the earth, Othala, that is what it means, and that is why I am chief.”

He squinted with his eyes, peering at Najla, asking himself what she did know. He knew she was a fox, sneaky and clever, but she was out of her element here. Secrets were not worth as much as in the Sultanate - of course, they had their value. But it would not be settled in backroom political meetings. It would be finished with blood. A lesson she would surely have learned, and if she had not, would do well to learn soon. Having other peoples' secrets was a useful and valuable good, but it also made you a target for retribution. The Althingi would've been proper examplification of that fact.

He closed in on the table and took the mug - made of a horn - and poured ale into it from a nearby pitcher. He raised it to his mouth and greedily gulped it as she continued to speak - the wet trails of ale running down into his beard. When she was finished, so was he. She stood up and prepared to leave, letting Ketill think he could take to his bed, but instead she continued, informing him about a talk she had with Hádski. Ketill mulled it over in his head once or twice, then raised his shoulder. “These issues tend to solve themselves,” he simply stated. He was referring to Arngeir and Grettir keeping Hádski in check, and playing them out against each other. It was simple to see that both Grettir and Arngeir wanted to stay, and even Hádski might've seen the benefit in a village. The fact that Hádski disliked Ketill was irrelevant then.

“Grettir stopped him before he could insult me. And the threat of holmgang was enough to silence Hádski. If he seeks you out instead of confronting me, then that alone is a signal of his confidence.” It was a simple and very northern rationale - where a Sawarim might've thought about the possible ramifications of letting someone like Hádski run loose, all Ketill thought was that he was not a threat. And if he were to ever become a threat, Ketill was certain of victory. “As for my goal,” he then continued, placing himself on his bed waiting for the conversation to finish.

“I simply wish to claim my birthright. A new age is beginning for the north that will shake the very core of the other nations. You wish to see the Sultanate again?” He threw a careless look towards Najla, wondering whether the thought of a return to the desert would cause an unexpected reaction in her. It was not exactly a secret that she longed for 'home,' although the meaning of 'home' was one that could be argued about. If Ketill were to be asked, Najla's home was the North now. She had nothing in the desert, and any support for her cause as a claimant to the throne among the peasantry would've been squashed out by now. “Long ago, I told you I would take your kingdom if you only handed me a sword. I fought your enemies twice - once in the desert, once in the Golden City. Twice you handed me a sword, so you will see the sultanate again. But rather than returning as a long lost princess, you will arrive at the head of a fleet of Northern ships.”

He grinned at her, wondering if the threat of taking her kingdom made her feel anything at all anymore. It was not her kingdom anymore and any attachment she had to it was severed by Osman. They'd be kept alive by Najla only on false hope of returning one day - and now that she was being offered to return, she would have to face that she would most likely not be returning on peaceful terms.

Ketill would take that fear away rather quickly, if she felt that fear at all. “I have no interest in conquering sand, however. Killing Osman will be good enough.” He paused then, and would let her continue her move towards the door, before finally raising his voice again. He would not force her to stop and listen, but he talked loud enough for Basim to hear in his own room, so even if she left, she would be forced to hear.

“It makes for a good saga. The saga of Ketill Grímhilðrson. We should find a skald, and have him write it down. I am sure your name would be a frequent mention.”

Though Ketill had exposed part of his plans to Najla, part of it would remain a mystery. Never the less, he made it apparent that he was going to construct a fleet and fill it with an army of Northmen. Had that been why they chose this location? Surely not, the river was barely wide enough to sustain a set of 3 boats, let alone be deep enough to carry a boat that needed to carry supplies, animals, pillage and an army to boot, or so Najla and Basim would've thought. But the Northmen were master woodsmen and had plenty of experience building boats - mostly in the north east, but also the south east, where fishing was an above average way of sustaining yourself as opposed to farming and hunting. With boats that were lower, they were capable of sailing inland quite aways, avoiding the trouble of having to land a boat just to enter a country. Or atleast, so Ketill envisioned it - because it had never been done quite the way he saw it.

Ketill had gone to survey his lands, not too far from his own great hall, where the water widened and deepened. Here he planned to build his new docks - a large set of three docking places to start with, with plans to expand to include five more later on. Eight ships would be enough for a sizable raiding army, but three would suffice for now, as they needed the men to fill the boats with first and foremost. As he was looking at the area, Grettir approached him, placing his hands in his hips as he looked at the same area Ketill was looking at. “Fine spot to build a fishing boat,” he told Ketill, to which Ketill could only laugh.

“Not very ambitious of you.”

“How so? A fishing boat would be a great addition, and I'm sure the carpenter can arrange it.”

“Boats are something different from beds and stools, but even if he could, I would not want a fishing boat. It would be quite something for a chief to go out fishing.”

“Chief Salmon, perhaps, but you are right - it would not fit you.”

“What would fit me is a warboat - listen to this, it holds fifty men, has space for cargo and can even bring aboard two cows.”

“I would say you are a madman for thinking that is possible. Even Audrun's warboat can only hold eight other gods.”

“Gods are also a fair share taller and bigger than men. We can easily fit ten times that, if we try hard enough. Whoever said we are inferior to the gods was clearly not reading the stories right,” Ketill promptly answered, and then he took steps forwards to measure out the distance of the docks he wanted to build, wading knee deep into the water, before returning. “We can land the ships here, but we need to build them elsewhere to avoid cutting the area down to be devoid of trees.”

“We also need men for that. I was looking to speak to you about that. I would like to go around the countrysides and invite people to join your village.”

“And how would you convince them?”

“I would tell them you are fair and just, and that you have not wronged us,” Grettir answered. It was a meek and unconvincing argument that he raised, although in fairness, he was right about needing more men. The plan appealed to Ketill, though the argument would need to be improved.

“There is little to that statement that other men cannot claim as well. Any man can claim to be fair and just - to make it true is another matter,” Ketill replied to the man, “instead promise them a piece of land and a community.”

Grettir shifted his body somewhat, looking instead from the location in which the new docks would be built towards Ketill. “So you agree to the plan?”

“Yes, we cannot build a fleet and expect to sail it on our own.”

“Then I will leave in the morrow,” Grettir pledged to Ketill then, walking off to his own home. He left Ketill behind, who glanced at Grettirs' back. Something seemed to be on Ketill's mind, but there was no telling what. Then Ketill turned back to the water, kneeling down slowly and touching the water with his hand. The water was warming and by summer Ketill intended to have a community worth leading.

As the community grew, so did Hádski's animosity towards Ketill. By now there was no denying Ketill's position as chieftain, as many deferred to him now on many things - law for one, for the settling of disputes outside of the althingi. It was a good thing his throne had been finished - a thing of craftsmanship, to be sure - as it allowed Ketill to seat himself above the others in the hall on an already raised platform. He had passed law as fairly as he could, doing his best to base his judgements off of the laws of man that he knew, although this was a harder process than many had imagined it to be.

Another thing he managed and arranged was the care for improving upon existing industries. With his limited knowledge on blacksmithing, he had somehow managed to set up a refinery for ores. Although it was far from the mass quantities that Broacien could produce, it was enough to produce some items of importance, mostly farming tools, axes and seaxes. The process itself was simple - simple enough for Ketill to have thought of it. Without access to proper mines, the northerners were confined to harvesting bogs in the area, cutting back peat and retrieving small nodes of iron. This ‘’bog iron’’ was called járn by the northerners, would then be smelted in primitive kiln-like ovens and made into whatever tools were needed.

Ketill remained, however, the only one with access to a real sword. It should be added that the sword had hung above his throne resembling more something of a trophy than a weapon - he seemed to have traded the sword for the axe as a favored weapon sometimes during his stay in the sultanate.

Construction on his plans for the ships had gotten underway and, after this time, one of the boats was nearing completion while the others were just getting started. Although the village was starting to become self sufficient, it was nowhere near the grandeur or size of the Broacienien cities, let alone the Golden City of the desert. But, to Ketill, that only meant the people were stronger for it.

The tasks had changed for all the members of Ketill’s household. Ketill spent almost all his time managing the various tasks that needed to be completed. Daily visits around the various people throughout the village were commonplace and other duties, like farming, had to make way. So he had decided quickly to do away with the farm next to his long hall, after the first harvest. It was promptly replaced with a shed - it was left empty for now as there were no real items to be stored yet.

Instead of having his own farm, Ketill gave out land to the newcomers who lacked any real profession in loan, and as part of their tribute they would pay him a certain amount of their harvest. This was a setup he had learned from not only Broacien, but also the Sultanate, although the Sultanate preferred their taxes over the harvests. It was the same concept, and he felt no reason not to apply it here.

However, that also meant one of Najla’s core tasks had disappeared and, where she could initially spend her time in the small farm, she was now reduced to doing, well, even less. And although she had the intelligence to learn a profession, nothing of that kind was expected of her, since she was a woman - rearing children was what most people assumed she would do, though there were no children to speak of. That left her with much free time.

Frankly, Ketill would have normally objected to the amount of free time she had, and indeed, would frequently remark that she was living much like she had at her home in the sultanate. It lacked the luxury and prosperity, surely, but she could once again live a lazy live. Perhaps it was because of that that Ketill began using her former experience as a spymaster to his own favor, and in private, solicited her opinions about statecraft and how to deal with dissenters like Hádski. Being a foreigner would make the establishment of a spy network harder for Najla in this situation, but her experience was nonetheless still as valid.

The fact that he solicited her opinions selectively and in private only further reinforced the public idea that Najla was merely a concubine, some sort of exotic pleasure brought along by the chieftain.

As for Basim, he had earned a place not only among the hunters but also beside Ketill, as his understanding of not only Northern culture, but also his rudimentary understanding of law and the legal processes in the north gave him an unofficial position as an advisor in the matter of law. Despite not being officially appointed or recognized as such, it seemed Basim did not care much, and was simply happy to carry on with a purpose and a position in which he could sate his curiosity - there were those who would enjoy the boys’ company at all times, and those who simply acknowledged his existence, but there were none in the entire village bar perhaps Hádski who found the boys’ presence to be offensive. He had used this fact extensively in his quest for knowledge, and though Ketill was happy to be relieved of his endless questions, he was also happy that Basim took up precisely the role he had intended for him when he founded the village.

‘’Chieftain,’’ a man spoke, dressed in a simple tunic, white and roughspun with stains of dirt and mud on it - he was clearly one of the peasants, those who farmed the lands. And from the looks of it, he was an exceptionally poor one. ‘’We found this man on our lands some hours ago, and after we captured him and interrogated him, found out he was looking for our food.’’

They were in the lit hall of Ketill, the center firepit lighting the hall entirely, creating flickering shadow on the walls where the various pieces of furniture blocked the light. At the far end of the hall, on the raised platform, Ketill sat on his throne. He heard the peasants story, while the rest of the crowd waited for him to pass judgement. In front of the peasant, directly in front of Ketill, was a man kneeled with his hands tied with rope. He was clearly just as poor as the peasant from whom he had tried to steal, if not poorer. But the laws of the gods were quite clear on it.

‘’To take without earning is a crime, so there was no need to bring him here,’’ Ketill spoke quite clearly. ‘’You had every right to take his hand for it, or kill him.’’

The peasant nodded agreeingly, but there was a kink in the cable, it seemed. ‘’True, and for that I would not have brought him here. However, when we caught him he did not steal anything yet. So, I did not dare kill him for his intent. Clearly he is hungry and starved, as are we, so I understand his plight. But what would the Gods think of me for killing a man just wishing to sate his hunger?’’

This gave Ketill reason to pause, and he leaned his elbow onto his armrest and put his chin into his palm, pondering it deeply. ‘’You are right, this complicates the matter. There was nothing stopping him from knocking on your door,’’ Ketill said after a long pause.

‘’Yes, chief, if he had done so I would’ve done as any good Northerner would and given him bread and salt, and ale, even if we have little to spare.’’

‘’Accused, what say you? Why did you act dishonorably?’’

‘’Apologies, my lord, I cannot tell. I just wanted to eat something other than roots and mushrooms, for one night, but Northern hospitality is not as widespread as I am lead to believe by this mans’ words. The last few families have turned me away, and I could not stand such disappointment again.’’

‘’Right, then I have made my decision. The punishment for thievery is death on the spot, or a settlement with the victimized family. But as nothing has been stolen, I cannot possibly sentence you to death,’’ Ketill said, standing up from his throne and stepping forwards to the edge of the platform. ‘’I can sentence you for unlawful entry on someone else’s land, but the sentence would do little in terms of repayment. I could outlaw you, declare you free, but you are already free, and a vagabond has little meaning attached to the word law or outlaw. Nothing would be gained.’’

Ketill crossed his arms then and raised one to his beard, stroking it as if he were still pondering his decision, or perhaps the wording. ‘’You seem most concerned with survival so I will see to it that you can earn that lawfully and honorably. I sentence you to become this farmers’ thrall. Work his lands and earn your keep. A meal earned by labor is more satisfying than one earned by thievery, even if it is smaller.’’

‘’Thank you, thank you kindly chieftain,’’ the accused spoke, but the farmer was quick to interject.

‘’Chief, I am more than grateful for you granting me a thrall but- but we cannot afford to feed another mouth. My lands are too small as it is, and I cannot afford more land-’’

‘’Then you will take some of mine. If I recall correctly, your lands lie in the south, close to the edge of the village. To the east of your lands are a patch of untouched forest. And if I recall correctly as well, we have plenty forest around the village. Take that forest and chop it down. Sell the wood, use it, whichever you wish to do. Then, build more farms there.’’

And so it was settled - and both parties were satisfied, with a small cost for the chief, Ketill, who would not have used these forested areas regardless. They were of little value to him as he already received plenty of food from the tribute of his citizens - a ‘’tax’’ as Basim had explained to the other Northerners some time before, though the word ‘’tribute’’ was easier to understand for them regardless.

This was one of the more pressing matters of law that Ketill had to attend to - not often did people come to him with pressing matters like this, much more often it was about smaller things. Advice on family matters, settlement between two families on a dispute, or settling the terms for a marriage. Ketill wouldn’t mind if he didn’t have to perform these tasks, but he was well aware that they were a part of the package of becoming a chieftain.

Weeks passed without any event of interest passing. More families joined the village, and by now they had a bustling corner of the village dedicated solely to the creation of bog iron, with men wading out into the swamps to retrieve the pockets of iron, and smelting it down. The swamps were quite a ways away, and so the traveling and smelting itself took up most of the time. It was a very limited supply - most swamps only offered about one or two pockets of iron per year - but it was enough for basic tools and weaponry. Smiths were rare in the north, but by a stroke of luck one of them had joined the village and had began taking on and teaching an apprentice to smith as well.

Fishing was now one of the main sources of food, with nets and fish traps being set up across small bridges across the nearby river. Construction on the first boat had been started, but it went very slowly as the men learned how to make a boat. It was a hard task, and something that required a lot of patience and skill, so Ketill had anticipated it. Nevertheless he mandated that the first boat was ready and available within a year. A harsh mandate, but the men all agreed they would see to it that it was done.
The more people joined the village, the more Najla would see her tasks fade away. After Ketill got rid of the farm on his lands, as it was not befitting for a chieftain any longer, she was indeed confined to mending clothes together with her newfound ‘’companion’’, if one could call it that. And for the longest time she did indeed do so. But as more families joined the village, one of the families decided to become clothiers, as they had experience with this. The man and his son made the clothes, the two daughters and the mother would mend clothes for other families - mostly the richer ones. Over time this also reduced Najla’s work to the smallest tasks, such as mending smaller holes in tunics.

Where she had first been ordered to prove her value, Ketill had now taken away most of the ways she could prove her value. But it seemed he was okay for that - had something else in mind for her, perhaps. It could very well have been a scary prospect for her, as Ketill was not someone that spoke his mind easily when it came to his plans. He was like Audrun in that way - straightforward and to the point, rash and brutish even. But when it came to planning, he was subtle and thought out his actions rather well. And all of that without directly consulting anyone around him.

So the prospect of him having plans for Najla, it could mean a myriad of things. He had been a slave in the sultanate for a long time, even being her direct property for most of that. While Najla might have felt it justified, there was no way to deny that Ketill was treated like a property, and that was not a preferable way to live, even if he was indeed treated better than other slaves. She would not wish to live like that herself.

Indeed, Ketill had stated she was free. But everyone else thought she wasn’t, that she was an exotic plaything, a concubine of sorts. Ketill’s lack of affection towards her only reinforced that idea, as he was not particularly subtle in his manners with her. Little did everyone know that Ketill and Najla had a wild and varied history together, one that was not so easily ignored,
and that provided the valuable context in which to see things.

Would Ketill now treat her the same way?

Perhaps.

As summer was closing in and the green lush forests began breathing life into the surrounding area again, a problem started arising. People were reporting feeling strange, having nightmares and even seeing spectre’s, ghosts, and some even claimed to see undead creatures. Some claimed that the land they had built their village on was sacred and they were being punished for building there. Ketill himself had began feeling stranger and stranger too, though he did not suspect holy interference or anything of the sorts. It was too sudden for that. They’d been here for nearly 3 months now, and until then, nothing had happened.

Two knocks on Najla’s door would be all that would alert her to Ketill’s presence, late at night. Most families had gone to bed, while Ketill had been pondering the issue at hand. Some families had threatened to leave, and while Ketill would not stop them, he also did not wish for them to do so. They had demanded intervention of sorts, to put the Gods at ease. Finding a godi, a priest of the northerners, would’ve been easy, but transporting him to the village and satisfying him not so much. Being a man of the gods himself, Ketill could do a few things, but he suspected the real culprit was something, or someone, else.

He opened Najla’s door when she would’ve answered him, and closed it behind him. Though it was smaller than his own room, it was larger than some of the families’ entire house would’ve been, so at the very least it was spacious. ‘’There is trouble,’’ he opened up, stepping slightly closer until he was in the center of the room, looking at Najla. ‘’I could do this myself, but frankly, I think it’s better left to someone who is a bit more… out of the view.’’

He glanced around and found the table and chairs that the carpenter had built for their rooms in a corner of the room, and immediately went to sit down. Clearly he wasn’t here just to give her some order and then leave again, like he would’ve done previously. This matter at hand was more pressing it seemed, and required more explanation.

‘’There’s been complaints about black shadows roaming the village at night, standing over people and then vanishing. People claim there’s some sort of sacred actions of the gods going on but I suspect otherwise. Maybe there’s a witch, or something entirely different, but if it were some action of the gods, then we would’ve noticed it long before now. It’s been three months of nothing, and now people are suddenly seeing things. I find that hard to believe, but I cannot find evidence for this. As you have been left mostly without any tasks or profession, I suppose it is time for you to take up the mantle of what you’d been doing your entire life. Which is to say, be dishonorable and brooding.’’

He glanced away for a second, upwards at the ceiling, as if he were thinking of the gods. They would not approve of backstabbery and such, but intrigue and wisdom were well within their approved, and even encouraged traits. Finding out information through whatever means was a good thing, but poison and the likes were not. But…

‘’You are not of my religion so whatever you do, I’m sure my gods wouldn’t mind. Unless you intend to tell me you’ve converted, but I highly doubt that. Find out what you can and come to me.’’

And that was it - he left immediately after that, going back to his room. Although there was no official position for spymaster in the northern court, it was reasonable to assume that she had just been informally and unofficially granted that position, whether it existed or not.

Gathering information from the villagers would most likely not yield any interesting results - they would probably inform her that they’d seen shadows, undead, ghosts, spectres or einherjar - a type of soldier that had already ascended to the heavens of the pagans, who was selected to fight against the forces of hel in the ending of the world. Fantastic stories for late at night, with a mug of mead and a fire nearby, but ultimately useless for figuring out the truth.

There was a red line however. All of the people who reported these sightings were those that frequently ate with Ketill in his longhouse, and the others, such as the farmers that were richer, and thus did not need to eat with Ketill, were unaffected. They were worried, but had not seen anything themselves.

Conclusions could easily be drawn.

“You wish to see the Sultanate again?”

Those words caused her eyes to flash back at Ketill, unreadable even though she felt the tinge of pain in her heart. The only sign of the sudden tension was the slight clenching of her fist, digging her nails into her palm lightly. Perhaps her silence would be more telling of her emotions than these gestures, for Najla did not reply to Ketill’s question. There was no need, he already knew the answer.

Of course she wanted to return, but not like this. The notion that she’d be returning at the head of a fleet brought a lump to her throat. Her gaze was cold as she stared at that cursed grin on his face, trying to assess if he was telling the truth. She could not bear to return by Ketill’s side, to unleash this beast on her people. They were not her people anymore, but they had been once, more so than these savage northerners ever would be. Yet there was something that had settled in the pit of her stomach, the nagging feeling that perhaps she would do well to allow this. Perhaps it would feel good to take back the kingdom that had thrown her out, to burn it to the ground and once again claim herself princess of those ashes. Had she had any trust in Ketill or his people, it might have been harder for her to squash that thought down.

But it seemed Ketill was not truthfully offering that, for the silence was quickly followed up with something that caused her to drown out those thoughts, barely able to comprehend the answer to her question under a sudden surge of anger. He was going to kill Osman. Her fist clenched even tighter at the notion, and though her emotions were well-controlled in her expression, her voice would not hide it as she answered him.

“He took nothing from you, killing Osman is not your right. It is mine.”

She tried to turn and leave his room, but true to fashion, Ketill would try to dictate the length of the conversation. In some ways, this pattern felt much like the Sultanate, as they’d try to avoid each other until these brief, unsatisfying conversations, at which point she’d gain nothing but anger. Yet Najla was quite aware that the balance had shifted, though she did not seem to know this as she walked out of the room, slamming the door behind her in an effort to block out Ketill’s voice. Yet it was to no avail, for like always, Ketill would try to get in the last word. Before, it had been easier to dismiss his words as attempts to get under her skin, nothing more. But now, Najla found herself halting behind his door. A glance at Basim’s closed door would tell her nothing of whether he’d heard it, but she did not wait for longer than this brief moment to find out.

Najla was quick to return to her room, closing the door behind her before moving to sit on her bed. Did he think himself a fated hero? It sounded like it, though Najla could not understand what that meant for her role in all of this. All she understood was that now, she could be returning to the Sultanate. Perhaps earlier in their path to flee, Najla might have taken that with a smile, eager to stay in her homeland. But that thought held only misery now. What if Ketill intended to sell her back to the Sultan? It was her greatest fear, though Najla could not imagine it’d be worth the trouble. They had no real power anymore, none to aid their claim to the throne, the price on their heads would drop significantly as a result. Osman would offer the highest price, but Ketill wanted to kill him. Even that notion made her cringe, wondering if that chance would be taken from her before he ever answered her questions. If he’d die before he told her just why he’d betrayed her so deeply, whether he’d ever truly loved her, to see if he’d beg for his life when she took her answers at the end of a sword. Though she was reluctant to return to the Sultanate, she was more worried that someone would take that chance from her.

She dreamt of Osman that night. Najla would blame Ketill for that, for she had not dreamt of his face for some time, a blissful realization every morning she woke up without it. However, the mention of killing him, that base, savage hope, had brought him back into the forefront of her thoughts. Unfortunately, she would not get the pleasure of watching him die in this dream, nor was it the sensation of her hand driving a shard into his flesh that she replayed so often in her mind. This was far worse.

She dreamt of running her hands down a familiar, warm chest, tracing the contours she had come to know as a second home. Najla always willed her lips to become poisonous as they traced over his chest, grazing those muscles, reminding her of all that had betrayed her. His hands would move over her figure, grabbing her hips to pull her closer to him. Najla followed willingly, her lips moving against his as his hands moved up her figure, over her chest to her neck. There, he gripped, a sensation that caused a groan of pleasure to arise from her lips as she kissed him once more, drinking him in closer. Then it gripped harder, harder, and Najla did not gasp or scream or struggle. It merely gripped, and Najla fell into that blackness with only the taste of her lover to take with her.

----

Najla was somewhat startled to hear the sound of heavy knocks on her door, though she could have guessed at who it was. Basim’s knocks were far lighter and more familiar, for he found reason to speak to her far more often than Ketill did. It had been a shock the first time Najla had heard the sound of Ketill’s knocking on her door, and then he’d been let in with some trepidation. Even then, it’d been silly, for she knew quite well that if Ketill wanted to take her, he wouldn’t have bothered to knock. But now, the sound of Najla’s voice merely sounded tired as she told him to come in, expecting him to give some order and leave so that she could sleep.

Despite the late hour and her exhaustion, it did not seem as if Najla was about to sleep. She was sitting on the edge of her bed, and the bowl of water on her desk made it very clear what she had been about to do. Without the luxury of the baths, Najla had to settle for washing her hands and feet with that small bowl of water before prayers, something that only ever occurred in the privacy of her room anymore. When Ketill had been a Servant, Najla had worried about his reaction to her faith, but seemed to hold none of that fear now. Rather, she simply looked upon him with a dulled expression, waiting for him to spout his order and leave.

It seemed that a simple order was not the case however. She didn’t reply to his words as Ketill moved to sit on the chair, though her eyes followed him cautiously. They were concerning words certainly, but what he wanted from her in regards to this problem was more worrisome still. He had only asked for her input in select matters, but otherwise had acted on his own beliefs, regardless of how she’d advise him. To have a matter left to her was a new aspect entirely, but as Ketill began to speak, Najla quickly understood why.

She did not interject as Ketill was speaking, but the look in her eyes made it very clear that this was not entirely new information. Najla had never spoken of the night she believed she’d seen her brother, looming over Basim in the dead of winter. She had not believed that anyone would share her conviction that it was Jalil. But once the people had begun to see similar apparitions, Najla had kept quiet for an entirely different reason. They were desperate for explanations now, to tell them that she had shared this delusion would only make her a target. She was a foreigner after all, it’d be easier for them to call her a witch than share in her grief. Still, the stories that had reached Ketill’s court were ones she’d listened to intensely, always wondering if her brothers presence was the true cause, or if she’d been another victim of these strange sightings. It seemed she’d get a perfect chance to find out now.

Perhaps Ketill had meant to insult her by describing her profession as ‘dishonorable and brooding’, but the words merely brought a smile to Najla’s lips. It was no secret that he did not approve of her morality, just as she couldn’t ever approve of his own. But she’d come to terms with Ketill’s brutality, regardless of her feelings about it, simply because she’d had to. Without his violence, Najla would have been long dead. Perhaps he had not known it, but without her ‘dishonorable’ methods, he’d have been dead too.

“I have heard of these rumors. Your people are frightened, they have every reason to be. Especially if your gods cursed this particular patch of dirt.”

That smile only grew when he informed her that his gods would forgive her actions, as if she gave a care as to what his gods thought of her. She could not go against the rules of their gods, not so long as she was living with those that abided by their laws. But that was to protect for her safety here on earth, her own God would determine what came after. Whether he’d abandoned her to her sins or not, Najla did not know, but she’d continue to pray regardless. The notion that she’d converted seemed even funnier to her in this context, as Najla knew she held that unwavering faith in a God that might have abandoned her. There was no time to dwell on that humor however, for Ketill was quick to finish. Before he could leave, Najla spoke, unwilling to be a passive participant in this conversation. Her voice was soft as she replied, but that seemed to betray the sense of confidence with which she spoke.

“Do not worry, I am still faithful to my God. Your gods have turned a blind eye to me, and mine has abandoned me. It seems there is no morality on this earth that will bind me. Give me a few days, I will have an answer for you.”
---
Najla wasted no time the next day, quickly setting out to speak to those who had seen what Ketill had described to her. It was exciting to begin doing that work which she had grown so accustomed to, even though it was far more difficult here. She did not have the resources, nor did she have an ear besides her own. Worse than that, she was a foreigner in this land, with little knowledge of their traditions or culture. She had learned long ago that a persons words were worthless without the context in which they spoke it in, and her knowledge of that context had been heavily informed by Ketill. That had changed within the last few months as more people had entered the village, but the base of knowledge she’d started from had not been a pleasant one.

It was extremely lucky then, that few held any qualms about talking to her. She had not been unfriendly with them, and Najla certainly didn’t have the same reputation she’d had in the Sultanate. Besides, her brother seemed well-liked among the villagers, and so many of the villagers didn’t seem to think it strange that his sister may be just as curious. Her perception as a concubine certainly didn’t hurt either, for Najla found quickly that people were eager to speak with her, as if their suggestions might get to the chief faster through her. They’d be more careful about what they chose to say, but that which they truly believed, they’d push on. And many seemed to truly believe they’d seen a ghost.

The first few she’d asked were all women. It made sense that she interacted with the women in the village far more, and it was a massive aid to her work in any respect. Just as most of the Sultanate’s gossip passed between veils, whispered in the baths or carelessly handed out over pitchers of wine, the women of the north were little different. They did not trade secrets between jeweled hands the way the women of her home had, but some of the sentiment was still the same. They’d pass off pitchers of water while discussing how nervous their husband had grown since he had seen the apparition, or how they refused to go too deep into the woods after seeing the figures flash between the trees. It seemed like harmless conversation most of the time, though this sort of gossip was the easiest way to begin to distinguish who had seen anything and who hadn’t.

Once she had gathered enough stories and concerns, determining which families were simply worried and which had reason to be, a clear pattern began to show itself to Najla as their worries unfolded as well. When a women began to mention that they were urging their husbands to leave, or that their husbands wished to do so, Najla said nothing. It was worrisome to think that they would, as it didn’t bode well for whatever Ketill’s massively condeluded scheme was, but Najla was in no position to stop them. Even if Najla wanted to try and convince them, it would not work. Not only was she not privy to many of their ways, Najla had a suspicion that some believed she might have been the cause for this. She could understand why, just as her people had been quick to call Ketill Djinn, his people might have been more eager to write her off as a witch. She had given them no reason to, but her instincts were confirmed after a particularly important conversation, one that had helped to untangle a massive kink in the events unfolding.

Najla had believed the line between the stories had been drawn, but a particular storyteller had thrown her burgeoning conclusion into chaos, making her wonder if she’d been wrong all along. The stories varied between all those she asked, though two major factors stayed the same. They dined with Ketill in the longhouse frequently, and they had seen something. What they’d truly seen did differ, some insisted they had merely caught a glimpse, others recalled waking up to see something standing over their wives, and some even described something reaching for them. The beings in each of the stories differed in minor details, nothing that would make Najla believe they were lying, only scared and eager to tell their story.

Einar’s was different. Najla had heard bits of his story from others, as they seemed quite concerned with what he’d seen, as it seemed more worrisome than the others. But the full story was told by Einar’s wife, Hilde. Apparently he had seen a creature standing over her in the night, and Hilde told Najla and Sif the story over the pile of dirty clothes she’d brought down to the river. The shallowest part had become a common area for the women to gather, and while the men built the boat upstream, the women scrubbed and discussed downstream. Hilda glanced upstream every so often as she told the story, as if worried that her husband would hear her, despite how far they were from the men. The story was similar at first, Einar had apparently awoken to see a creature standing over his wife, who had not felt the coldness until the morning after, when her husband informed her of what he’d seen. That detail did not surprise Najla, for Basim had not noticed anything about the figure that stood over him. But as Hilde finished the story, describing how the creature had fled, leaving her husband to close the door after it and crawl back into bed with her.

“They’re quite awful houseguests then, to let the cold in like that.”

The words were spoken as a joke, as if to lighten the tension of the conversation. But as Najla’s eyes raked Hilde, she wondered if the women knew that could not have been the truth. She did not seem to. But Najla remembered what she’d seen, a figure that slipped through the wood of the house with nothing to bar it. It had been her own misguided idea as to what the creature had been that caused Najla to fling the door open and chase after it. It was a minor detail, but in comparison to the gist of the other stories that had been told, Najla had seen it as a glaring error. A man’s eyes were easily fooled, but the feeling of cold on one’s skin was unmistakable. Perhaps in itself, the detail would have been nothing more than a shoddy exaggeration of the story, but Najla had already wondered about Einar’s story, given that he was the only one telling such a tale that did not eat around Ketill’s table. Hilde did not respond to Najla’s comment however, and the worried expression on her face only barely changed as Sif’s reply came.

“And indecent, to stand over a man’s wife like that.”

Najla could not help but laugh slightly at that, wringing a shirt clean as she pulled it out of the water. The joke did seem to ease Hilde’s concern a little, but it did not answer Najla’s questions about the story itself. She’d have to speak to Einar, to hear it firsthand from him and pick it apart there, but that would be far more difficult than gossiping with his wife over their chores. Before Najla could start to consider how to do so however, a heated look drew her attention. The two women speaking back and forth were just within earshot of the women, so that their words would have been drowned out as Hilde continued, going on about whether it might be better to leave. But the look had drawn Najla’s attention, enough to draw her attention from Hilde’s words. It was not cruel or hateful, but worried, fearful, a look she had been far more used to seeing in the Sultanate. The reasoning for it then, was far more confusing, but the few words she picked up would help to clarify that quickly.

She had heard the word before, at the trial that nearly took her life. Well, at the second trial that had nearly taken her life.

“Do they think I’m a witch?”

“Don’t listen to them. It’s nonsense.They didn’t say it to you, so clearly it’s nothing but a rumor.”

“You northerners are so strange.” Najla spoke with a bare smile, remembering how Ketill had dismissed Hadski, declaring that he wasn’t a threat because he hadn’t confronted Ketill. It was the strangest rationale, for Najla had mostly feared those who would not approach her. It was far scarier to operate against an opponent you couldn’t see. “My people were willing to kill on rumors. They tried to take Ketill’s head when they believed he was a Djinn, even if none had the gall to say it to him.” Glancing up at Sif, Najla hurried to ease the confusion. “A Djinn is a demon, a spirit that takes a mans form. My people do not have blue eyes, they needed some explanation for it.”

“And they were ready to take his head over it?”

“Well, that among other reasons. He was not particularly . . . respectful of those who would hold themselves above him. Still, his being a ‘Djinn’ made it quite difficult to defend him. Worse than the ‘Djinn’ is the one who would stand behind him. I assume as much holds true for a volva.”

“Maybe. But if the chief says you’re not one, who’s going to say you are?”

Perhaps it should have been a sentiment that brought comfort, but in truth, it only made Najla more nervous. What incentive did Ketill have to defend her in that instance? He didn’t need her the way she’d needed him in the Sultanate. Unless it was meant to fit her into this grander scheme he’d seemed to plan in his head, but Najla had no faith in whatever occurred in Ketill’s mind. He’d long proven himself mad. Besides, she did not share the northerners faith that any real disputes could or would be decided through fair trial or blood. Some would have to be solved through other means, like whatever dispute was apparently fueling these strange events. Whatever it was, Najla felt as if she no longer had time to do so carefully. Whatever her suspicions, she wanted to act on them immediately, before the rumor that she was a ‘volva’ could grow into anything more.

Armed now with a new sense of urgency, and some certainty after hearing Einar’s story, even secondhand, Najla went to Basim. It was the next logical step, though she had not told him of what Ketill had asked her to discover before. But she would not hide it from him either, for Najla trusted her brother completely. Besides, she needed this information from him. She might have been able to do so on her own time, but Basim had become a fixture among the hunters. He spent a great deal of time with them, and Najla was sure she was better off finding out any oddities from Basim’s ears rather than the slight bit she’d be able to see.

Basim did not seem surprised when Najla entered his room, but remained laid back on his bed, his arms tucked under his head. Najla walked towards him, sitting at the end of his bed. Despite the fact that their paths did not cross as often in the day, they remained as close as ever, much to Najla’s happiness.

<“You must be exhausted. Did you have a hard hunt today?”>

<“Not really. I feel as if I spent half the day skinning animals.”>

<“Please tell me you washed your hands.”>

Basim let out a sigh, moving his arm over his eyes, as if blocking his sister out. <“Yes mother, I washed my hands.”>

It might have brought Najla pain a long time before, to hear Basim joke about a mother neither of them had. But now it brought a smile to her face, and Najla reached out, resting a hand on his leg and giving it a small squeeze, as if to apologize to him. It felt like an oddly casual relationship between siblings, as if they had shed the very trauma that bonded them so deeply. This would never be true, the reality of their lost lives was incredibly apparent to both of them, but it did not seem as if either felt that now. Thankfully, some moments of peace remained to them.

<“Good. I’ll let you sleep in a moment, but I hope you’ll tolerate me for a few more. I’m sure you’ve heard about the djinns around the village.”>

<“You don’t mean Ketill, right?”> Despite his words, Basim moved his arm off his face, sitting up slightly on the bed. Clearly, her words had intrigued him. <“Or do you mean the Nesnas they’ve been seeing?”>

<“No. All of these spirits have their whole bodies, they can’t be a Nesnas. Stop it, it doesn’t matter.” Though Basim seemed disappointed at this, clearly somewhat intrigued at the thought of debating the various supernatural explanations with his sister, Najla had an explanation that would be far more intriguing. <“They aren’t real anyways. Listen. Ketill’s asked me to figure out what’s behind it. And I’m close, I just need your help.”>

With that, Najla launched into a quick explanation, speaking to a now-captive audience. Basim was clearly interested in the way she’d managed to speak to the others, how she’d found Einar’s lie, and she pulled a laugh out of him when she explained why she was rushed, for Basim did not share her urgency about being called a with. Still, all traces of sleep were gone from his eyes once Najla finally got to why she needed him.

<“So now I’m certain. The only ones with stories I believe are those that eat with Ketill, in this house. So it has to be the food. I’ve been trying to understand which part of the food, to determine exactly who has been doing it.”>

<”You prepare a great deal of it though, have you not seen anything?”>

<“No, that’s exactly my concern. I wondered if the pots were poisoned, or the bowls themselves, but those are cleaned regularly and would be far too difficult to encompass everything. I also wondered if it was the crops, but those are harder to poison before preparation. I wondered if someone was poisoning it beforehand, and it was just diluted during preparation, but that would mean their intent was something other than this strange haunting, and they’ve stayed with it. That doesn’t make sense to me.”>

<“So what’s left? The meat or the ale?”>

<“I don’t think it’s the ale. It’d be easier to poison than the meat, but I feel as if many of those who drink the ale but do not eat in this house have had no complaints. Besides, poison is harder to hide in a liquid like that.”>

<“But it could be the ale.”>

<“Yes. But I don’t think so. You haven’t noticed anything strange about any of the hunters?”>

<“I . . . no. I can’t say I have. We do not all hunt together however, there’s a little more cooperation in how we skin the animals and the like, but barely.”>

<“Well, try and think. Who has never asked for help, or refuses it altogether? Who skins the meat and readies it long before you set eyes on it?”>

<“Many do. Why don’t you give me some time? I’m sure I could watch them and give you a few names. In the meantime, you can tell Ketill what you know.”>

<“I don’t have a few days.”> Basim’s concerned expression was met with a knowing gaze from Najla, who moved to stand, as if ready to leave. She did not however, simply walking around the small room as if to observe it, though she had nothing to see in there. Really, it was a way to release her nerves, and Basim’s gaze made it clear that he understood this. <“Basim, if people think I’m a witch, they’ll think I did this, and the longer it goes on, the more convinced they’ll be. People get scared when they don’t have a scapegoat, you know that. A foreign whore with no skills would be the easiest one to chase.”>

<“Don’t call yourself that.”>

Najla suddenly stopped walking, turning to look at Basim with concern. Something about the way he’d said those words worried her, for Najla knew Basim was usually not the type to care. They hadn’t spoken explicitly about the rumors that she was merely a concubine, but she was certain that Basim had heard of them. He’d had to. Najla had faith in Basim’s intelligence, so she did not worry that Basim would jump to counteract the rumors. Likely, he’d guessed at why the rumors had occurred, or better yet, why either Najla or Ketill had allowed them to continue. Perhaps Ketill hadn’t heard, but Najla certainly had, and she was more worried that they’d find out the truth.

<“I understand what you’re saying, I know why you’re scared, but-“>

<“You’ve heard, haven’t you? That I’m Ketill’s concubine?”>

<“Yes, of course.”> He did not seem upset when he spoke, only slightly annoyed. Perhaps at her questioning, or the notion that others were talking about it, Najla did not know. Even still, she moved to sit on the bed beside her brother once more, as if preparing for a difficult conversation. Basim however, did not need that comfort, for he continued talking about it as if it were another fact of life. Najla knew that her brother was unhappy about this, that he’d like to imagine a life for his sister where she didn’t have to play as a concubine for a chance at safety. Najla wasn’t quite thrilled about it either, but the reality of their lives meant that such a silly perception did little but hurt egos. <“No one’s said it straight to my face, but I know. I was waiting for either you or Ketill to put a stop to it, but it never happened.”>

<“I don’t even know if he knows. I’m sure he’ll figure it out. In the meantime, keep it quiet. It’s safer for me this way.”>

<“Will it still be safer if he finds out?”>

Najla just shrugged at that, much more nonchalantly than she felt. She assumed that Ketill would not care, that he’d simply dispel the rumors, whatever. It didn’t matter. She had never specifically told anyone that she was or wasn’t what they believed, so none could hold that against her. But Najla could not see a reason for Ketill to care that this rumor was happening, if anything, it’d benefit him. But if he were to find out that she had been allowing the rumor to continue on purpose . . . that settled far differently in Najla’s stomach.

<“It’ll be fine. It’s embarrassing that anyone would think I’d touch an infidel, but nothing more. It is not as if Ketill would ever be willing to touch me.”>

<“I know that, I live here. I figured if it were true, I would’ve known.”>

<“See? Then there is no reason to worry.”> Najla stated with a positivity she did not feel, pushing herself off of her brother’s bed for the final time. <“Now think, please? I won’t go forward empty-handed.”>

Basim sighed then, and the siblings were quiet for a few moments as she allowed him to think. It was a silence she’d grown used to, allowing her brother to move through his thoughts before he abruptly spoke up. As always, Najla did not speak, merely drumming her fingers along the table in a steady, careful rhythm, until Basim finally spoke, disturbing her thoughts. He gave her a few names, some she noted, some she dismissed, up until his final naming.

<“Well, and Hadski of course. He never hunts or does anything with the others. He barely speaks to Arngeir anymore. I think it’s because of me. But don’t let this ‘volva’ thing scare you. Give me a few days, I’ll watch the hunters and let you know when I see something worthwhile.”>

<“Hmmm.”> It was a noncommittal sound, not quite accounting for anything she might do. Perhaps in the past, Najla would have lied to her brother through gritted teeth, but she seemed quite reluctant to do so nowadays. <“Don’t worry yourself so much about it. You’ll grow old. Look, your forehead is already starting to crinkle like paper.”>

She reached out to smooth his forehead then, a teasing gesture that her mother had often done to Basim. Then, her mother would always turn to Harith, kissing his forehead and telling him that it was smooth because it was blissfully empty. Now, without her older brother present, Najla could only lean in and kiss Basim’s forehead, gripping his cheek briefly before she released him. She hadn’t meant the gesture to be anything but loving, but it seemed Basim had not forgotten the history behind it. Najla often overlooked his sadness, for while hers had been so devastatingly apparent, her brother had stifled it better. That had been for her sake however, Najla had never forgotten that, and the sudden flash of sadness in her brother’s eyes was enough to soften her voice suddenly.

<“I love you, my blood. Sleep well.”>

<“And you.”>

Najla leaned against the wooden railing of the bridge, her eyes following the men carefully as they labored on the boat, as if she could better understand the workings of the ship this way. It was not so, for Najla’s people had never had need or use of a ship in any capacity, for they had no body of water they could not walk around. Regardless, it made it a fascinating sight or perhaps just an odd distraction from the task Ketill had granted to her.

“Are you looking for your brother?”

Perhaps it was not entirely a distraction, for Najla turned her head to see Grettir, standing at the end of the bridge. It was no wonder that he assumed she had come to find Basim, for Najla rarely had reason to speak to the other men, nor did they have much reason to speak to her. They were polite to her, often even more than Ketill was, and Najla returned this, but that was where it ended. Still, Grettir had long since become familiar to her and he held no hesitation when he walked up the bridge as he spoke.

“Arngeir took him out hunting again. I don’t know when they’ll be back.”

“I know, I spoke to him before they set off this morning. I just wanted to see how the ship was coming along.”

“Did Ketill ask you to?”

Najla smiled at that, clearly a grin born out of humor. Though the question was harmless, the notion should have worried her slightly, for if the rest of the men believed that her actions were an extension of Ketill’s, it could cause a number of issues in conducting such work in the future. If Ketill would ever grant her such work in the future. But Najla knew that a few well-placed words would dispel that idea in Grettir’s head. She also had no doubts that he’d relay her next words to the men who were working on the boat now, should any be curious about her presence later.

“No, he is not such a fool. My home is a land without water, what could I tell him of ships? ‘It is still afloat, I believe, though I am not yet sure how.’”

Grettir chuckled at her words, leaning his arms against the rail as well, turning his gaze to look over the ship. He’d grown more comfortable in her presence it seemed, not just now but over the course of their time together. Najla would never go so far as to call him a friend, though there was no one she’d extend that term to now. Friends were people one could trust, and Najla would never extend that to anyone but Basim. Not again. But Grettir was a good man, loyal to Ketill and honest in that unrestrained way she had come to recognize these northerners to be. It was a valuable presence to her, especially when he was closer to her suspect than any of the others.

“Your brother has asked me to explain a great deal regarding the ship. I could always tell you what I told him.”

“No need.” Najla had no intention of ever sailing on one of those monstrosities, despite the fact that Ketill had told her she would return to the Sultanate on one. Rather than mention that fact to Grettir, Najla was quick to turn the subject to what she’d truly come for. “I’m sure he must have been tearing your ear off about it all, I won’t ask you to repeat it again. You must be thankful Arngeir has taken him out of your hair for now.” Her words were spoken teasingly, as she had no reason to hide her deep affection for her brother. Besides, the affection built up to what she was just about to ask, to hide it among a deeper set of motivations.

“I don’t mind, neither does my brother. He’s a clever kid, and kind. The whole village has grown to like him.”

“I appreciate your kind words, but I worry that that’s not entirely true. I can never tell if his curiosity is bound to edge on another’s nerves, I sense he may attract some disdain if he is not cautious.”

“Is there someone you’re worried about?”

“Perhaps. I won’t ask you to ease my fears however, not for something as silly as gossip.” The way she spoke sounded almost as if she was unsure of her own fears, but it seemed Grettir would quickly understand her fears. After all, he wouldn’t have been able to ease her fears about many men, there was only one he’d have any insight on. But the way Najla looked over at the river once more, eyes filled with worry, made it seem as if that was entirely untrue.

“Hadski?”


“I would not speak ill of your companion. He’s been an asset to this village, it is just my brother I worry for at times.”

“There is no need to worry, Hadski has no quarrel with the boy. Besides, he prefers to hunt on his own. He usually doesn’t go when Arngeir leaves.”

“You’re certain?”

“Yes. He mentioned he would go tomorrow, he’ll be gone all day I expect. Your brother does not intend to go out with the hunters then, does he?”

“I don’t believe so.” Najla reached her hand out, resting it on Grettir’s arm gently for a brief moment. A show of gratitude, that of a sister who’d had a worry lift from her heart. The same would be read in her expression, and Najla was certain nothing more would be seen. “Thank you Grettir, you’ve eased my mind greatly.”

“Of course. If the chief asks, tell him his ship’s still afloat.”

She was acting too rashly. The thought replayed in Najla’s head with every step she took. She was acting rashly, she should have waited, should have allowed Basim to observe for a few days, but each time the thought popped up, she shoved it down. After learning that it had been the food, a new sense of urgency filled her, for not finding the culprit soon could mean death. More than that, the notion that some might have believed she was responsible for it, even if it was a rumor, was even more worrying. A volva would not last long here, no matter who people believed was protecting her.

It was with that thought that Najla pushed herself forwards, away from where some of the houses seemed to cluster towards the center of the village, and to the isolated corner where Hadski had built his hut. It was not dark yet, and so Najla was not worried that he’d return from his hunt, but it did place some fear as to whether anyone would see her. Luckily, Hadski had not tried to integrate himself into this community as much as the others, and so it would be easy to sneak in for a few moments. So long as she was careful.

It did not feel right, to skulk around in this mans house. Not because she believed the task itself was distasteful, but because Najla rarely had to perform them. Before, there were always others that could do this for her, slaves and servants that would not look out of place if they were to be found. Anyone besides Hadski would look out of place in this small hut. It was undeniably cramped, dirty, and a little crowded with stuff, which did not make her ‘task’ any easier. Still, Najla was quick to let her eyes wander around the items, trying to assess where he kept everything and in what order before she dug around.

Her process of searching was quick, meticulous, and she made sure to pick up nothing that wasn’t immediately put back in its place.

Her hands clutched the small vial and she turned it over. It did not look like the poisons she’d handled in the Sultanate, those were crystal clear and hidden in small elegant vials, no different than a perfume bottle. No one would mistake this for a perfume bottle. Opening the top carefully, Najla inhaled. There was a smell to it, whatever it was, but faint. She could see how it would be easy to spread it on meat and rid ones hands of it before preparation. Still, the question remained. How was she to tell if this was truly poison?

She could take the vial with her, certainly, but that would become a liability she did not need. If people thought she was a volva already, having this vial on her person would become a hassle. Moreover, Hadski would know immediately, and she did not want to guess who would be at the end of his wrath. She could leave it and tell Ketill, but that would leave her with no more proof than when she started. Rather than taste it herself, Najla looked around the house once more before she made up her mind, picking up a clean bowl.

She let three drops of the liquid fall into the bowl before closing the top, turning the bowl over carefully in her hands, not letting a drop spill out of the bowl. She could feel her hands shake slightly even as she set the bowl just where she’d found it, finally wiping the vial down on her dress and placing that back as well. She’d know in a day, now. Rather than wait for Basim’s guesses or her own trial and error, she’d know. But that also meant that Hadski would know that someone knew, though not who. It would force Ketill’s hand in dealing with him, an effect that Najla had recognized and accepted, if not desired. The faster people stopped calling her a volva, the better. But the fear lay that perhaps he would not allow his hand to be pushed, that she would anger a man for no reason. But she could not hesitate, not anymore. She had waited too long with Osman, always hoping that he’d simply stop being angry, that her position would be enough to sooth him. She had nothing of the sort to offer Hadski now, and she’d learned from experience that it wouldn’t matter.

It was just as easy to slip out as it was to slip in, and Najla was careful to make sure the door was closed fully after her. There was no one to witness her, none to see as she made the careful trek back towards the village, just hoping to reach the point where none would look at her and wonder what she was doing there. Perhaps the Sawarim had been hearing her prayers, for there were none that would see her as she moved from the more isolated region where Hadski lived, and towards the center of the village. Just as she thought she have gotten back without a sighting, Najla was met with a familiar figure walking towards her. Friendly, but just as she had not wished to see Hadski, seeing his companion Arngeir was nearly as bad.

“What are you still doing out here?”

“I’m looking for my brother. Wasn’t he supposed to be with you?”

He wasn’t, but the easy answer was quick to turn the tables back onto Arngeir, pulling the suspicion away from her. It wasn’t an inherently odd thing for someone to be walking around the village, but Najla rarely had reason to walk towards certain areas, or truthfully, leave the home at all. Still, Basim was always a convenient excuse. Now that he spent a great deal of his time with the hunters, and most of that with Arngeir, Najla had almost treated the man as a second caretaker, bonding with him through the shared experience of trying to rein her brother in.

“No, not today. Has he been gone long?”

“I don’t mean to worry you, I am quite sure he is well. I just needed him for something.”

“I hope you find him, I’ll let him know you’re looking for him if I see him.”

“Thank you. Good night, Arngeir.” Najla ended the conversation with a pleasant smile, finally returning to the longhouse. Still, she did not feel as if she were entirely free and clear yet. What Hadski did when he returned to his house remained to be seen.

-----------------------------------
She got her answer the next day, into the afternoon, after pulling Basim aside. Hadski had been acting nervous all day, he told her, both jumpy and angry, ready to snap at anyone that placed too much pressure on him. He had not spoken of any particular matter that was wrong, though Hadski did not talk much in general, so there was nothing strange about that. Regardless, his behavior had changed overnight. And that was all Najla had needed.
Najla walked through the longhouse without anyone paying her any mind, a sensation she had not quite grown used to. It was pleasant, in its own way, to be considered no different from the others that inhabited this village. She was no longer a princess to be held above them, and her exotic nature had since worn off, at least among those that had been here long enough. Newcomers to the village were always surprised or curious at first, but the perception that Najla was a concubine was quick to explain away her presence. Whether or not Ketill knew that the villagers saw her as such, she did not know, for Najla knew better than to ask. She had guessed that he did however, for even Najla would play into this notion.

That much had been evidenced by her actions now, as she walked towards Ketill. She seemed calm even as she rested a hand on his shoulder gently, a gesture that would seem strange only to her, Ketill and Basim, those that knew the true nature of their relationship. To the others, it would look like a natural gesture between two people that shared an intimacy uncoupled from affection, though the truth was that they held neither of those feelings for each other. Hoping that Ketill would not react in a way that would make this obvious, she leaned down, her voice a soft whisper in his ear that would be audible only to him.

“You should not eat much more. I think I have found your answer.”

With that, Najla straightened up, drawing her hand away from Ketill’s shoulder. She spoke a little louder now, knowing her next words would not be suspicious. No one would think it was strange for a concubine to speak to their chief like this, and Najla simply tucked her hair behind her ear as she spoke, as if she too could see nothing odd with this situation.

“I’ll be waiting for you.”

With that, Najla left Ketill to his meal, walking down towards the hall that led to their rooms. Perhaps Ketill would have expected her to await him in her own room, but Najla clearly held no intention of doing so. Rather, she would walk into his room, closing the door softly behind her as she moved to sit at the table. Perhaps he’d be angry, but Najla was doing so on purpose. She wanted to dictate the length of the conversation this time. While she knew from experience that he would shout his final words at her even if she tried to leave the conversation, Najla preferred hearing his voice from behind a closed door than having him stand face to face with her. This held true even now, when they were, technically, on the same side.

When Ketill entered the room, Najla was waiting for him, one hand on the table as she drummed her fingers against it. It was a scene that seemed reminiscent of their past, when Ketill would be brought to her room to hear her demands. But there was no hiding the truth now, nor would Najla bother to do so. Whatever memories of their past were brought by her choice to wait here, her next words made it quite clear she realized the reality of their present.

“I have found your answer. You were right, it is no action of the gods, nor is it a witch.”

Najla drew her hand off the table, leaning back in the chair now. Though her tone was confident in the conclusions she’d drawn, it was far different than from when Najla had simply told him her orders, and allowed him to follow along. Now, there was a reason to expose the pattern and thoughts behind it. He had to trust her, or else nothing would come from it. She could no longer force him to. He took her expertise in some matters because he wanted to, because he believed she could provide good information. And Najla gave him good information, because she trusted Ketill’s actions in that respect. It was the barest level of mutual respect two people could hold for one another, but between the two of them, it was the most that had ever been present. At least Najla assumed it was so, for she had not had any respect for her slave, but it was far different for the chief before her.

“I spoke to a few of the villagers who had seen these. . . creatures. Most had similar stories, like what you described to me. Standing over people, disappearing at will, all that which would have them believe that this ground is haunted. Then came Einar’s wife.” Najla let out a small smile, though there was little humor behind it. “I wouldn’t trust that man. He did not lie because he is malicious, but because he wanted to tell a story. He’s still loyal to you, but if he gives you any information in the future, think very carefully about how many people are listening to him.”

“All those who saw the creatures dined with you, in this house. I had begun to understand that pattern before Einar began to spin his tale, so I thought I had been wrong. But I knew his story was wrong. He said the creature opened the door itself, which is . . .” She clearly wanted to come out and say that it was wrong abruptly, for when she had chased ‘Jalil’ out the door, it had been her that had to open it. Rather than divulge that information, Najla hesitated for a mere moment, though when she continued, she had not lost her confidence in her words. “It’s just not what the others had said. A minute detail, one that doesn’t help his story sound more interesting in any way. And if it is entirely true that only those who eat in your house feel ill then it’s the food. It’s the food Ketill, something in the food is poisoning your people. But since your food comes from your people, I had some difficulty determining exactly where. Poison is hard to trace once used, one of its many blessings.”

It was a lot of unnecessary information, for Najla knew that if she told him what she had done, it would likely be enough to get him to act. To force him to act truthfully, so that whatever rumors of ‘volva’ may have existed would be wiped clear. She bit her lip thoughtfully as she considered her next words, finding a brief moment of silence before her eyes moved up to Ketill again. There was some hesitation in them, as one often held before a confession, but she had committed no sin.

“I will spare you the little I know of poisons, but trust that with that knowledge and the hand I have in preparation, I guessed it had to be the meat, or the ale. I went to Basim for some names, and with that information, I went to Hadski’s home.”

She spoke the words abruptly, her eyes leveling onto Ketill’s as she tried to determine how he’d feel about this. Still, there was something else in her gaze as well, something far more reminiscent of how Harith used to act. Basim and Jalil had always been careful, calculated, their actions motivated by entirely by what they did and didn’t know. For the middle siblings, their actions were motivated by their desires, their fears, even when informed by knowledge. Clearly, Najla was clever enough to solve the issue for Ketill, but had willingly opted to take that risk onto herself, rather than wait a few days to observe, or even come to Ketill. Would he guess that she had done so to force his hand, to make him act faster? Perhaps there would have been no need, for Ketill would likely not be willing to allow his people to be poisoned either. But that was a risk she had not been willing to take, clearly, and Najla clearly held no issue with her actions.

“I didn’t poison him, so your Gods have no need to forgive me. I merely fed him his own poison, when I was still unsure of what it was. But I am not unsure anymore. Basim said he’s been anxious and riled all day, even snapped at people a few times. He doesn’t know it was me, I left no trace. I’m certain of that. But he knows that somebody found his poison and fed it to him.” Najla shrugged then. “Perhaps he’ll stop for a while. Perhaps he’ll kill whoever he thinks did it. Regardless, you have your answer. It’s Hadski. I’d advise you to act quickly, though I know you don’t need me to tell you that.”

With that, Najla moved to stand, pushing her chair back. Even as she did however, her hand rested on the table, making it quite clear that she was going to linger for a moment longer. Her fingers drummed somewhat anxiously on the table, as she always did when she was preparing her words. Her next words would likely surprise Ketill, though Najla spoke them as if she had done so a hundred times before.

“You’re a good leader. I didn’t expect you to be. But you remind me a great deal of Uncle, even without the training he had. Your decisions appear impartial to your people and they have no doubt that your promises will hold true. But, you are still a warrior. You should not have dismissed Hadski as a threat just because you could fight him. Thamud could have cut me open in a heartbeat, but it was I who killed him, not you. The snakes in the grass are just as dangerous as the bears in the forest, and there will be far more of both in the future, if you continue to do as well as you are. I’ll leave you to deliberate on what I’ve told you. But If I had any control over you, I would ask you to confront Hadski before you eat the meat again.” With that, Najla smiled. “I’d be a fool to believe that I did, however. This is your decision to make. But I won’t eat any meat until you do.”

This felt far more like the way she used to talk to her Uncle, rather than Ketill. She would not be quite as informal with her Uncle, despite their family ties, but perhaps it was for the best. Ketill could not doubt that she would not lie to him. Her success was entirely tied to his, both of them knew this well. Her fingers grazed on the table as she walked around it, heading towards the door. Ketill could shout after her as he pleased, but Najla would only stop to offer him more information to make his decision. Rather, she was eager to say her prayers and go to bed, wondering if she’d feel better in the morning after having skipped dinner.

Naruto: The New World [High-Casual]

Squad 1
Nagi - Iwa
Aragami - Kumo
Soryu - Konoha
Yuhi - Kiri

Squad 1 was arranged with full allied representation in mind, yet the Desert of Sishio has their manpower focused on composing a research team for anything recovered by the away teams.
The best and brightest were chosen for this Squad to display that the allied forces can truly work in unity no matter the situation.

Squad 2
Volcarona - Iwa
Tapo - Konoha
Shizuka - Konoha
Arata - Kiri

Squad 2’s arrangement is favoured towards Konohagakure as a display of their continued perseverance and dedication to prove that they can be relied on just as much as they can rely on their allies in current and future collaborative efforts.

There is a sense of personal responsibility behind Konohagakure to ensure the tracking bugs left in the new continent by their Aburame operatives, locating the bugs for recovery is an essential objective for those of the leaf.

Squad 3
Homuru - Iwa
Boshu - Iwa
Miyu - Kiri
Kinzo - Kumo

Squad 3 is composed of ruthless members of the Empire's Tiger division in tandem with the skill of the Uragiri clan’s versatility and the affinity with nature that Kiri’s diamond in the rough, Miyu Tachibana, possesses to determine just what kind of world that of the new continent is and whether it is compatible with our own.

Squad 4
Shinji - Kiri
Sakana - Iwa
Kuro - Iwa
Koko - Kiri

Squad 4 is a symbol of the close working relationship between the Empire and the Isles, bringing forth members of any walk of life from each land to display how varied their people are.
A combined force of specialist techniques, natures and personalities to bring forward ideas and co-ordinated reactions not often seen in traditional shinobi teams.

the collection of stupid characters

Ser Dalar the Black

Ser Dalar the Black

Ser Dalar, loyal retainer of the Martell family

Age

---

29

Appearance

---

To avoid beating a dead horse - Dalar the Black is a man with Summer Isles heritage, whose mother moved to the Shadow Town. With this fact out of the way, a fact which always seems to draw the eye of passerby's and noblemen and women alike, we can move on to more pertinent features. Dalar is a very tall (6'3") man with a very broad, massive physique. He is not as close to the bulkiness of the famed Mountain himself, but he is certainly a strong looking man who looks like he can deal some serious damage.

Everything about his physique reinforces this, from the size of his hands (large and masculine) to his way of walking (with confident, large steps) to even how he rides a horse (favoring the Dornish sand steed).

Although ser Dalar is not a very rich individual, being raised from poverty, he expresses himself through typical Dornish clothing with a touch of Summer Isle color. This includes a colorful Summer Isle feathered cape, which was gifted to him by the Martell family for his continued and loyal service to their family. While this does not turn any heads in Dorne specifically, it is certainly out of the ordinary if not downright strange in the more northern parts of Westeros.

Like most Dornish, Dalar favors a spear, and carries one with him most of the time he's moving about. Beyond that, his numerous belts are strapped with two curved daggers, alongside a regular straight longsword, sheathed at his right side (for Dalar is lefthanded).

Reputation

---

• Mother arrived in Shadow Town as a prostitute, and gave birth to Dalar there - died shortly after child birth.
• From then on, Dalar lived as a gutter child, surviving on scraps and whatever strangers would give him as charity.
• During his seventh year he sees a Martell nobleman, namely the Prince-consort, Daemon, and his guards happen to be slacking off. Seeing an opening, Dalar moves in to pickpocket Daemon, to ease him of the burden of his purse.
• As he moves in, he bumps into a man, who also is on approach to Daemon, slipping between Daemon's guards. He falls over when Dalar bumps into him, the clang of a curved serpentine dagger falling onto the tiling following. Dalar falls on top of him, something that seems like a stroke of godlike luck later on.
• The guards slay the man immediately for this attempted assassination, and Daemon thinks Dalar responsible for saving his life.
• Dalar is taken to Sunspear and made squire to a knight.
• During his time as a squire, Dalar learns the basics of combat, squiring, and attempts to adapt to court-life with moderate success.
• The knight he squired for commends his success at age 15 and, at age 16, Dalar is knighted as Ser Dalar the Black, and presented with a feathered cape of his own, colorful as one would expect.
• Pending duties as a knight, he is assigned to be Deria Martell's guard and, as a relatively low effort job, Dalar begins spending more time in the courtyard practicing his skills with the spear, sword and his daggers.
• At 21, guilt takes control of Dalar and he confesses to Delia Martell that he did not 'safe Daemon's life' but rather accidentally tripped the assassin and ended up on top of him. She either takes it as a joke, ratted him out, or simply didn't care - which of these options, Dalar never figured out. But he remained as a knight.
• Gerold "Darkstar" Dayne rises as vulture king in Dorne, and Dalar plays a large part in the initial skirmishes. As a minor knight he plays no major role, though other knights commended his skill and bravery, incurring a small boost in his personal prestige.
• After the rise of the vulture king, and the inability of the Dornish armies to vanquish him, other more small criminals take this as a sign that it's safe to openly operate within Dorne, causing a smuggling ring to rise in Plankytown. The busting of this ring was performed, in part, by ser Dalar the Black.
• Following years of servitude, and with no remaining neccesity to guard Deria Martell, he is instead assigned to guard Rhaella Targaryen on her journey as well as for the duration of her stay in the Vale.

Relations

---

• Delia Martell - after a long time of service, Deria has become some sort of friend to Dalar, though it is less like a friendship and more like a mentorship.

Naruto: The New World [High-Casual]

@schadenfreude Alright, do you have a discord? If so, I can add you to the Naruto Discord group we have going atm for some banter, if you'd like.

Naruto: The New World [High-Casual]

@schadenfreude Let me put it this way: I can't give you an official approval but I am like 100% positive it'll be accepted. Just expect to be made light fun of by Savato lol.

Naruto: The New World [High-Casual]

@schadenfreude I'm impressed.

Naruto: The New World [High-Casual]

It might have something to do with a token. If you got it from a site where you need to login or something, it won't load for us (because we don't have an active login session).

The Political Thread

@mdk Good point