Eh, I'm not so sure about the civilization having just gone from hunter-gatherer lifestyles to settled ones. I think we should start off more like in the Bronze Age, with our cities just starting to sort of come to prominence. I mean, I'm not saying everything needs to be totally accurate, but the dawn of agriculture and the iron age were several thousands of years apart.
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I'd have to third the Bronze/Iron Age for the endpoint of the first "evolution". No particular opinion for the geography issue though; I'm cool with either. That map does look a tad large though, at least in my opinion.
Hmmm, this looks interesting. Count me in.
Whelp, the post's up! Yay! And nothing really happened because Ælfrige's brave, not suicidal.
Oh, and @Goldeagle1221 I went with the "doesn't know it yet" option when it came to his curse.
Oh, and @Goldeagle1221 I went with the "doesn't know it yet" option when it came to his curse.
Near Astraea
Ælfrige snarled as he saw the few nomads ride towards them, just as he received word that an equally small group was behind his men. It was not an advantageous situation for the Wealdmenn; he was not only outnumbered but the wide open terrain heavily favoured the nomads. Unfortunately it didn't seem as though there was any plan that wouldn't result in heavy casualties for them, with the possible exception of him ordering his men to pack up and head back to the Weald. But the thought of doing so never even crossed Ælfrige's mind; it would be a disgrace not just to him but to all those who had chosen to follow him to the Eye. They had traveled too far to simply give up now, so they could either die where they stood or try to make their way into the ruins not only to retrieve the Eye but also to mount a better defense against the nomads' onslaught that would inevitably come.
Then Ælfrige heard the sounds of battle, watching from a distance as the grogar vanguard slammed into the nomad's forces. Though he couldn't what they were, he could see their numbers. And he grinned. Perhaps he could use their assault to his advantage, as the nomad's didn't seem particularly keen in engaging his men just yet. If they happened to pull men from their western force to deal with the paleskin horde it would undoubtedly be easier for his men to force their way into the ruins. So he decided once more to wait, though he knew that his men were already restless. In truth he was restless as well, and hated sitting here while their goal was within view. It was so close, but it could scarcely be farther from their grasp. But it wouldn't be much use to go and get most of them killed in a reckless charge, glorious at it would be. But Ælfrige could not simply sit on his haunches all day, either. The nomads knew the Wealdmenn were there and an attack would come eventually. If they happened to charge his forces before dealing with the grogar to the south, then so be it. But he could still prepare.
"Scildweall!" he shouted to his men at the top of his lungs; a cry that was quickly carried on the wind by the numerous other Wealdmenn. Quickly the Wealdmenn made their way into formation, their shields up to protect themselves and the man to their left. The first few ranks were those like Ælfrige, warriors of the upper class with real armor and weapons, while behind them were the poorer warriors with their spears. And behind even them were the archers, ready to rain death down on those who approached. But still the Wealdmenn didn't advance, waiting for the word.
Ælfrige snarled as he saw the few nomads ride towards them, just as he received word that an equally small group was behind his men. It was not an advantageous situation for the Wealdmenn; he was not only outnumbered but the wide open terrain heavily favoured the nomads. Unfortunately it didn't seem as though there was any plan that wouldn't result in heavy casualties for them, with the possible exception of him ordering his men to pack up and head back to the Weald. But the thought of doing so never even crossed Ælfrige's mind; it would be a disgrace not just to him but to all those who had chosen to follow him to the Eye. They had traveled too far to simply give up now, so they could either die where they stood or try to make their way into the ruins not only to retrieve the Eye but also to mount a better defense against the nomads' onslaught that would inevitably come.
Then Ælfrige heard the sounds of battle, watching from a distance as the grogar vanguard slammed into the nomad's forces. Though he couldn't what they were, he could see their numbers. And he grinned. Perhaps he could use their assault to his advantage, as the nomad's didn't seem particularly keen in engaging his men just yet. If they happened to pull men from their western force to deal with the paleskin horde it would undoubtedly be easier for his men to force their way into the ruins. So he decided once more to wait, though he knew that his men were already restless. In truth he was restless as well, and hated sitting here while their goal was within view. It was so close, but it could scarcely be farther from their grasp. But it wouldn't be much use to go and get most of them killed in a reckless charge, glorious at it would be. But Ælfrige could not simply sit on his haunches all day, either. The nomads knew the Wealdmenn were there and an attack would come eventually. If they happened to charge his forces before dealing with the grogar to the south, then so be it. But he could still prepare.
"Scildweall!" he shouted to his men at the top of his lungs; a cry that was quickly carried on the wind by the numerous other Wealdmenn. Quickly the Wealdmenn made their way into formation, their shields up to protect themselves and the man to their left. The first few ranks were those like Ælfrige, warriors of the upper class with real armor and weapons, while behind them were the poorer warriors with their spears. And behind even them were the archers, ready to rain death down on those who approached. But still the Wealdmenn didn't advance, waiting for the word.
Yeah, I know. My post should be up by tonight at the latest.
There is no need to fear, I am working on a post as we speak. Do have a question though; my curse, will the character feel it and know he can't commit violent acts, or is he gonna be in for a surprise when he tries to kill someone?
Cyninggraf, The Weald
The Arch Priestess and High Priestess Mildburg sat side by side on the banks of small lake, not making a sound and simply meditating and taking in the sounds of nature. However the Arch Priestess could tell something was bothering Mildburg, despite her inability to see the younger woman's slight fidgeting. "What is the matter, Mildburg?" she asked, and before Mildburg could reply she added, "And do not say it is nothing; you have been at my side long enough for me to know when something is bothering you."
"I... I just worry for the warband who left after the Eye. I mean, Ethea is far from here and I, well, I have heard stories of it," Mildburg replied, "Do... Do you think they will succeed, Æbbe?"
"If the Gods will it," the elderly woman replied simply, "I would like to think so, but you know as well as I do that Eorþe is a fickle master. His whims are beyond the understanding of mortals."
"I, I know that..." Mildburg said, "But, um, but then why were they sent at all? Eorþe is not a kind master, and, well I mean, he does not care for us."
"Bah, Eorþe cares not for the Weald because he cares for the world. And the Holder of the Eye, his Champion, is the instrument of the World's Will," Æbbe said, "I thought you would understand that, Mildburg. Have I truly taught you no better?"
The High Priestess looked down into her lap, her shame obvious. "I, well, I mean, I, no..." she stammered out, before stopping to compose herself for a moment, "I just... I just worry for them. I mean, the Bannik told everyone of the Eye. It is so dangerous."
Æbbe sighed and put her shoulder on Mildburg's shoulder, "I am sorry, I should not have snapped. I sometimes forget you have such a gentle heart."
"I'm sorry..."
"Oh no, there is no reason to apologize. It is a good thing to care so much," Æbbe said, smiling, "But sometimes you must look at the larger picture. Do you understand?"
Mildburg hesitated for a moment before nodding her head, "Y-yes, Arch Priestess."
The older woman smiled again, and then both went back to their silent meditation. Though now Mildburg's thoughts were preoccupied with what to come that night.
------
The night had fallen on the Weald once again, and once again Mildburg found herself alone with Princess Hild in the Council room. Though this time she had thankfully not been suddenly awakened in the night, which was always welcome. They were dressed much as before, with Mildburg in the plain robe of a priestess and Princess Hild dressed in an expensive night gown. But now Hild had her arms crossed, and was deep in thought. A far cry from her usual bored demeanour.
"And you are certain?" she asked, "There is nothing you can do or say?"
Mildburg nodded her head, "Y-yes. Of course. And I mean, she has always been stubborn..."
"The bloody zealot," Hild said angrily.
"I'm sorry..." Mildburg said nearly instinctively.
"Stop that, the old bat's mind is her own business," Hild said, "But she is going to be a severe problem. Even more than I'd feared."
Mildburg nodded her head in agreement, though her expression showed that she was clearly upset, "She, she doesn't care about the Weald at all. I hoped I could've changed her mind..."
"She is a stubborn old crone and you are not exactly a great orator, Mildburg," Hild said before quickly adding, "And the next thing out of your mouth had better not be an apology."
Mildburg stared with her mouth open for a moment, as she had fully planned on apologizing, "Well, um, then what should we do Princess?"
"Well the woman is going to need to be dealt with one way or another," Hild said, and in reply to Mildburg's shocked gasp she added, "No, I am not saying we're going to kill her, just make her less of a problem. Less of a threat to me. And to the Weald and her people."
Although unhappy about the turn of events, Mildburg nodded her head in silent agreement. Then Hild rose from her seat and patted Mildburg head, "Well, I think we need to sleep on this. Maybe I'll have an idea in the morning." Then she left, leaving Mildburg alone with her thoughts.
------------
Ethea
Ælfrige Bearsson stood tall amidst his band of warriors. Numbering a few hundred in all they had been drawn from all over the Weald, fanatics and zealots of every stripe had been drawn by the call of Cyninggraf's Arch Priestess. Many of them were nobility, both high and low, though there many churls among their number as well. Ælfrige himself was dressed fully prepared for battle, as he had for much of the trip. It was a dangerous trip after all, especially once they had entered the domain of the nomads. Thankfully it seemed their numbers had scared off any smaller groups and they'd managed to avoid running afoul any of the larger of their barbaric warbands. Not that there hadn't been casualties, of course. Many good men had fought, bled, and died in the few raids the horsemen had dared to attempt on the Wealdmenn.
And Ælfrige cut an impressive figure. He was fully dressed in his long shirt of chainmail and wearing a helmet wrought in the shape of a mustached face, though blonde hair spilled out from underneath the helmet on all sides. Across his back was his great, round shield painted with a dark green tree on a black background and he had his longsword sheathed on his hip. Many of his warriors were dressed in a similar manner, though only the upper nobility wore the masked helmets and wielded swords. The others had to make due with axes and spears and bows, while the churls did not even have the chainmail or helmets at all, being dressed in boiled leather or even just numerous layers of cloth.
And from his vantage point, Ælfrige could see his target. It hadn't been hard to find, truthfully, which made it all the more dangerous. Not because of the veritable horde of barbaric horsemen but because if the Wealdmenn had found it so easily then so would anyone else attempted to find it. And there would, without a doubt, be many of them. Ælfrige had to be constantly vigilant against any would-be attackers and had men watching the perimeter for any signs of any who may have spotted the warband. Thankfully the throng of nomads among the ruins hadn't seemed to have noticed them, yet, for they were still a distance away and they were most likely preoccupied with the ruin itself. But Ælfrige knew that even with the blessings of the Gods that it would still be a difficult fight and that many of the men he had spent so long traveling with would end their lives here. He could even be among them, he knew, but he did not fear death. For all that happened was by the grace of the Gods and he lived to serve them. But that didn't mean he was a moron; unless his hand was forced, he would wait until the moment was right to strike out with the fury of the Gods.
The Arch Priestess and High Priestess Mildburg sat side by side on the banks of small lake, not making a sound and simply meditating and taking in the sounds of nature. However the Arch Priestess could tell something was bothering Mildburg, despite her inability to see the younger woman's slight fidgeting. "What is the matter, Mildburg?" she asked, and before Mildburg could reply she added, "And do not say it is nothing; you have been at my side long enough for me to know when something is bothering you."
"I... I just worry for the warband who left after the Eye. I mean, Ethea is far from here and I, well, I have heard stories of it," Mildburg replied, "Do... Do you think they will succeed, Æbbe?"
"If the Gods will it," the elderly woman replied simply, "I would like to think so, but you know as well as I do that Eorþe is a fickle master. His whims are beyond the understanding of mortals."
"I, I know that..." Mildburg said, "But, um, but then why were they sent at all? Eorþe is not a kind master, and, well I mean, he does not care for us."
"Bah, Eorþe cares not for the Weald because he cares for the world. And the Holder of the Eye, his Champion, is the instrument of the World's Will," Æbbe said, "I thought you would understand that, Mildburg. Have I truly taught you no better?"
The High Priestess looked down into her lap, her shame obvious. "I, well, I mean, I, no..." she stammered out, before stopping to compose herself for a moment, "I just... I just worry for them. I mean, the Bannik told everyone of the Eye. It is so dangerous."
Æbbe sighed and put her shoulder on Mildburg's shoulder, "I am sorry, I should not have snapped. I sometimes forget you have such a gentle heart."
"I'm sorry..."
"Oh no, there is no reason to apologize. It is a good thing to care so much," Æbbe said, smiling, "But sometimes you must look at the larger picture. Do you understand?"
Mildburg hesitated for a moment before nodding her head, "Y-yes, Arch Priestess."
The older woman smiled again, and then both went back to their silent meditation. Though now Mildburg's thoughts were preoccupied with what to come that night.
------
The night had fallen on the Weald once again, and once again Mildburg found herself alone with Princess Hild in the Council room. Though this time she had thankfully not been suddenly awakened in the night, which was always welcome. They were dressed much as before, with Mildburg in the plain robe of a priestess and Princess Hild dressed in an expensive night gown. But now Hild had her arms crossed, and was deep in thought. A far cry from her usual bored demeanour.
"And you are certain?" she asked, "There is nothing you can do or say?"
Mildburg nodded her head, "Y-yes. Of course. And I mean, she has always been stubborn..."
"The bloody zealot," Hild said angrily.
"I'm sorry..." Mildburg said nearly instinctively.
"Stop that, the old bat's mind is her own business," Hild said, "But she is going to be a severe problem. Even more than I'd feared."
Mildburg nodded her head in agreement, though her expression showed that she was clearly upset, "She, she doesn't care about the Weald at all. I hoped I could've changed her mind..."
"She is a stubborn old crone and you are not exactly a great orator, Mildburg," Hild said before quickly adding, "And the next thing out of your mouth had better not be an apology."
Mildburg stared with her mouth open for a moment, as she had fully planned on apologizing, "Well, um, then what should we do Princess?"
"Well the woman is going to need to be dealt with one way or another," Hild said, and in reply to Mildburg's shocked gasp she added, "No, I am not saying we're going to kill her, just make her less of a problem. Less of a threat to me. And to the Weald and her people."
Although unhappy about the turn of events, Mildburg nodded her head in silent agreement. Then Hild rose from her seat and patted Mildburg head, "Well, I think we need to sleep on this. Maybe I'll have an idea in the morning." Then she left, leaving Mildburg alone with her thoughts.
------------
Ethea
Ælfrige Bearsson stood tall amidst his band of warriors. Numbering a few hundred in all they had been drawn from all over the Weald, fanatics and zealots of every stripe had been drawn by the call of Cyninggraf's Arch Priestess. Many of them were nobility, both high and low, though there many churls among their number as well. Ælfrige himself was dressed fully prepared for battle, as he had for much of the trip. It was a dangerous trip after all, especially once they had entered the domain of the nomads. Thankfully it seemed their numbers had scared off any smaller groups and they'd managed to avoid running afoul any of the larger of their barbaric warbands. Not that there hadn't been casualties, of course. Many good men had fought, bled, and died in the few raids the horsemen had dared to attempt on the Wealdmenn.
And Ælfrige cut an impressive figure. He was fully dressed in his long shirt of chainmail and wearing a helmet wrought in the shape of a mustached face, though blonde hair spilled out from underneath the helmet on all sides. Across his back was his great, round shield painted with a dark green tree on a black background and he had his longsword sheathed on his hip. Many of his warriors were dressed in a similar manner, though only the upper nobility wore the masked helmets and wielded swords. The others had to make due with axes and spears and bows, while the churls did not even have the chainmail or helmets at all, being dressed in boiled leather or even just numerous layers of cloth.
And from his vantage point, Ælfrige could see his target. It hadn't been hard to find, truthfully, which made it all the more dangerous. Not because of the veritable horde of barbaric horsemen but because if the Wealdmenn had found it so easily then so would anyone else attempted to find it. And there would, without a doubt, be many of them. Ælfrige had to be constantly vigilant against any would-be attackers and had men watching the perimeter for any signs of any who may have spotted the warband. Thankfully the throng of nomads among the ruins hadn't seemed to have noticed them, yet, for they were still a distance away and they were most likely preoccupied with the ruin itself. But Ælfrige knew that even with the blessings of the Gods that it would still be a difficult fight and that many of the men he had spent so long traveling with would end their lives here. He could even be among them, he knew, but he did not fear death. For all that happened was by the grace of the Gods and he lived to serve them. But that didn't mean he was a moron; unless his hand was forced, he would wait until the moment was right to strike out with the fury of the Gods.
Ditto for me. :D
Cyninggraf, The Weald
The howling of the wind and the buzzing of insects were the only sounds to be heard within the great grove of Cyninggraf. Not even a whisper came from the lone figure sitting at the base of massive, ancient oak near the heart of the grove. The figure was small and elderly woman, her face covered with deep wrinkles and her long, stringy hair without a hint of colour. She was missing several teeth, and one of her eyes was clouded with blindness. She wore nothing put a simple robe of coarse, brown cloth that bared her arms to show off the faded tattoos on her pale and veiny skin. She sat there, silently staring up into the branches of the great oak for several long minutes only breaking the silence once to utter a whispered prayer to the Woldmodor.
However, eventually the silence was broken by another figure quickly making his way through the expansive grove. Though the woman's hearing had long ago started to fade she could easily hear the newcomer making his way quickly towards her, as he made no attempt to hide his approach. It wasn't long before the man came into view of her one good eye. He was a massive man, tall and barrel chested, with more bright blonde hair than a Bannik. In addition the man was bare-chested, baring to the world a massive scar in the shape of a tree. The woman smiled when she saw him, "I am glad you could make it Ælfrige."
The man, Ælfrige, let out a deep laugh, "As though I could refuse you, Arch Priestess."
"You could have if you desired."
"Any true servant of the Gods would answer your summons," Ælfrige said, shrugging, "But I assume it is about the Eye, is it not?"
Though the Bannik had only just revealed the Eye's location, word had spread like a wildfire throughout Cyninggraf. And it had likely spread in the other settlements with a Bannik presence as well, though it was too soon for word to have spread by traveler yet. And at the mention of the Eye, the Arch Priestess's expression became serious, "Yes. It is indeed about the Eye, and its retrieval."
"So why do we meet out here? In the middle of the night?" Ælfrige asked, "Surely something as momentous as this would warrant the attention of the Palebane's regent."
The Archpriestess practically spit at the mention of the regent, "Princess Hild has decided that the Eye is not worth the effort necessary to retrieve the Eye. And she assures me that the High King concurs." Her tone made it very clear she didn't believe the latter statement in the slightest.
"Eh, it does not matter Arch Priestess. She cannot stop you from calling for your own foray into the east," Ælfrige said putting his arm on the elderly woman's shoulder, "And the other Arch Priestesses will be doing the same. But there is a reason you called me here, and not another."
The Arch Priestess nodded her head, "Of course. The expedition must someone in charge; it must have a leader. Someone of unshakeable will and indomitable faith."
Ælfrige smiled and laughed once more, "You do me too much credit, Arch Priestess."
The elderly priestess put a hand to Ælfrige's chest, atop the tree carved into his chest, "Tell me this, Ælfrige, how many out there have carved the symbol of our Mother onto their bodies? And without taking any herbs to numb their bodies first?"
"I am certain I am not the only one."
"You are the only one I am aware of. And you are a priest as well as the son of an Eorl. I can think of none more worthy to be the Sword of Eorþe, worthy to retrieve his Eye."
"If you are certain, then I shall be honoured to lead the charge," Ælfrige said, "Is there anything else you require of me?"
"Just one more thing," the Arch Priestess said, "I am old and the hour is late and so I desire nothing more than to sleep, but the sooner word is out the better."
"Go and rest your bones Arch Priestess," Ælfrige said, "I shall send the word, and we shall claim the Eye for the Weald and her people."
------
Princess Hild glanced out the window of the Council room up at the moon glowing high up in the sky. She was sitting at the head of the long table of the High King's Council, though the Council was not meeting and she was alone aside from another woman. Princess Hild was dressed in an expensive white gown, her chin balanced on a fist as she lazily moved her eyes back to the other figure in the room. High Priestess Mildburg was dressed in a plain robe identical to the Arch Priestess out in the grove, but she was considerably younger.
"So, who do you think she will pick?" Hild asked, barely a hint of emotion in her voice.
"Um, excuse me Princess?" Mildburg asked, the confusion plain on her face.
Hild sighed and began twirling a lock of bright red hair with her fingers. After a long and, for Mildburg, uncomfortable moment Hild spoke again. "That old crone. She practically threw a fit when I told her I didn't care about the Eye," she said, "I know she isn't going to just sit and do nothing. She's going to get someone to gather a group to go after it."
"Um, well, I'm not certain to be honest," Mildburg began.
"I think it'll be that Bearson fellow. Ælfrige I think his name was," Hild said, "You know the man, right?"
"Well, I mean who doesn't?" Mildburg said, "His father's a powerful Eorl, and I mean, I don't know of anyone else that huge."
"I don't know of anyone else crazy enough to carve a tree into their chests," Hild said, "But that old woman seems to like idiotic displays like that."
"I, well, I guess Ælfrige would be a good choice," Mildburg said, "Was there anything you wanted me to do my Princess?"
Hild stopped twirling her hair and shrugged, "Nothing more than the usual, Mildburg. Keep an eye on the crone."
Mildburg once again looked visibly confused, "So, um, why did you call me for a meeting in the middle of the night."
"I couldn't sleep, and I felt like it," Hild shrugged, "But honestly, I want you to keep a closer eye on her than usual. I feel things are going to get hellishly complicated soon. And I want to make sure I'm fully in the know. Are we clear, Mildburg?"
Mildburg nodded furiously, "Of course, my Princess. I'll tell you anything I hear."
"Good, now get to bed."
Mildburg just nodded again and made her way out of the Council room. Hild, however, didn't follow her. She was perfectly honest when she said she couldn't sleep, and her little talk with Mildburg hadn't changed that. Perhaps it was worry that was keeping her up, as she was worried. Her father condition wasn't getting any better and with his age any day could be her last day as Regent and without proper planning she'd lose almost all her power in the Weald. And the Bannik revealing the location of the Eye was an unforeseen complication; she didn't trust the hairy men or the volcano they served. True, it was the voice of the Earth itself but the Earth cared nothing for the Weald or for her. Which made it even more imperative that little Mildburg keep an even closer eye on her Arch Priest; if the priesthood was going to cause Hild any trouble, she'd very much like to see it coming first.
The howling of the wind and the buzzing of insects were the only sounds to be heard within the great grove of Cyninggraf. Not even a whisper came from the lone figure sitting at the base of massive, ancient oak near the heart of the grove. The figure was small and elderly woman, her face covered with deep wrinkles and her long, stringy hair without a hint of colour. She was missing several teeth, and one of her eyes was clouded with blindness. She wore nothing put a simple robe of coarse, brown cloth that bared her arms to show off the faded tattoos on her pale and veiny skin. She sat there, silently staring up into the branches of the great oak for several long minutes only breaking the silence once to utter a whispered prayer to the Woldmodor.
However, eventually the silence was broken by another figure quickly making his way through the expansive grove. Though the woman's hearing had long ago started to fade she could easily hear the newcomer making his way quickly towards her, as he made no attempt to hide his approach. It wasn't long before the man came into view of her one good eye. He was a massive man, tall and barrel chested, with more bright blonde hair than a Bannik. In addition the man was bare-chested, baring to the world a massive scar in the shape of a tree. The woman smiled when she saw him, "I am glad you could make it Ælfrige."
The man, Ælfrige, let out a deep laugh, "As though I could refuse you, Arch Priestess."
"You could have if you desired."
"Any true servant of the Gods would answer your summons," Ælfrige said, shrugging, "But I assume it is about the Eye, is it not?"
Though the Bannik had only just revealed the Eye's location, word had spread like a wildfire throughout Cyninggraf. And it had likely spread in the other settlements with a Bannik presence as well, though it was too soon for word to have spread by traveler yet. And at the mention of the Eye, the Arch Priestess's expression became serious, "Yes. It is indeed about the Eye, and its retrieval."
"So why do we meet out here? In the middle of the night?" Ælfrige asked, "Surely something as momentous as this would warrant the attention of the Palebane's regent."
The Archpriestess practically spit at the mention of the regent, "Princess Hild has decided that the Eye is not worth the effort necessary to retrieve the Eye. And she assures me that the High King concurs." Her tone made it very clear she didn't believe the latter statement in the slightest.
"Eh, it does not matter Arch Priestess. She cannot stop you from calling for your own foray into the east," Ælfrige said putting his arm on the elderly woman's shoulder, "And the other Arch Priestesses will be doing the same. But there is a reason you called me here, and not another."
The Arch Priestess nodded her head, "Of course. The expedition must someone in charge; it must have a leader. Someone of unshakeable will and indomitable faith."
Ælfrige smiled and laughed once more, "You do me too much credit, Arch Priestess."
The elderly priestess put a hand to Ælfrige's chest, atop the tree carved into his chest, "Tell me this, Ælfrige, how many out there have carved the symbol of our Mother onto their bodies? And without taking any herbs to numb their bodies first?"
"I am certain I am not the only one."
"You are the only one I am aware of. And you are a priest as well as the son of an Eorl. I can think of none more worthy to be the Sword of Eorþe, worthy to retrieve his Eye."
"If you are certain, then I shall be honoured to lead the charge," Ælfrige said, "Is there anything else you require of me?"
"Just one more thing," the Arch Priestess said, "I am old and the hour is late and so I desire nothing more than to sleep, but the sooner word is out the better."
"Go and rest your bones Arch Priestess," Ælfrige said, "I shall send the word, and we shall claim the Eye for the Weald and her people."
------
Princess Hild glanced out the window of the Council room up at the moon glowing high up in the sky. She was sitting at the head of the long table of the High King's Council, though the Council was not meeting and she was alone aside from another woman. Princess Hild was dressed in an expensive white gown, her chin balanced on a fist as she lazily moved her eyes back to the other figure in the room. High Priestess Mildburg was dressed in a plain robe identical to the Arch Priestess out in the grove, but she was considerably younger.
"So, who do you think she will pick?" Hild asked, barely a hint of emotion in her voice.
"Um, excuse me Princess?" Mildburg asked, the confusion plain on her face.
Hild sighed and began twirling a lock of bright red hair with her fingers. After a long and, for Mildburg, uncomfortable moment Hild spoke again. "That old crone. She practically threw a fit when I told her I didn't care about the Eye," she said, "I know she isn't going to just sit and do nothing. She's going to get someone to gather a group to go after it."
"Um, well, I'm not certain to be honest," Mildburg began.
"I think it'll be that Bearson fellow. Ælfrige I think his name was," Hild said, "You know the man, right?"
"Well, I mean who doesn't?" Mildburg said, "His father's a powerful Eorl, and I mean, I don't know of anyone else that huge."
"I don't know of anyone else crazy enough to carve a tree into their chests," Hild said, "But that old woman seems to like idiotic displays like that."
"I, well, I guess Ælfrige would be a good choice," Mildburg said, "Was there anything you wanted me to do my Princess?"
Hild stopped twirling her hair and shrugged, "Nothing more than the usual, Mildburg. Keep an eye on the crone."
Mildburg once again looked visibly confused, "So, um, why did you call me for a meeting in the middle of the night."
"I couldn't sleep, and I felt like it," Hild shrugged, "But honestly, I want you to keep a closer eye on her than usual. I feel things are going to get hellishly complicated soon. And I want to make sure I'm fully in the know. Are we clear, Mildburg?"
Mildburg nodded furiously, "Of course, my Princess. I'll tell you anything I hear."
"Good, now get to bed."
Mildburg just nodded again and made her way out of the Council room. Hild, however, didn't follow her. She was perfectly honest when she said she couldn't sleep, and her little talk with Mildburg hadn't changed that. Perhaps it was worry that was keeping her up, as she was worried. Her father condition wasn't getting any better and with his age any day could be her last day as Regent and without proper planning she'd lose almost all her power in the Weald. And the Bannik revealing the location of the Eye was an unforeseen complication; she didn't trust the hairy men or the volcano they served. True, it was the voice of the Earth itself but the Earth cared nothing for the Weald or for her. Which made it even more imperative that little Mildburg keep an even closer eye on her Arch Priest; if the priesthood was going to cause Hild any trouble, she'd very much like to see it coming first.
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