Thater That Was

A few days after Alexis mentions the refugees in Thater and Barrick of Gahnil, Rask speaks up over the evening meal.

“Thater was my childhood. It is gone. The Worn Stone Tavern is burned down, there is no place for the songs of Kark Bergthison to ring out and capture the heart and mind.  No tap of the barrel for Heward Jordand to pull from to give to his thirsty customers. The Cobalt Forge is cold and empty.”

“Even if somehow things have changed, because of our journey and the Tear, and Thater is not destroyed, that is not my path. If it is safe to look in on the refugees in the crystal ball, that would be nice, but I am too far gone from Thater, too many battles,”

He pauses.

“Too many strange travels. Thater is not my home. The path forward is clear. I too am no Barrick of Gahnil, it is not my task to gather the refugees of Thater and comfort them. Nor is rebuilding Thater my path. My work is far more grim. I am resolute. Raiden will guide us. You are my brothers. Whatever comes, I will not waver. “

Rask is determined, focused, perhaps a bit more hopeful than he has been since meeting the Crimson Calling. He is sharing where he stands. Not convincing himself, nor trying to convince anyone else. Stating facts.

“Praise Raiden. We will stop these enemies of humanity together. Sasherak, Bandesing, whoever it may be.”

Rask takes a bite the remainder of his food, and looks to his companions to see if they have any questions or comments.

Where is Our Barrick (of Ty-Linn?)

A few nights into the camp east of Nodden-Torr. Alexis waits until the group is gathered between their individual tasks.

“I’m feeling more confident that the Barrick who went into that mountain is Barrick of Ghanil.”

“Same name, and not a common one. And there are a lot of big events surrounding this Barrick. The ones we know about: the Ty-Lin garden, the Ty-Lin warding of King Ilceros’ tomb, the orcish runes covering his body, retrieving a Tear of Avv. And the big event we’re not sure about: him giving comfort and solace to a village of refugees.”

A silver piece starts over his knuckles.

“And Rotheldod said that Barrick was the least ‘betrayer’ of the group, which fits someone who would tend to a village of refugees… when looked at through a Rotheldod lens.”

“When we were arguing over the Thater refugees I told Telosh I was no Barrick of Ghanil, not realizing I might actually someday follow in his footsteps.”

The coin stops. Alexis twirls it in his palm.

“Barrick and his group got their Tear, which they can’t have gotten in this when. But I assume the refugees in Gahnil were still tended by Barrick. So where is he in our when?”

Warrior in a Garden

Rask tends to the horses and helps set up camp in the calm grove, free from the unnaturally cold mist. The cherry tree in bloom, soft grass and moss underneath it is inviting. Rask finishes unsaddling and brushing down the horses and begins to set up his own camp. It is safe here, calm, the owl, the white wolf, the hawk, all at ease.

Rask takes off his pack and sword belt and a sits on the grass beneath the cherry tree, amid the blossoms on the ground. He focuses on his breath at first, pausing between exhale and inhale. He turns his mind to Raiden, the protector. There is a connection between Raiden and the land. He can feel it. His own tattoos, Runes of Raiden, described to him by Mage Eye as the Raw Power of Aegir. It is strong in Gustav, and part of Ca’armine’s connection too.

The feeling of gentle southern breeze brushes over Rask, the thought of an early fall day, warm and sunny, ‘Raiden’s Summer!’ Rask insisting to Brude and Yon, who called it ‘Zephrus’ Goodbye.’ Thater, so clam and peaceful in the afternoon light.

Children singing songs about Raiden… farm animals, gentle and kind… farm and village dogs, sweet and protective…

The clarity and mercy of every strike in his recent battle, the Gift of Raiden’s Mercy flowing through him…

Rask’s eyes are open, focused gently at nothing, a middle distance, his mind at peace, his vision taking in the garden in general and in detail. A cherry blossom floats to the ground, wafting through his field of vision. The thought of a lesson, from his mother perhaps, perhaps a chaplain… the sleeping goddess… cherry trees, the white hawk… kindly defense, the sword unstained… Tai-Lynne…

Alexis approaches the white wolf, it growls at him, and moves away as Alexis slowly continues his approach. Alexis backs off.

Rasks stands slowly and deliberately. He unpacks his bedroll and removes his armor, taking great care in each movement. When his camp his set, he returns to meditating under the cherry tree, his back and chest bare, the top two thirds of the Iron Tree runic tattoo visible.

Rask’s eyes are open, focused gentle at nothing, a middle distance, his mind at peace, his vision taking in the garden in general and in detail. A cherry blossom floats to the ground, wafting through his field of vision.

Gustav’s Crow and the owl greet each other and begin to play some sort of game of tag or follow the leader.

Rask breathing settles into an easy rhythm, his mind wanders through peaceful memories, visualizing defensive and non-lethal combat forms, children playing a fighting, a peaceful wind wafting through white tree blossoms, a hawk soaring in white clouds, cherry trees in full bloom with petals perfect beyond belief, gentle bees buzzing in the boughs, tree branches bent under the load of pale flowers, the breeze as ceaseless as the peaks of the mountains are lofty, Brude and Myrsky young and laughing in the sunshine, families working the land on warm spring days, preparing the soil, sowing the seeds, tending to calves and foals, gathering wax and honey from the hives, playing with puppies… peace like Rask has not known in a very long time.

A harsh black rage interrupts Rask’s calm with a silent howl. Rask is jarred to a specific awareness. Alexis and Ethelred are talking. Something about cooking and gardening. The rage is quiet.

Rask sighs, and returns to measured, controlled breathing, pausing between each inhale and each exhale. His mind quickly returns to its peace, families harvesting in the warm fall, breezes wafting gently, non-lethal combat forms, playing with dogs, milking gentle mama goats…

Again! Another harsh black rage and a silent howl. Ethelred is looking at some of the plants in the grove, they are withered and dead. Alexis removes a necklace and tries to clean up the withered plants.

Another wave of rage. As Alexis attempts to clean, black waves of wrath flow over Rask. The white wolf whines.

Alexis stops and begins to make camp at the edge of the garden. The wolf whines. Rask asks Gus if he can calm the wolf, and the group sets watches for the night.

Before laying down to sleep, Rask sits once more beneath the cherry tree and returns again to measured, controlled breathing. His mind returns to its peace, families sharing a meal in a warm house in the winter, a cold morning, warm breath wafting gently away from young boys excited to explore the freshly fallen snow, a white panther fearlessly leaping from ice cover rock to ice covered rock with joyful focus, defensive combat forms, playing with dogs, tending to the farm animals in their stalls, making candles in a warm work-room… Kark Bergthison’s songs of Raiden, the protector of humanity, sung at the hearth in the Worn Stone Tavern…

Rask’s breathing settles into a natural rhythm. His mind wanders to children playing at fighting… Yon and Sten… to defensive combat forms… to non-lethal combat forms… Raiden… the Protector.

“Praise Raiden” Rask intones and moves to take his rest in the Garden of TyLin, his first truly peaceful rest in far, far too long.

In With The New

A day or two down the road to the Greyfax estate, as the Crimson Calling has just finished setting up camp and is starting their evening chores, a lone man approaches leading a horse.

The man is wearing a heavy winter cloak, and a simple undyed tabard. Under the cloak and tabard, the observant make out dark-red, almost black chain mail and the hilt of odd shaped, dark-handled sword. It reminds those that remember of the blade Ethelred called “Bushwacker,” but longer.

The man raises his arms confidently in the universal gesture of peace,

“Hail, I am Rask Felmar, of Thater that Was. You must be the Crimson Calling.” He calls out confidently.

A Hard Change Going in to Fall

It had taken over a month to reach Thater. Careful talk, careful movement. Rask wasn’t sure what to do after The Incident, and after a few days of aimless wandering, Thater seemed like the right place to go.

Thater was gone. Rask had barely been able to cobble together a lean to with his tarp and the poles he was able to salvage from the old stable. Practice kept him warm more than the fire. Rask tried to remember what had happened to Yon and Brude, Sten and Myrsky. There had been goblins and orcs with deep red scars on their faces. Three red stripes. Then so many goblins. Thater survived that onslaught, but not this one.

Two nights ago, or was it three? No, it had been a week or maybe fortnight since the road wardens had told Rask that Thater had been overrun, destroyed roughly a year ago, a full turn of the seasons and then some. Rask vaguely recalled the rumors, savage creatures from the Horde. According to the road wardens, there were some refugees from Thater at the Copper Hills Fort, others had been with the army closer to Middlebar, and some of the survivors had been taken by slavers, the Dark Hand.

Rask had wandered through the ruins of Thater, of his childhood home. Joining the Raidensblud, Aedelfrid’s Army, Aegir’s Army, Raiden’s Army, had seemed like the right thing to do after the goblin attack. The best way to protect Thater, his mother, Papa Fellmar, and the other from the savage beasts of the Horde. Myrsky had his… forest connections, and Rask had his connections in the army. It may have technically have been re-joining, but the commitment was more… real. More solid. It wasn’t about his father, it was about his family. His homeland. Thater had been attacked, and there would be payment in kind for the transgression.

Rask practiced his forms in the old militia gathering space. In the yard where he and Sten used to practice together. Ursill, the First Eye, had given Rask the Blade of the Betrayers, an honor and priceless gift from the Greatest Warrior of Aegir, and leader of Aedelfrid’s most powerful army. Rask had become one of Aegir’s finest weapons. One hundred enemies of Aegir had fallen to his blade. How many hundreds more had fallen since? Thousands?

When Ursill bestowed the ancient elven blade upon on Rask, the First Eye had Intoned that Rask, the soldier, the death commando, could wield the terrible relic against the enemies of humankind who had forged it. Enemies fell to the blade, that was certain, hundreds more, perhaps even thousands. But no elves.

The Fire set Rask free. It had been easy to take orders, easier than thinking about who’s brother, who’s son, who’s lover was on the other end of his sword, dying. It had been easy to to enjoy the challenge of the fight, the thrill of winning. Accepting the accolades was easier than thinking about the humanity of his victims.

Rask couldn’t really remember what happened. He didn’t want to. There had been flames, but nothing actually burned. There was fighting. He had taken a blow to the head, and some minor cuts. In the end, the officers, his handlers, in their small encampment were all dead and Rask was done fighting for Aedelfrid. Done killing because someone ordered him to. Everything had changed, it was not longer easy not to think about It.

It had taken over a month to reach Thater. Careful talk, careful movement. Rask wasn’t sure what to do after The Incident, and after a few days of aimless wandering, Thater seemed like the right place to go. Thater was gone. Its people taken by the Dark Hand.

Adventures Belong Close to the Adventure

The group is hanging out in their tent in the Copper Hills Fort. Ethelred is working on his model ballistae. As the test fails and the model collapses, Alexis exclaims “that’s it.” He gives a quick visual scan of his companions and continues, signaling everyone to come in close; a conspiratorial whisper.

“We don’t belong here. Yeah, we need to find..” Alexis looks at the various walls of tent and then finishes “…it. But we should be out there.” He gestures to the forests to the north and east.

“I didn’t realize what was wrong until I was looking at how uncomfortable Gus was while we’ve been in the tent. The longer we’re here the worst he looks. And then it hit me. We don’t need to be here right now. We should be out there. And then everything clicked:
We set up a base on the goblin/warg hill.
We offer the refugees from Thater a place with us in the woods.
We conduct our experiments and scouting from there.
We check in with the fort regularly.”

“One, or two, of you will have questions, so let’s hear ’em” Alexis looks between his three companions huddled close.