Tagaern - After the madness of witches, their ghoulish servants, and blinding crows, it was good to return to the semblance of normality once more. We had been invited by the Princess Renatta Van’gnost to be seen in her court. If not for the horrid, wet weather, it would have only been a momentous occasion. Of course, after admiring the finest architecture, the wait within the large antechamber made me feel less than enthusiastic. I turned to Hakaar and the others. “You know, there is a certain symmetry between formal ceremonies of recognition and punishment…”
When we were all made to disarm, all the more uneasy I felt. Not that I expected anything but thanks and congratulations for our deeds, but I hardly knew this Princess and Dowry. Certainly Hakaar had made me feel it was not a trustworthy place, but one that was full of suspicion and rumor. We walked the long palace hall to the throne room and I thought of the long tunnels chasing the orcs not but several days ago. A caster along with guards met us and surprised all of us by directly calling upon Bromm to disarm himself. In the awkward exchange, the distrust he felt showed me I wasn’t alone as he wasn’t willing to part from his prized weapon or in reality wasn’t that confident about how safe we would be either.
The princess and assembly within, however, did only express their gratitude. Each of us was introduced, even myself, in commending tone and title. How long it had been that I had heard myself introduced as Captain of the Red Shields…it surprised me so that I recalled myself in Materune so long ago on the sandstone steps with my men being called formally promoted to my position. Then the assembly’s true want became clear. Because of our courage and capability, they hoped we could have the strength and loyalty to clear a Hlofolk tunnel out of dangers so it could be used again for trade during the frozen months. If we demonstrated such courage and ability in her highness’ name then we would each receive 1,000 acres of the newly opened lands to the southwest and 10,000 gold as well, with an advance of 1,000 gold to be given today regardless our choice to accept for our role in resealing the breach past the Ether Tree. Indeed a seemingly gracious offer, one worthy of spreading victory in the name of Qinnah. But 1,000 acres hardly interested me. I cared not to be a land lord or be involved in petty ground squabbles. Hakaar quietly suggested to me though that perhaps if a smaller amount of land, perhaps the title I could request would be of Lyon, thereby making it a protectorship of sorts once it became more than 100 people. And this, I reasoned, I could pass down to Amalia somehow if I should die and had no heir. This seemed a good idea and I agreed.
After some further haggling over terms, notably that if a member should not make it back alive that at least half of their share would be passed on to who Richter Holding’s would designate, we were sent off to take a week to prepare. After that, we were expected to perform our clearing in one week. I hoped my companions, especially our ranger Floki, would gather the challenges ahead we faced. For my part with Hakaar, we needed to make all due haste for training. Hakaar said he knew a place we could go: Glaf-Raa, across the bay. There, a tribe of strong barbarians, followers of Qinnah, lived in huts near the coast. We attempted to gain passage with Bedrick but he clearly preferred a warm hearth and drink to traveling across a bay he had never been across, and in such weather. It became clearer why he refused once we were on the whitecapped waters by a contracted boat instead. Both Hakaar and my insides were turned out by the rough waters for a terrible half day journey. Close to nightfall, we arrived at the coast and were greeted by the War Sons of Glaf-Raa.
In order to be accepted for training, we needed to be deemed worthy to be War Sons. Olyn, the lead guard who initially met us at one of the pointed docks, saw to it that we recovered. Between the albino warrior, Aegliffe Olm, who Hakaar met, and our intent to learn their ways, they treated us very kindly. We were given a warm hut and a sour tasting mash by young maiden trainees to restore our vitality. Here, we learned they worshipped, in very primal form, Qinnah. How fascinating to me, having been a scholar of my Goddess since I was a youth, to see the similarities and the differences. The War Sons actually had their own order of Shield Maidens and a Queen, I learned. I could tell they were more than lithe and muscled warriors — they strove to be exemplifications of the Shield Maidens themselves. Their Queen, Mbira, the greatest of them. All of them clearly showed in scars too that their skills were brutally put to the test. The watch towers around the settlement principally faced inland, toward the grasslands and hills, suggesting enemies. Be they monsters or other tribes, it was unclear.
The rite of entry to become a War Son was explained to Hakaar and myself…it was a challenge in which we would be blessed in ceremony by the tribe and be sent out to kill something called an Averik. Something their younglings did in order to show they had come of age to be warriors. I harkened back to Gefora and the barbarian tribes my father and later myself came to know. Their ways were of the land and some so savage. In our case, we introduced Qinnah to them as part of showing them our ways, and later banded together with them to battle the forces of the Mad King. Today, here we were, being shown their way of Qinnah and how they lived. I did not worry whether we would survive this trial; I endeavored to learn all that I could of them, to ingest it within myself and gain a better understanding of all of Qinnah’s facets as well as more of myself. Perhaps here was part of the process of my being reborn.
They had us strip down to nothing at all and the shield maidens in training doused both of us in ash. A great bonfire was started within the settlement’s center and a shamaness, I believe, completely covered from head to toe in fur and antlers, danced forth as the warriors watched and the drums were struck in rhythm. We were ushered forward, where a large leather skin was stretched above the bonfire. Climbing upon it and then sitting, the warriors and shield maidens started to chant in rhythm to the drums…I could recognize maybe a portion or two…almost familiar sounding to me…through the smoky haze I gazed and meditated.
The covered shamaness brought out a thin arm and threw out powder into the fire and a great plume of smoke engulfed us. Dragonfire. My focus became lost, going outward beyond the warriors and the queen, beyond the settlement, it seemed. I became one with the moment. We were told to bring back an Averik head and burn its body. They could be found by the burning fires beyond, mourning their dead. The skulls nailed to the posts at the outside of the circle now became clear.
We went forth to hunt. So primal. Like the First Men. Just a stone dagger in our hands. What little we said quietly as we left, I barely recall. I know that we decided it appropriate to each bring back one head. Not less, for each of us had to prove ourselves as men. Not more, for that would seem like displaying arrogance, I felt. Walking naked, ash-covered, into the tall grasses proved a little challenging, let alone striving to sneak up on something somewhere in the brush. After some time, we found signs of our prey, a rabbit torn and eaten, with signs of a trail heading toward one of the burning pyres. Another, just off 30 some feet to the side of the first, was another. Still smelling the dragonfire in my nostrils, the chant in my mind in place of the songs of Qinnah I would hear in battle, I crept forward to the beast. His gnarled, sharp teeth and lidless black upon black eyes turned to face me with a snarl. As we struggled, it clawing for me and trying to bite, and I cutting around its natural armor, it shrieked out a terrible high pitched sound that carried across the grassland. More of its companions would come, and all too soon. We each downed our Azarik, cutting off their heads but more were upon us. Another and then another. We slayed them but more were still coming. Bodies cast to the blaze, I turned, bloodied to Hakaar, who likewise had felt the claw and sharp teeth in combat and hissed, “We go now!” Hakaar nodded, looking at me through the haze of his rage, holding his Azarik’s head by its long twined hair in his off hand. We ran through the grass to outpace them, feeling more like wild animals than man and half orc, and I, for one, felt more alive than I had in memory.
Upon our return there was an uproar of excitement and celebration. I stood there, panting, feeling my burning wounds and my blood pumping through my veins as the shamaness blessed our return and took the heads from us both. I gazed through the smoke of the fire at the Shield Maiden Queen as she looked in acknowledgement and approval at us. We were now War Sons, brothers among the tribe. That night we feasted and the following day we trained.
