I'm not sure he's necessarily benevolent in an anti-slavery sort of way. Since this is a norse mythology quest I'm guessing this guy is a trickster Loki-esque archetype or something. Maybe because a rogue template was chose in character creation this is the person who showed up as a result. Someone with no boundaries of who he tricks. But of course it's very likely I'm reading too much into it. He could also be utterly mundane.
[X] Work lightly. Try to learn the local language from the other servants.
ᚠᚨᛚᛁᚾᚾ ᚲᛃᚨᛚᛚᚨᚱᛁᚾᚾ
Chapter 3
Being confined to the kitchens and cellars rankled, the little freedom of roaming the clanhold having made the drudgery of work more bearable, yet the worst was how the others began to treat you. Attempting to work closer with Nechtan was seen by many as you trying to worm yourself into his good graces and they were not shy of showing their disapproval. Suddenly you always got the nastiest work, like scrubbing down a cupboard in which a load of forgotten food had been allowed to fester for months, or making sure you always were the last one to the bath tub, ensuring that the water was almost freezing already.
Your tried to take it in stride, even when your bedding began too reek due to the others 'forgetting' to replace it repeatedly and your clothes coming back from the washers with more stains then before, though it was hard. It was not as if you had even spoken all that much with the other slaves before, but being actively shunned by them was worse than the self-chosen distance. Worst of all that Nechtan barely spoke to you, no matter how much you tried, and he certainly was not responding to your requests to learn the Northmens language.
It was almost too much. Almost you gave up, but then the head cook did something unexpected, taking you aside in the middle of the day and leading you through the hold in silence. In an empty courtyard he finally stopped, and his forbidding posture made it clear enough that he would not answer any question. So, you waited, rubbing your arms for warmth and watching the few snowflakes drifting down from the sky. Fall was almost over, and you were told that the winter would soon come. You did not truly know how much worse it could get and the frost was already bad enough for your taste.
After a while, another door to the courtyard opened, admitting three warriors, followed by three slaves, two men and a woman. The last in the procession was Gunthar, the Seneschal carrying a small wooden case with him. Two of the slaves were herded to stand next to each other by the guards and began to strip off their clothes, while the other stood to the side before Gunthar.
As the Senschal began to speak, Nechtan began to translate his words for you. "Otto, slave of the great clan af Dagr. You know what crime you have been accused off?"
"Yes," the slave answered in a defeated tone, while Nechtan translated their words with a flat voice. "I have stolen from the generous masters, who have clothed and fed me, who gave me work and welcomed me in their home."
It struck you how stilted the words were, how they sounded like a ritual or prayer, not like the words of a slave. "You have brought shame on yourself and your fellow servants, Otto. You have brought pain to your masters. Therefore, you will now purge that shame and see the pain you caused." With that, Gunthar opened the small case in his hands, giving the slave a long and thin strip of leaver, iron barbs clinking as they were taken from the case. "It will be ten each."
It was obvious what would come next. You had seen more then one slave whipped, but this was the first time you saw slaves whip each other. "What have they done?" The words you spoke idly, your eyes still glued to Otto who took position behind one of the others. The whip came down with a loud crack, followed by a muffled groan. What struck you the most that he did not try to run. No guard was holding him, no shackles binding him. He just stood there, bracing for the second strike.
"That man, Otto, stole some jewellery from the Lady af Dagr and tried to flee the hold. He wanted to pay a Skrifarðr to take off his bracelet, then hire on a ship." At your glance, he shook his head. "I do not know what the others did. Maybe they helped him. Maybe they had the same work as him. Maybe their cots were next to each other. It does not matter. They are here because they are slaves."
The first ten strikes had been met out by then, the slave sinking on his knees on the blood-stained cobbles, while Otto stepped over to the woman. He struck her too, but it was not as loud as the first time. Gunthar noticed too and Nechtan kindly translated again. "That strike does not count. You are being soft on her." The next strike was harder, sending her sprawling onto the ground, but immediately she stood back up.
It went like this for another few strikes before she could not get back up. You were sick and wanted nothing more then to walk over and help the woman, but you knew it was futile. You would just join her bleeding on the ground. In the end, Gunthar added the last few strikes to be administered while she lay there, adding two more when she raised her arm to defend herself.
Afterwards he left, nobody speaking another word, with him, the other whipped slave and two of the guards. Otto was left to stand in courtyard, the warrior watching over him, and the woman quietly whimpered on the ground.
After a long while, Nechtan spoke again. "Do you understand why I brought you here?"
"To know my place," you spat at him, hands balled to fists.
He shook his head in return, surprising you. "Not in the way you think. What you need to learn is that we are a group. We may not have chosen it, but it is true all the same. If one of use does something wrong, they will punish everyone. They make us hurt each other, so that we learn to hate each other."
While he spoke, you watched as the woman slowly rose to her knees, and shakily began putting on her clothes again. "They made him whip those two so that they fear others breaking the rules. And to make sure he hates them in turn, he now must stand in this courtyard until both of them are done with their parts."
"They most apologize to the Lady in his name and then come back here to 'forgive' him for whipping them." Somehow, she had draped her dress over the bleeding ruin that was her back and now, while hunched over and gasping for air, she slowly ambled to a door. "He will likely lose a few toes to the frost before she can even walk back out here, even if she wanted to do it right now."
"So you made the others bully me to get a taste of that." You could not keep the edge out of your voice, even though you tried to not anger the cook any further. That could have been you, had you made a single wrong step while gallivanting through the hold.
"No. I just did not stop them when they started on their own. You have met Nóri, right?" With one hand he was showing he height. "About this tall. Blond boy. Likes to annoy people around him. He is one of the sons of the Lord af Dagr."
All the anger and disgust left your body, instead a cold dread suffusing it. You knew exactly whom he meant. And your reaction must have been obvious, because Nechtan did not wait for a reply. "He was asking around about the new slave girl among the housekeepers. Gunthar was a bit confused by that, since he had not bought any new slaves for that group. I had to assure him that you were behaving yourself and that I would take care of it if you were doing anything that he might consider a problem."
For a while you kept staring straight ahead. At the freezing Otto. At the two spots of blood-stained snow before him. "I see," you said and in return, the cook just nodded and left.
From then on, things became more bearable again. It was hard to say if Nechtan had spoken with the others in the kitchens or if he had some unseen way to convey that you were back in his good graces, but the other slaves stopped their harassment for the most part. You still got a good number of unpleasant tasks and were kept close to the kitchens, but everything else was mostly back to the way it was before you ran into Nóri. You were still uneasy when thinking about him though, since the head cook did not know why exactly the young man had asked about you.
In the end, nothing came of it and you shelved that concern for another time after a few days, instead focusing on the lessons in the language of the Northmen. With your standing somewhat restored, Nechtan was happy to teach you and a few of the others did too whenever you worked together with them. It was not much that you learned, mostly basic things such as yes, no and how to apologize, rounded out by a host of kitchen and food related terms. Not enough to hold a proper conversation, though it was a start and your fear of being accosted with an order while outside the kitchen lessened quite a bit.
There were other concerns though. You always had wondered why there were so many guards and other armed people in the hold, chalking it up to a Northmen thing after a while, but still keenly aware of it. But when winter began in earnest, coating the roofs and courtyards of the hold with knee deep snow, their number seemed to become even greater. The raiding seasons had been over, you were told, so the last ships where making their way home before the sea ice became so much that only the largest ships of the wealthiest owners could still leave the port.
Among those returning was the eldest son of the Lord af Dagr, named Stefnir, having raided as far south as Tingis and returning home with ships full of gold and luxuries from the far south, mainly jewels and ivory. There were also some exotic slaves he brought home, but apparently those had been sold off already. You did not notice much of that in the kitchens, except that Nechtan was cooking another two pots per meal and that the storerooms had been restocked with spices, though that would apparently change. A great feast had been called, with everyone of note in the clan and even some important people from others attending.
To your surprise, Nechtan took you aside a few days before the event and made you an offer. In return for your good behaviour, he would have you placed on the serving staff for that feast. That mostly meant hauling food and drink to the hall and returning to the kitchens with arms full of plates and cutlery, but it meant getting out again for a while. Better yet, if all went well, he would let you serve the food to the guards now and then and maybe even help with the goats now and then. It was a glimpse of freedom, of roaming around again, and so you eagerly agreed.
In the days leading up to the feast, the kitchens ever busier. You even got a few slaves from the housekeepers to help out, though you were quite happy that none of those you had seen in that courtyard weeks ago was among them. Instead of working in the kitchen, your duties had quickly shifted to searching for various things in the cellars beneath the hold. The head cook might have objected to how you learned your way around the clanhold, but he certainly was not letting that stop him from putting it to good use.
Thus, you found yourself in one of these cellars on the afternoon right before the feast, looking for a set of candelabras that had allegedly been used during the Lord and the Ladies wedding for the last time. It was a rather thankless search so far. Two cellars you had already combed over for them, the third not looking much more promising. It was mostly dust and cobwebs that you found filling the empty crates and shelves, sometimes with broken pottery or other refuse left in there. Chances seemed ever slimmer to find the things in time, your candle having already burnt down alarmingly far.
Sighing, you put the candleholder down on a wobbly table that seemed to be held together mostly by the faded paint on it. Wiping some dust caked sweat from your face with your robe, you looked around again. A few more crates, then you would have to return empty ended, lest you come to late to start serving. And that assumed you hurried while washing up, because Nechtan would certainly not let you step before the masters while looking as if you had crawled in through a chimney.
So, you tried to push one of the crates aside, swearing quietly when it caught at something on the floor. It took a moment to lift the unwieldy thing over what you thought to be a warped floorboard, but when you put it aside, you saw something different. There was a hatch on the floor, covered in the angular runes of the Northmen. And some of them glowed. Only a few of them and only faintly, a soft red light that was almost lost to the sheen of the candle, but you were sure of it.
The hatch was faded, the wood almost falling apart and the hinges rusty, with most of the runes no longer legible, yet you were sure that it was no normal text written on them. Almost without knowing why, your right hand grasped the bracelet on your left that marked you as a slave. You could not read these letters, but you knew enough that these patterns were not normal. That these runes were far more complex then anything you had seen before.
And there was a sound. Faint. Weak. Something from below. Carefully you pressed your ear onto the wood, trying to make out what it was, but the noise grew no more distinct. It reminded you of the wind as it pushed against the sails of the ship that brought you to these lands. Of the dark nights trapped in the tiny closet, only the beat of your heart and the clinking of your chains for company. And of a whisper. Far away and quiet. Too quiet to hear what was said. When you raised your head again, the last runes had fallen dark.
Open the hatch and explore what is beneath?
[] Yes. (Will miss the feast.)
[] Not yet. Try to hide the hatch again. (Might miss the feast. Hatch might be found by others.)
[] No. (Hatch will very likely be found by others.)
AN: Before you ask, Nechtan will send someone else to look for the candelabras, which is why it's likely that they will stumble upon the hatch unless you make some efforts to hide it better.
[X] No. (Hatch will very likely be found by others.)
I'm not feeling like risking ourselves at this point, we are already in precarious enough position.
Missing the feast is unlikely to help that much.
The hatch's a shiny, but it is as likely a dud as it isn't.
The age and fadedness do not fill with much hope, and even if it's some sort of escape, well, we are neither ready nor seem to be gunning for escape right now.
Among those returning was the eldest son of the Lord af Dragr, named Stefnir, having raided as far south as Tingis and returning home with ships full of gold and luxuries from the far south, mainly jewels and ivory. There were also some exotic slaves he brought home, but apparently those had been sold off already. You did not notice much of that in the kitchens, except that Nechtan was cooking another two pots per meal and that the storerooms had been restocked with spices, though that would apparently change. A great feast had been called, with everyone of note in the clan and even some important people from others attending.
You have not the foggiest about the geography of the world, so the only thing you know about Tingis is that it's really far south and on the edges of the Imperium.
[X] No. (Hatch will very likely be found by others.)
Don't just jump for the shiny. If we screw it up we won't just miss out on the rewards of the feast, we'll get the punishment of our disobediance taken out of our hide time and again by the other slaves. If we merit a punch from another slave, ALL of them will line up to punch us in the face, and if we were a pretty face before they start we won't be when they're done.
Wait and watch, and martial what little advantages we can take.
You have not the foggiest about the geography of the world, so the only thing you know about Tingis is that it's really far south and on the edges of the Imperium.
Okay. Best guess -- if they have ivory they're either some kind of Indian/southeast asian equivalent, or they're just well connected with them through trade. It'd probably help if we saw what features those "exotic slaves" had, but eh. Not exactly important.
Okay. Best guess -- if they have ivory they're either some kind of Indian/southeast asian equivalent, or they're just well connected with them through trade. It'd probably help if we saw what features those "exotic slaves" had, but eh. Not exactly important.
[x] Not yet. Try to hide the hatch again. (Might miss the feast. Hatch might be found by others.)
Not worth ditching our duties, but I also am not ready to give up something that might help distinguish us from other slaves in some way.
A compromise it is.
Tingis is the Latin (or here Imperial) name for the city of Tangiers, in the north of what is now Morocco. They're probably referring to a more general area than just the city though. One of the Roman provinces was Mauretania Tingitana, or roughly 'Mauretania belonging to Tingis', so it would also make sense if Tingis were more of a synecdoche for the whole region.
[X] Not yet. Try to hide the hatch again. (Might miss the feast. Hatch might be found by others.)
ᛒᚱᛟᛏᛁᚾ ᚠᛃᛟᛖᛚᛊᚲᛁᛚᛞᚨ
Chapter 4
For the barest moment, you hesitated. The unknown was always a strong lure to you, and you could not shake the feeling that something important was down beneath that hatch. At the same time though, you remembered the courtyard. You remembered the sound leather tearing apart skin. The smell of blood mingled with the cold, salty breeze. No. Nechtan gave you a chance to prove yourself reliable in his eyes, and this you would not squander. This mystery had to wait.
So, you quickly lifted the empty crate back onto the hatch to hide it again, then dragged a few others around so that the hatch was beneath the centre of the haphazard pile. It was not much, but it was all you could do right then. Almost you were tempted to speak a quiet prayer to the gods, but caught yourself before you could. The gods never favoured you and you had long ago decided that it was better not to bother them, lest they decide to bother you in turn. If they would even have heard your words so far away from their temples.
With the hatch hidden again, time was your greatest enemy, followed closely by the grime and dust coating you head to toe. Candle back in hand, you left, not looking back towards the strange hatch on your way to the kitchens.
When you saw the great feast hall for the first time, you thought it was oversized. Who would need eight hearths and enough space to build a few houses in just for guests? Now the room was packed to the brim, every bit of space covered in tables and chairs, each one piled high with food and drink. The sounds of the crowd were deafening, and it was hard to walk anywhere with a tray of food in each hand. You were quite grateful that Ingomer, the only other serving girl from the kitchens and your appointed minder, seemed to have quiet some experience with this.
She deftly wove through the crowd, dodging drunken Northmen and somehow ploughing a path that you hastily followed, lest you be left to fend for yourself. The woman was hard to like, all things considered. Having a heavy disdain for both Imperials and Northmen, she had always been cold to you, which was rather annoying since she was the only one among the kitchen slaves who spoke fluent Imperial. On top of that, she was always quick to berate others for doing their tasks wrong, or at least wrong in her opinion, which made sure that nobody liked to be around her for longer then necessary.
Now though, she was your lifeline and you felt not a speck of shame for clinging to her. The routine she had, and which you had fallen into, was fairly simple. After the chaos of bringing out the first food, which took the entire kitchen staff except for Nechtan, the two of you retreated to the gallery on the upper floor that oversaw the feasting hall. From there you could spot whenever something was threatening to run out, giving you enough time to run to the kitchens and fetch more of it before the plates were even empty.
It was without a doubt stressful, but it also meant you always had a bit of respite in between and some time to talk with the other woman. The first few attempts went badly, and that was a generous term to describe it. Talking about your work only got you clipped answers from Ingomer and the one time you tried to talk with her about her past got you a glare that could have curdled milk. You did not give up entirely after that, still trying to make some meaningless talk happen, but you certainly lowered your expectations and instead took the time to study the crowd a bit more.
Unsurprisingly, most of the guests were members of the clan af Dagr, wearing clothes with runes and decorations held in red and black. Parts of pelts were also common in their attire, mostly bear as Ingomer informed you, though that was where the familiarities ended. Many kept to plain clothes you had seen quiet often, but a few people sitting at the heads of their respective tables came festooned with enough gold to buy a villa, faintly sheening cloth replacing the wool of other peoples robes. They looked a lot like the magistrates back in the Imperium, though here that attire was more indicative of traders, you had gathered.
The other group that stood out were the warriors, wearing chain- and scale-mail despite the warmth in the feast hall. There were quite a few women among them, which was still an odd sight for you. And they were a rowdy bunch. They all drank heavily, ate like pigs and kept shouting and singing, sometimes dancing on the tables. Others often joined in on their antics, though they still remained the loudest of them all. You were also pretty sure that a few of them copped a feel while you were walking past, though you could not tell for certain in the general pushing and shoving it took to get through the crowd. Ingomer tried her best to evade the loudest tables though, so it was probably not your imagination.
A few other clans were present too, each one getting their own table and mostly keeping to themselves. You tried your best to see some of their sigils, curious what they said about those people even if you likely only got half the meaning of the symbols and colours. One group bore a tree as their symbol, white on black on the left half and black on white on the right. They were one of the quietest groups, eating in moderation and favouring water over mead, much to the amusement of those around them. They were also one of the larger groups, so you guessed that they must have been important in some fashion.
Another large group, mainly made up of people that looked like merchants, had a yellow boat stitched on turquois cloth as their symbol. Of all the other clans, they were the most inclined to mingle. Their members could often be seen walking to other tables, drinking a bit with the people there and then marching on to the next table. Last among the larger clans was a group who bore a circle made of three red ravens on light blue cloth. In a sense they were the inverse of the yellow and turquoise people, with a few warriors occasionally coming to their table, chatting and toasting a while, then returning to their own people.
In the centre of it all stood a huge table that looked as if it had been carved from a single, giant tree. It was bent like a horseshoe with main family of clan af Dagr sitting on the outside. Occasionally, one or a small group of people would walk up to the table, stand in the middle of it and bow before the hosts of the feast before chatting briefly with them. It was the first time you saw the whole family in one place and only now you noticed that you passed a few of them in the hallways already. It was then, while you were carefully memorizing them all, that you finally hit on something Ingomer was willing to talk about, even if it was in her rather unique and friendly way.
"You still don't know the main family? And Nechtan thought it was a good idea to send you tending to the feast?" Her voice was a mix of incredulousness and disdain, though for once you were not sure if it was directed at you or at the head cook.
In response, you just shrugged. It never really came up before and while you saw the problem, you had enough of Ingomer's needling that evening to ignore it. "I have met Nóri once," you replied mulishly, nodding towards the young man sitting in the spot furthest to the left from your viewpoint.
"Figures," came an equally annoyed sounding reply. "He is the black sheep of the family. Has been sneaking out of the hold since he was a boy and loves to taunt and prank people. Half the shops and taverns in the city have unflattering tales about him and the Gothar allegedly had once a vote to ban him from their district all together, which resolved barely in his favour. Rumour is that Irpa, one of the stable workers, bears his child."
Suddenly the interest he had in you made you feel slightly queasy. You still had no idea what he said to you on that day and for the first time you wondered if that was not for the best. Though you had learned quite well to push down such feelings in your time here, so you just talked on, hoping to learn a few things about the people holding your leash. "What about the others then? It's your chance to fix Nechtans oversight."
She briefly quieted, probably mulling over if she was willing to help you, though in the end she spoke on. "The young boy with the black hair is Dagr Hórason. His mother wanted to make sure everyone knew from which clan his father came and the epitaph was bestowed upon him when the Lord acknowledged him." She glanced at you, frowning when she saw the puzzlement on your face and sighed quietly. "Hórason means he is the son of a whore. The lady was rather cross with her husband about the whole ordeal, but the Gothar divined it quiet thoroughly and the boy is definitely his."
You had a bit of pity for the boy, who counted perhaps ten winters at most, being saddled with that reminder of his parentage birth. "I guess they don't treat every child the same after all."
Ingomer just shrugged, not caring one way or another about the boys circumstances. "Next ones are Randvér and Stefnir." With a very careful gesture, as to not alert anyone that the two of you were staring at the main family, she gestured to the two men that looked almost like twins. Both were large and bulky men with long red manes and beards, wearing armour at the table and seeming to constantly talk with each other. "They are a year apart and thick as thieves. Stefnir was away raiding most of the year, while Randvér had to stay behind. Don't expect to see those two away from each other anytime soon again."
"You skipped one. What about the empty chair between Dagr and Randvér?"
"That would be the place of Auðvin. He became a Gothir in young years. Tradition is that they cut ties with their clans, but you don't have to. Makes people whisper that you are trading favours with your clan, if it is important enough, though otherwise it's your choice." She paused for a moment, absently looking over the tables if there was work for you. However, it also felt as if she was considering her next words carefully.
As nothing required your attention, she spoke on. "It was before my time here, but one of the house servants told me that he had heard a vicious argument between the Lord and the Lady in the days before young Auðvin left. No idea if that is true, but the Lord always has a place set for him at every feast, even though he never attended a single one."
Thus, you looked back to the central table, the next in line being the Lord and the Lady af Dagr themselves. While you had already seen the lady, the first of many warrior women you spotted in the clanhold, you had yet to see the Lord and he was not quite what you expected. He seemed a good few years older then his wife, his beard and hair entirely grey, though on a second look, he still had some strands of bright blond in between. He was not the lean warrior you had always expected, instead looking like a slightly chubby trader, looking over the feast with a kind smile that clashed badly with his wives cold façade.
"You will always address them as Lord and Lady, just to be clear," Ingomer whispered harshly to you. "But his name is Lífsteinn Bjornson af Dagr, and the Lady is Ragnhildr Asriðrdottir af Dagr. Just in case you ever hear someone address them as such."
You tried to ask her more about the two of them, but Ingomer kept talking on, not giving you the chance. "The girl to her right is Rannveig. She is the Tanist of the clan, meaning she will inherit the leadership when her father dies." It took a moment for you to place her face, as it was quite a while since you saw her, but then you remembered that day in the courtyard. She was the one who fought like possessed, easily defeating every other warrior except for her mother.
Now she seemed like a different woman entirely. Sure, she bore weapons and armour, but both incorporated in a lavish robe that mirrored that of her mother, cutting just as an imposing figure as the matriarch did. "She is still unmarried, so people are expecting her father to announce a betrothal every time there is a feast," Ingomer explained further. "There's a lot of rumours why she has no man yet, but if you ask me, no one is brave enough to court a shrew like her."
This left only two more children, both young girls with hair as blond as straw and too similar to be anything but twins. They were younger yet then Dagr and seemed rather uncomfortable with the formal feast and how loud it was. Unlike their older sister, they wore normal dresses in black and red and occasionally glanced at a woman in servants clothes that was about your age, who stood near the table. As you glanced over, Ingomer finished her explanation. "Those are Valgerðr and Undrlaug. They are the youngest of the Lord with his lover Svafa, who died in childbed. The woman to the side is their wet nurse and minder, Halla."
Having by now a rough idea how this family worked, you hazarded a guess. "The Lady is not all too fond of them I guess?"
Ingomer looked between the lady and the two young girls for a moment, weighing her words. "It is complicated. She shuns them in public and Halla is the one who is most involved in their upbringing, but I have heard she is different to them in private, even calling them Valka and Undra like Halla does." She grew quiet for a while, then shrugged. "It's not my problem and neither should you try to make it yours. Just keep out of the way of them, then you will have a quiet life here."
There was certainly some wisdom to these words, but if your encounter with Nóri was any indication, you might have not much of a choice in the matter. You stood there a while longer, pondering what your life had become and the people who now held sway over it. The feast had wound down somewhat, giving you the time for that. Sure, there was still plenty of eating and quite definitely a lot of drinking, but it did not seem you would have to return to the kitchen any time soon.
Thus, you were still on the balcony when it all started. At first, the Lord rose and banged his fist on the table, beginning to give a speech that you could not follow. But then, the room suddenly went deadly quiet just to erupt in loud talking a moment later. You looked over to Ingomer for an explanation, who had gone rather pale all of the sudden, when a female voice cut through the din.
It was Rannveig, who had stood up and began shouting at the top of her lungs in the direction of her father. "ᛃᛖᚷ ᛗᚢᚾ ᛖᚲᚲᛁ ᚷᛖᚠᚨᛊᛏ ᚢᛈᛈ ᛗᛖᚦ ᚠᚱᚢᛗᛒᚢᚱᚦᚨᚱᚱᛃᛖᛏᛏ ᛗᛁᚾᚾ ᛊᚹᛟᚾᚨ, ᚠᚨᚦᛁᚱ. ᚦᚢ ᛗᚢᚾᛏ ᛖᚲᚲᛁ ᚷᛖᚱᚨ ᛊᛏᛃᛖᚠᚾᛁᚱ ᚨᚦ ᛖᚱᚠᛁᛜᛃᚨ ᚦᛁᚾᚢᛗ ᛗᛖᚦ ᚦᚹᛁ ᚨᚦ ᚺᚱᛟᚢᛉᚨ ᚺᛟᚾᚢᛗ ᚹᛖᚷᛉᛖᛗᛞ ᛖᚾ ᚾᛖᛁᚦᚨ ᛗᛁᚷ ᛏᛁᛚ ᚨᚦ ᛉᛁᛏᛃᚨ ᛟᚷ ᚷᛖᚱᚨ ᛖᚲᚲᛖᚱᛏ." You tried your best to make out the words, but could not make sense of it. Something about giving something to her father. The tone alone made it clear though that she was beyond angry.
There was more shouting, even at the central table now, and you poked Ingomer in the ribs to get her to talk. After a moment of confusion, she replied, completely forgetting to use her unpleasant, lecturing tone when she spoke. "The Lord just called for a vote to have Stéfnir made his heir."
Before she could say any further, your eyes were drawn back to the table. Suddenly, Rannveig had an axe in her hand, from where you did not know, and brought it down on the table with enough force to split a plate and embed the weapon deep into the wood. "ᛃᛖᚷ ᛗᚢᚾ ᛉᚨᚾᚾᚨ ᛁᚲᚲᚢᚱ ᛟᛖᛚᛚ ᚨᚦ ᛃᛖᚷ ᛖᚱ ᚹᛖᚱᚦᚢᚷᚱᛁ. ᛃᛖᚷ ᛗᚢᚾ ᛏᚨᚲᚨ ᛊᚲᛁᛈ ᛟᚷ ᛉᛁᚷᛚᚨ ᚦᚹᛁ ᛁᚠᛁᚱ ᚹᛖᛊᛏᚢᚱᚺᚨᚠᛁᚦ ᛟᚷ ᚦᛖᚷᚨᚱ ᛃᛖᚷ ᛗᚢᚾ ᛊᚾᚢᚨ ᚨᚠᛏᚢᚱ ᛗᚢᚾᛏᚢ ᚹᛖᚱᚨ ᛃᛖᚷ ᚨᚦ ᚹᛖᚱᚦᚨ ᛖᚱᚠᛁᛜᛁ ᚦᛁᚾᚾ ᚨᚠᛏᚢᚱ!" After she was done yelling, she turned around and left, most of the hall watching in stunned silence while a few apparently cheered at what she had done.
Again, you elbowed the other servant next to you. "Don't make me beg, Ingomer. What did she say?"
"She said that she would no longer stay at home while her father heaps glory on her brother to make him his heir. She wants to raid something in the west to prove herself." Towards the end, the other woman seemed to regain her composure, quiet unlike the feast hall who became louder and louder again. "I'm not sure myself what the axe means, but it seems she just declared a grudge against her father."
Suddenly it made a lot of sense that there now were clan members shouting at each other in the hall. There were even a few altercations that seemed on the way to becoming full blown fist fight. What became of it, you did not know, because that was the moment Ingomer grabbed your wrist and dragged you to the nearest door. It was unlikely that anyone missed the two of you.
The evening was tense after that, the occasional bit of shouting being heard as far as the kitchens, where you and the other slaves had hunkered down. It took a good long while for the ruckus to die down and a few had to be sent out in the middle of the night clean out the thrashed feast hall. Luckily, Nechtan had a heart, letting Ingomer and you sleep instead. Things did not go any better in the morning, with the air in the hold feeling even more oppressive then in the night, though at first you could not tell why.
When everyone was woken up to prepare breakfast, one of the other kitchen slaves, a barbarian by the name of Svaba that you had never talked to before due to not sharing any language, was found to be missing. At first Nechtan tried to have her found quietly, but when that proved impossible, he alerted the guards. In his opinion, she was not someone who would try to flee, and his assessment proved true in the end.
Around the time of noon, she was found dead in one of the cellars and a few careful questions by your revealed that it was the same one you had found that hatch in. Apparently, the head cook had sent her to try and find the candelabras when you returned empty handed and she had found the hatch too. Unlike you though, she did so by stepping on it and falling into the empty cellar beneath, breaking her neck. The Lord had ordered silence on the matter, fearing that her death would be held as evidence that the clan was cursed after what had happened during the feast.
The rumours about that event slowly began to trickle in too, especially after a few of the others returned with fresh tablecloths from the always well-informed housekeepers. There were more than a few physical fights at the end of the feast, though at least to other cleans were mostly kept out of it. Instead it was members of clan af Dagr beating each other for supporting either Stéfir or Rannveig as the Tanist. It took a good long while to separate the camps from each other, followed by the Lord tactfully throwing them out of the hold with a clear degree to stop the fighting.
How much that order was adhered to, nobody could say, but word was that there was still unrest brewing in the clan district. Likewise, the main family was not on speaking terms. The Lord and the Lady had a hefty row, followed by the Lady moving the guest quarters. Rannveig on the other hand had been barely seen in the hold this day and she was clearly not on speaking terms with either her parents or her two oldest brothers.
It should have been a distant concern what was going on among the clan, but Nechtan kept to his word and so it was suddenly quiet important for you to know where the cliffs where that you might have to navigate. Your grasp of the Norse language was still rather basic, but it was enough to serve someone food and you had been deemed reliable enough to do so now. At the same time though, the death of Svaba had opened some other tasks you could request. Namely to leave the clanhold to tend to the goats, maybe even to accompany Nechtan when he went to buy things in the markets.
What task do you request for the coming days?
[] Keep working in the kitchens and get to know your fellow slaves better.
[] Serve the food for the guards, allowing you to roam and explore the clanhold some more.
[] It seems Rannveig will not be eating with the family any time soon. Serve her food and try to get into her good graces.
[] Keep your normal duties, but try to meet Nóri again. If you can get him to like you, he might be your way to freedom.
[] Tend to the goats and see if you can convince Nechtan to let you come along to the markets.
AN: Since most might be unfamiliar with it, the letter "ð" is spoken as "th". I've debated with myself for a while if I should use that letter or not, but decided in favour of it in the end, as the names of the people here are Norse after all. Also, this became way longer then anticipated.
