NorseQuest (A Norse Xianxia)

0~0~0
Silver-Tongue: 17 Successes
"So..." You purse your lips as you rock on your heels, "You said something about 'paying good silver to be left alone'?"

"I did, yes," the papa-vittra slurs his words as the hazy figure sways on unsteady feet. He slumps against a cow, which delivers an annoyed swish of the tail as he rests against its flank. "Land's owner bade me welcome, made certain I knew his trusted messenger-men, and accepted my service in exchange for a plot of land to call my own."

"Did this 'land's owner' have a name and what manner of service would you render him?" Your eyes narrow as you run thumb and forefinger across chin and jaw, thoughts running wild with possibility.

The obvious man to fit the role is none other than Jarl Erikaer Corpsemaker—the usual suspect in matters such as this. While you hate even the bastard's trodden footsteps, there are a number of other possibilities. Dorri, for one, may have recruited the vittror for his inevitable conflict with Corpsemaker—as could Corpsemaker in the reverse.

However, another potential name comes to mind as you consider it yet further. The name that brought terror to the hearts of men both strong and weak. A name that shook the very heavens and broke the rule of law over its knee.

Could Drysalt Hadingsbane have claimed the valley for his own? He spilled more than enough blood to win any wager of combat. That would, from a certain perspective, make him the 'land's owner.'

...You hate how much that makes sense.

"Do you not know the name of the one you live under? The one whose yoke you bear? The one who I shall fight alongside?" The vittra chuckles heartily as he paws at his mouth, seemingly finding the very idea of such a thing hilarious beyond compare. Turning to where his son presumably stands, the vittra waves a vague limb in your general direction, "Listen well, bothersome boy, for humans are always asking after those they can't see. From gods to grubs, they beckon for their presence alike—all the more foolish they are for it!"

Alcohol has loosened the vittra's tongue in more ways than one, it seems. Reading the situation for what it is, you deem it wise to bid farewell before iron must greet the sun.

Still, as you and your men turn back the way you came, you can't help but feel like you've learned more from this than what you know. Every time you speak with those beyond the law, you get more of a grasp on how to speak and conduct yourself.

Why, at this point, you're certain to have an easier time dealing with outsiders to the law!

(Boon: Speaking Out of Law is now unlocked)
0~0~0
Personal Time
With a light bit of feasting well underway and a frothing horn of beer in hand, you reckon that now is as good a time as any to check in with those under your care. Foam clings to your upper lip as you wander on over to where Kurt Frogtongue shows off his kenning-sake for the children—who watch with mixed faces of disgust and curiosity alike.

Sitting on a round stool not too far away from the door, Kurt keeps an eye on the hearth-flame as he lets his tongue hang down to his navel—only about two-thirds of its maximum reach. How he manages to keep such a behemoth in his mouth is a mystery known only to him, but you've certainly never seen Haydis angry with him so it's clearly working out in his favor.

Spotting your approach with a keen blue eye, Kurt retracts his tongue into a tight coil before tucking it into the inside of his jaw. Ignoring the protests of the children—who wander off in a huff, likely to get into some manner of trouble—Kurt shuffles around until he's facing you dead-on. Speaking around the wad of pick flesh filling his mouth, he nods well-wished greetings your way, "Hail, feasting-mistress of a warm hearth."

"A fine feast to you too, Kurt," you return the greeting with a broad, meat-speckled smile while handing him a spare beer mug. Hooking a foot around a nearby unoccupied stool, you beckon it your way in a deft show of skill. It comes to a teetering stop on unsteady legs, which you put an end to through making it your seat. Resting an ankle on a knee, you send a pointing finger his way while eyeing the dispersing children, "Say, I haven't seen a child on Haydis' hip in some time. Are you planning on having any more than Hallotta?"

Kurt makes a noise while scratching at his neck, "Well..." He breathes a heavy sigh as he gets on with it, "I was actually meaning to talk to you about that, as I fear that Haydis' wedding-dream may have been wrong on how many children we'd have."

"How many did she see?" You ask over the horn's rim, the trickle of beer a welcome-if-fleeting guest in your head's hearth.

"Three," Kurt answers as he visibly tries not to be jealous of your own household. "Haydis and I've been trying for the second for some time now, but haven't had much luck. Is there anything you can do for us? I know you're learning from the Seeress, after all."

Lifting brows to the hearth-smoke-choked ceiling, you hum to yourself while tapping the horn against your chin. After a moment's thought, you come to a conclusion, "I'll need time to set everything up, but I've got a few ideas that could help your predicament."

Sunshine would feel inadequate next to Kurt's beaming, face-splitting smile. "If you help us in this, I swear you'll have my service for the rest of our lives."

"In that case, my aid you shall have!" Matching his smile with one of your own, the deal is sealed with a locking of wrists. After sharing a drink with your farmhand, you bid him farewell as you turn your attention to all others in attendance.

The twins' towering presence immediately catches the eye as Asgeirr tries once more to convince Tryggr of how he should be given a chance at the drink in Tryggr's hand. Fortunately for both your sanity and Tryggr's hope of living a long life, Trausti is there to keep things civil. Oddly close to his side sits Vagn, who watches the goings-ons with humor in his gaze as his weapon-wheel hangs up on the wall behind him—alongside all the other weapons, as is the custom.

"Trust me, kid," Tryggr chuckles as he eyes your silent approach, a sneaky wink shot your way, "you won't like the taste of this. Your mother likes her beers bitter."

"But it smells so nice!" Asgeirr's petulant stomp fills your ears as you come to a stop behind him. "Just one sip, I promise I'll be good!"

Sensing an opportunity to both curb Asgeirr's alcoholic aspirations, teach a valuable lesson on meaning what you say, and extract good behavior for the coming playdate, you allow a grin to spread across your face as you make your presence known. "As my father once said to me, I now say to you, o' eldest child of mine: to be a man is to hold yourself accountable for everything you say and do." Asgeirr freezes at the sound of your voice, looking to all the world like a dog caught with something it shouldn't have in its mouth. "If I allow you a sip, can I trust you to act like a man?"

Clenching fists find iron in his spine as Asgeirr meets your steel gaze with one of his own. Red hair bobs as he nods, a fierce look in his polished eyes, "A man is only as good as his word."

Tryggr conceals a snort in his flagon's lip as Trausti sighs—the oft-repeated saying one of his favorites. "Seems he has a favorite uncle," Tryggr nudges his brother with a sharp elbow and pointed grin.

Ignoring the brotherly byplay, you answer Asgeirr's words with a solemn nod. Rising a palm before your eldest, you work your orthstirr to your will as you ready the horn. Crimson strength forms a fingernail-deep and knuckle-wide bowl in your palm's basin as a dark, frothy liquid fills it to the brim.

Asgeirr's eyes glow with eager delight as he carefully takes the thimble-sized cup in hand. Lifting it to his lips, the bitter drink soon finds a rest-stop on his tongue.

"That's good!" His eyes light up as his lips curl up into a broad smile, grubby fingers forming grabby-hands towards the horn in your hand, "More!"

As the twins and Vagn break out into a laughing fit, you can't help but feel you may have made a mistake here.

Regardless, as the feast progresses and you make your rounds, you keep a mental note of who would like their fylgjur unveiled as well as those who would be willing to participate in a certain experiment you have in mind.

Of your household, most everyone seems willing to have their fylgjur unveiled. The only one who seems at all apprehensive is Vagn, but that appears to be more from not being sure what to expect than any outright negative feelings towards the idea.

However, just as you started to ask about that certain experiment of yours, a frowning Abjorn grabs you by the arm and asks you to follow him outside.

Following him out into the cold, the door shuts in your wake as Abjorn wrings his fingers. Snow swirls around you in a thick flurry as the sun slips under the horizon like a hard-working farmer finds his blanket.

Taking a deep breath, Abjorn turns to you with a slightly distressed look in his eye, "Halla, I..." Taking another lungful of cold valley air, he swiftly finds his footing and barrels on like his namesake, "I'm not sure I'm comfortable with the things you're doing, with what it does to you."
Composure: 6 Successes. Calm Charge Used!
Your first instinct is to get mad at him, but a surge of coolness washes that feeling away as you stay in complete control of your emotions.

At your silence, he wrings his fingers harder as he starts to hunch in on himself. His breathing quickens as he stutters through his reasonings, "I-I just can't get the image of you w-writhing on the floor out of my head, o-or," he shudders, swaying slightly on the spot as sweat pours off his brow like a waterfall off a cliffside—your cold, unfeeling stare doing little good for his nerves. Gulping, he continues on with a whisper as his eyes find the ground, "o-or when you were trying to... t-to k-kill me."

...Shit, he has a point.

What do you do?
[ ] Write in

0~0~0

AN: I was meaning to finish off this turn today, but Abjorn said 'no' to that, lmao.

No moratorium, we'll see if we can't get another update out today, eh?


edit: I've been reading some of the sagas and I can feel them infecting my writing, lmao. If anything is weird, that's why.