NorseQuest (A Norse Xianxia)

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Talking to Gorm Bloodslick
In the immediate aftermath of the successful parlay, you find yourself up to your eyelids in work as you're thrust into the healing tent. Hundreds of terrible burns blur together as you your press healing hands to painful wounds and rid them of both pain and injury—which you, of course, caused.

Wiping your sweat-drenched brow, you gulp down cool water—offered by the Estones as thanks—as you try to stop the tent from spinning. With all this healing you're doing—this severity is no joke!—you've nearly completely exhausted your stores of orthstirr. Just like with the water in your hand, you muse as you toss the empty skin aside, you're completely spent.

Still, at least you're all do-

And then Gorm Bloodslick walks in, an embarrassed grimace on his burnt-red face.

You squint at him. He stares back. You eventually sigh and wave him towards the chair as you muster up what strength there is in your limbs. As he sits down before you, you grumble as your hands find his wounds and his flesh starts to mend.

"How did this even happen?" You grunt around a mouthful of burn salve you're chewing up for him.

"Well," he scratches at his cheek, picking at the paper-thin skin, "I, uh, I slipped off the wall as you were unleashing the fire wave thing and, well," he mock-frowns as you bat his picking hand away from his wounds, "got caught in it."

"Oh, well," you wince and spit out the wad of slobber-soaked herbs onto a hand, "I, uh, I'm sorry about that."

"It's no big deal..." he trails off with a grossed-out whimper as you slather his wounds with the salve. While your magic can heal the injury, the mind still believes the pain is there. The mixture in your hands isn't actually anything close to medicinal—it's literally just some grass you found outside—but it helps to soothe their minds. Trying desperately to ignore the slobber on his skin, Gorm continues with a cough, "I live my life taking it as it comes."

"Oh?" You arch a brow as you bind his salve-covered and fully-healed wounds in clean cloth. "What do you mean by that?"

"Well," Gorm rubs at the remnants of his flame-stolen beard, "Death comes one way or another, right?"

"Right," where's he going with this?

"So why should I hurry to it?" He shrugs as he climbs to his feet. "Death will come for me whether I sit inside and sleep or go outside and fight, so why should I risk my limited time doing things I don't want to do?"

"Is..." You frown as you struggle to wrap your head around his words, "is that why you laze about the camp all the time?"

Gorm flinches, "I-I'm not lazy!" He retorts with a mostly-joking scowl, "I just choose how to spend my time! Work isn't fun, so I try my best to not do it."

You stop dead in your tracks, would-be words tumbling from your head as the winds of your mind's sails dies on the spot.

What?

He... He doesn't enjoy working?

...

Oh! Wait a second, it's a joke!

"That's a funny one, Gorm!" You laugh as you pat him on the shoulder and wander free of the tent, all the while ignoring the lack of laughter.

0~0~0
Eysteinn Egilsson
Eysteinn Egilsson stares straight ahead as you hoist a horse-sized barrel onto each shoulder, looking all to the world like a witch had cursed him to take the shape of a statue. The price for staying with Adelbert Horse—the landowner housing you and your crew on this night—was to help him move 'some' horse feed into the barn. 'Some', of course, turned out to be a massive understatement given the sheer size of the barrels. Still, work was to be done and you are the woman to do it! Rolling up your sleeves in a very literal sense, you set to work with a gusto matched only by your kin.

Needing a spotter to make sure you don't do anything stupid like tip over or drop anything, you enlisted young Eysteinn Egilsson for the role. With barely a whisper of whiskers on his cheeks, the boy-turned-man tries his damnedest to not gawk at your heavily-muscled arms. Your clothing hides it quite well, but you've got divine blood and damn does it show!

Arriving at the open-topped barn—which stands a half-dozen storeys tall!—you decide to cut the kid a 'break' as you toss the barrels atop the stack peeking through the roof. Clapping your hands clean, you rest your guns on your hips as you smile at the boy at your side, "So, Eysteinn was it? You're not from the Hading, so what's brought you, er, 'here'?"

Eysteinn's breathing picks up as he nods, eyes fixated on a ladybug crawling near his shoe. After a moment's silence, he jolts as he realizes he should respond, "I-I, w-well, I, um," you let him stammer until, with a deep gulp, he manages to master his mind and, with a deep breath, he turns to look you in the eye—for a couple seconds, after which he went right back to the ladybug now on his shoe.

After some time, he eventually manages to muster up something akin to cognizant speech as he rubs the back of his neck raw, "I, well, my Dad kicked me out of the house."

'Well, shit.'

"Oh." You immediately feel a hot flush of guilt for teasing the poor boy so. "I... That really sucks, Eysteinn."

He gulps, voice shaky as he starts to ramble like a river in the thaw, "Y-yeah. He said that I wasn't worth keeping around if I wasn't going to do anything with my time, so he told me to not come back until I'd 'found a w-wife and a name.'"

You wince, sucking down a sharp hiss through your teeth. Opening you mouth, you're forced to close it as you can't find the words. You settle for a pat on the shoulder and a thumbs up—which you immediately regret.

...You're gonna be dreaming about this conversation in a couple years, aren't you?

'Yep.'

0~0~0
Talking to Kare and Ingolf
Where Eysteinn couldn't bear to look at you, Ingolf Ulfsson can't keep his eyes off you. Not because of some fascination with your physicality, no.

"And ever since the fire you used against the Estones," Kare Wolf-Seek grimaces in a rather wolfish way as his younger brother shakes in his boots—his knees are even knocking together! "Well," Kare waves a hand in his brother's general direction, "you can see for yourself."

"Is he," you frown, which only serves to scare the poor boy further, "scared of fire or something?"

Ingolf's head bobs like a drooping branch in a strong wind as he nods. Kare clicks his tongue against his fangs as he too nods, "Got it in one."

"What caused it?"

"Witch!" Ingolf manages to force himself to speak but a single word before his jaw snaps shut hard enough that you fear he may have just chipped a tooth.

"What Ingolf means," Kare hurriedly covers for his brother, not wanting for you to take it the wrong way, "is that, when he was a young boy, he was kidnapped by a witch and roasted him alive as a dish for a Jotun's dinner party." Folding his muscled arms before him, Kare grimaces as he looks on his trembling kin. "Kveldulf slew the witch and saved him, but he's been scared of fire, magic, and women ever since."

You blink as loose threads twist together into a conclusion, "Kveldulf? Is he your...?"

Kare snorts and shakes his head, "No, nothing of the sort. He's a distant uncle on our mother's side, nothing more than that."

"Oh, well," you rock on your heels before quirking your head as a new question arises, "So, why did you take Ingolf along for the ride if he's, well, scared of me in general?"

Ingolf clearly wants to speak for himself, but simply can't do it. His eyes drift to his brother and begs him to lend his aid—which Kare mercifully grants, "It was actually Ingolf's idea to accompany me. I tried to talk him out of it," Kare shrugs and paws at a piece of stringy meat trapped in his maw, "but he wanted to overcome his fears and so along he came."

'It takes a lot of courage to do that,' Blackhand nods to himself and to you, his words sincere and earnest. 'He has my respect.'

Nodding to both the brothers and Blackhand, you turn towards the elder brother with a third question on the mind, "I actually have a question for you, Kare."

"Oh?" He quirks his head to the side, wolfish eyes glimmering with humor, "Could it be that you wish my strength in your service?"

You blink, "How did you know that...?"

"I've a good nose for this sort of thing," he grins and taps the side of his snout before pivoting into a sigh, "Unfortunately, I can't just leave Ingolf. So, I will have to ref-"

"No!" The sudden shout catches both yourself and Kare by surprise, though Blackhand merely chuckles as Ingolf swallows his fear and finds his courage. "No," he repeats, eyes tearing up with fear but his heart stays strong, "I-I'll join too!"

His eyes are wider than any dinner plate you've ever seen as he realizes what he just did. His entire body trembles in earth-shaking quakes, but he stands up to his fears despite the terror that surely must be gripping his heart.

"Well, if you'll have Ingolf," Kare grins and ruffles his brother's fluff brown hair as he turns a wink on you, "than you'll have a new hirdman along with him."

You frown, "I'm not building a hird."

His nostrils flare as he chuckles, "Sure you're not."

(Kare Wolf-Seek and his brother, Ingolf, are now available to recruit into your hird)
0~0~0
Talking to Sten
Striding towards the front of the Wavedancer, you tap the clearly struggling Audman Audsson on the shoulder. The boy almost collapses as you relieve him of the oar bench. With the wind dead but Gotland so close, you decided to just row the rest of the way—which the younger, less robust members of the crew are having a hard time keeping up with.

Audman's fine golden hair tumbles around his slender face as he stumbles off towards the rear, where your younger family members have prepared a sort of sharp, tangy yet oddly refreshing drink from some fruit they bought in Svarthondsholl. Taking his abandoned oar in hand, you sit across from Sten as you wait for the right opening in both the row timing and one thing else.

You see, you didn't do this out of pure altruism—though that certainly played a part. The front of the ship is always the most private place as nobody likes getting constantly splashed with seawater as the waves break against the prow. Does terrible things to the hair, it does.

Regardless, it's private enough for a conversation you've been meaning to have with Sten.

Of course, Sten isn't an idiot, so he beats you to the punch with an arched brow and a side-eye, "Well, what's your question?"

You crack a grin his way, "Am I really so predictable?"

He rolls his eyes and snorts, "You despise having salt in your hair enough to avoid the prow-seat, but your curiosity is far stronger than any mere hate."

'He's got you there.'

You laugh and shake your head—intimately aware of the grittiness growing in your luscious locks. "Alright, alright, I've got a question for you."

"When do you ever not?"

You open your mouth to retort, but struggle to find anything. "W-well, uh, anyways," you swallow, ignoring Sten's incessant chuckling as you master yourself, "That soul-trapping rope, how do you defend against it?"

The smile on Sten's face drops as he groans and drags a hand down his face, "Oh fuck me, I completely forgot I did that." Digging the rope from his pocket, he releases the oar just long enough to undo the knot and release the soul inside. The invisible trickle of orthstirr rises into the sky as it returns to the body it was stolen from. At the look on your face, he groans again and tries his best to answer, "I don't really hate Lars Forkbeard of all people," he waves a hand in a rather dismissive fashion, "he just reminds me of a certain person that I do hate and well," he trails off with a shrug.

You stare at him. He stares back. "...Right, well, how do you defend against it?"

He blinks, "...Yeah, that. Well," he rubs at the back of his neck as the wind helps carry the soul back home, "You defend against it by not dying. Souls are basically impossible to trap if they can still access their body's henki."

"Henki?"

"Uh," Sten's brows furrow as he struggles to explain it to you, "So, you know how your heart beats?"

"Yeah?"

"Well," he taps a finger against his chest, right above his heart, "That's henki. It's the beat of your heart, the breath in your lungs, your life force."

You squint, trying your best to understand his meaning, "So, if you're alive you can't have your soul stolen?"

"As far as I'm aware, yeah." He shrugs as the watchman—Bjorn Bjornsson—clinging to the dragon-prow stiffens, "My training wasn't complete, so maybe there's something out there that can?"

Just as you're about to ask further questions, Bjorn calls out a sighting. "Bjorn spots the Land of the Gutes, dead ahead!" He pauses for a second as a frown passes across his face, "At least, Bjorn thinks he has..."

You and Sten exchange a puzzled glance before, to a wave of groans, you call for double-speed.

It seems that Gotland is calling.

What is the first thing you'll do when you arrive at Gotland?
[ ] Spread Steinarr's Ashes
[ ] Wander the... fertile fields and lush greenery?

Alright, something weird is going on here.
[ ] Attempt to get to the bottom of this

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AN: ;P

I had a lot of fun writing this one, that's for sure!

No moratorium.