Outlaw (A Norse Xianxia)

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Woodlands near Stacksdell, South Quarter, Iceland, Early Summer of 9007

The birch forests of Iceland are difficult to traverse at the best of times. Thick scrub dominates the woodland floor, grabbing at the legs of any passerby and robbing them of motion. A man must force his way through if he hopes to ever find relief on the other side. Such an annoyance is this that some men have adopted the leg-wrappings of the Svear and Geats to better protect themselves as they crash through the dense thickets of the Icelandic birchwood.

These leg-wrappings—usually consistent of two narrow lengths of wool per leg—are quite soft and comfortable, so much so that certain sly puffins steal them away for their cliffside nests. Rarely are they recovered in any usable condition, as is the case with Barki. As his ill-luck would have it, his own pair of leg-wrappings had been stolen only a few weeks before, so he's forced to proceed slowly through the woodlands.

With the forests too thick for Olfossa to safely navigate, it's up to Barki to locate good camp grounds. The wise man looks for a specific set of circumstances when it comes to his campgrounds and Barki is no different. The best spots are those surrounded by trees on all sides save for two passageways and with enough space for shelter, a fire, and a place to organize one's equipment. Alas, such locations are few and far between.

A slight misstep into a shrub-shrouded divot sends a jolt of pain stabbing up Barki's leg. He grits his teeth, resisting the jostling stumble, and resumes the course of his ill-fated responsibilities. If he wants to treat his wounds, he'll need to get off his feet, and soon. Though Norsemen may be able to recover from any injury no matter the severity, that doesn't mean infection or worse can't take hold if it's left to the elements.

After about an hour of crashing through underbrush, Barki stumbles across a site that, while not perfect, still meets two of the three characteristics of a good camping spot. A thicket of birches conceals a small space from the prying eye, enough room to construct a shelter from the tarp in his belongings, but lacking in a place for both fire and organization. Still, not having to sleep in the cold is a Gods-given boon in these trying times.

Pulling his axe from his belt, Barki gets to work on stripping branches from trees and piling them up in the hideaway as he drapes the tarp in a sort of lean-to. Taking handfuls of leaves from the gathered branches, he scatters them beneath the tarp to create some manner of bedding upon which to rest his head. Following that, he then guides Olfossa to the spot and has Keld watch for any potential foes—while Barki may still be in bowshot of Stacksdell and, thus, nominally safe from killings, that won't be obvious to any pursuers.

After setting up camp, Barki then retrieves his rope from Olfossa's saddlebags and cuts two lengths of about three feet each—leaving him with nineteen feet in that rope. Tying the two pieces into a pair of loops, he sets the snares near the twin entrances as he settles in to take care of himself. While the snares won't stop an attacker, they may still provide him with some measure of early warning while also potentially catching him breakfast on the morrow.

Snares set, Barki nods to himself as he takes needle, thread, and his medical supplies from Olfossa's saddlebags. Sitting down on the forest floor, he strips his trousers and underpants and sets them aside. A wince flickers across his face as he lays eyes on his leg-wound. As long as his forefinger and as wide as two thumbnails, the injury cuts deep and to the bone. Severed muscle fibers twitch as blood struggles to scab over, the constant motions disrupting any attempt made.

Gritting his teeth, Barki sets to work cleaning and treating his injury. Focusing his ordstirr, he lets it soak through his waterskin as the water inside heats up to boiling. A sharp hiss escapes his lips as he pours the boiling water across the wound, the pain the sign of the water driving the spirits away. Next, he takes a handful of the yarrow leaves from his medicine pouch. Crushing them up and mixing it with his saliva, he rubs his wound with the mixture before applying a bandage over it all. The yarrow will make his skin shrink and blood clot faster, thereby encouraging a quick and speedy recovery, while the bandage will keep the yarrow in place and prevent any sickly spirits from getting inside.

Examining his wound one last time, Barki hums to himself as he judges the quality of his efforts. Given the yarrow speeding things up and his natural Norsely vigor, he'll likely be fighting fit come two or three days. Likely more, given his need to move and do so quickly. Hopefully it won't reopen, there's only so much yarrow in his bag and those herbs grow only in the latter parts of summer.

Unfortunately, there's not much Barki can do for his ribs other than try his best to not move them around too much. His knowledge of the healing arts just doesn't extend to such matters. Still, it's not like a broken rib or two ever hurt anyone. He'll be fine, surely.

His wounds tended as best he can, Barki turns his attention to dinner and his equipment. Retrieving some of the dried seal leftover from winter, Barki chews his way through the tough meat as, with needle and thread in hand, he works to mend his damaged shield and torn clothing. While far from his most preferred meat, seal is still packed full of plenty of good strong power for his body to absorb.

After a few hours of work, he finishes repairing his shield cover and mending the ripped pant legs. He did have to use most of his supply of thread to do so, unfortunately, but such is the price to fix one's clothes.

Returning his pants to their rightful place on his legs, Barki tests his injured leg with a small stroll around the thicketed space. The pain is still there, but it is a slight shadow of its former self—the yarrow's spirits doing their job well. If push comes to shove, he'll be able to fight.

On the morrow, Barki will travel to where Sterki Godi's silkgrove is said to be found. There, perhaps, he'll find something useful to his current plight. It's just too much of a coincidence that the person most vital to Barki's outlawing found himself in economic despair only to then have some mysterious party offer three pounds of gold.

It stinks of enemy action, and such stench often leaves a trail.

Turning in for the night, Barki counts the stars as he slowly drifts off to sleep.

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Sitting atop Olfossa as the sun looms ever-closer to the evening horizon, Barki eyes the coastal willow scrublands with a considering gaze. Chewing on a tough cut of seal meat all the while, he counts the shields standing in guard of a rather out-of-place patch of trees. Surrounded by thigh-high brush, the silkgrove couldn't look more conspicuous if it tried.

Four men sit around a campfire, their shields and weapons leaned well in reach, as they exchange pleasant conversation. It is said that Sterki Godi employs well-armed guards to keep any curious eyes away from his silkworms and it seems that the rumors are true.

With even the least of the men being Barki's equal in strength, it's very unlikely that Barki could take them on in straight combat—not that battle is likely to occur, given his relations with the men in question. After all, he helped Jogrim Longshanks woo his Gerda and went whaling with Kurt and Krakr Lorisssons. Though he would hesitate to call them friends, none of them are foes.

Still, if Barki wants to examine the silkgrove, he'll have to play his cards right.

The only question is how?
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(Ordstirr Restored)
(Thigh Wound Treated)
(-3 Rations)
(5-ish days until Harald begins his hunt)
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AN: And there we are, update out and away we go! Not the longest of updates, but it was speedy indeed.