Outlaw (A Norse Xianxia)

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Sterki Godi's Silkworm Grove, South Quarter, Iceland, Early Summer of 9007

The campfire crackles, throwing up embers as a fresh log lands amidst the flames. Shadows dance in the evening sun, the last vestiges of a day spent keeping careful watch over the oddly empty boughs. Smoke fills the air as four men gather about its source.

The highest of the men, both in stature and might, is a man known as Jogrim Jorsson, called Longshanks for his well-honed body and thick-limbed strength. It is said that he once raced a horse on foot and saw it drop dead in its attempt to outpace him. A spear leans against mail-clad shoulder while a shield painted bright white sits at his side, concealing the sword on his hip. He sits closest to the dancing flames with knife in hand and a sausage on its end.

Next in line are the twins Kurt and Krakr Lorisson. Born under a starless night, it was thought that neither would live to see their first winter. And yet, here they stand, men both and full grown indeed. Their mail glints in the firelight as an ever-emptier wineskin passes from brother to brother. Cheeks red from drink, songs fill the air as each joins the other in good cheer.

The least among them is Simon Sharp-eyes. While a young man not yet fully grown, he earned his manhood with the slaying of Ketil Crush-fingers during Sterki and Hakon Godis' feud. Though he lacks the might of Jogrim or the battle-smarts of Kurt and Krakr, Simon wields his bow with enough skill to be counted as Barki's equal in battle. With his face turned away from the fire, his eyes stay locked to the growing shadows swirling ever-more around him.

With this in mind, it is only fitting that the one called Sharp-eyes is the first to spot Barki's horseless approach.

Simon leaps to his feet, bow in hand and arrow nocked yet undrawn, as his voice sends his fellows scrambling to their feet and to their weapons, "Who goes there?"

Barki lifts his chin and shows his empty hands, "It is only I, a weary traveler who comes with curiosity in mind and news on his lips."

Simon narrows his eyes and goes to speak, yet it is Jogrim whose voice fills the air. Laying a hand on Simon's shoulder, he says, "In that case, weary traveler, come and warm yourself by our fire. Tell us of your curiosity and of the news you know."

Simon shoots a look at Jogrim, who merely shakes his head 'no.' Barki, never one to refuse an opportunity when it presents itself, gladly takes a seat before the flames and accepts a small swig of the wine once passed his way. Simon frowns at Kurt and Krakr, yet Jogrim's shoulder-bound-hand keeps his mouth shut.

With his throat slicked by a small sip of wine, Barki begins reciting his words, "I had heard rumors of a curse or other maleficence afflicting this grove and, following my curiosity, wished to see it for myself."

Jogrim exchanges glances with Kurt and Krakr; who shift on their shared log as if their spot was somehow suddenly made uncomfortable. Simon's frown deepens, fingers playing across his bowstring, but Jogrim's tightening hand still keeps his silence. Eventually, Jogrim speaks, "Tell me, traveler, how is it that you learned of this rumor? Sterki Godi, our employer, works hard to keep such unsavory words from spreading."

Barki purses his lips as he considers the path before him. A thin fiction is all that keeps Sterki's men from being obligated to slay him where he stands; an outlaw is little more than a beast and a beast always damages that which men hold dear. Any guard of good standing would be forced to kill a beast encroaching on protected property, even if their hearts desired against it. If Barki wants to keep his head where it sits, he'll have to be very careful with his words.

"That relates to the news I bring," Barki eventually says, a flash of inspiration guiding his words, "I recently stopped by Stacksdell and learned of how the outlaw Barki Gunnvaldsson had slain Adamaz the Hawk," the men sit in sudden silence, their eyes shifting between each other in quick succession, "Modolfr, who had survived the encounter, told me of what the outlaw was seeking: information about Sterki Godi's silk grove."

"Stacksdell is nearby," Jogrim says as he runs fingers across his chin. "It is said that Barki Gunnvaldsson rides the horse Olfossa, so it would be easy for him to travel here."

"He must be close by," Kurt says as Krakr nods.

"It is our duty to seek out beasts threatening Sterki Godi's silk," Krakr adds as Kurt nods in turn.

"And since this weary traveler seems the upstanding sort," Kurt says with a hand flicking Barki's way, "I'm sure he would be more than capable of keeping watch over the silkgrove, at least for the hour or two it would take to search the surroundings."

"You speak wisdom, Kurt and Krakr," Jogrim says with a small smile as he rises to his feet. "Come, friends, and let us hunt this beast."

Simon stares, shocked, as Kurt and Krakr nod their agreement. He grits his teeth and glares, unable to keep his silence for any longer, "This is a farce!" He declares as he leaps upright. Turning on Barki, he jabs at him with a pointing finger, "You, you are Barki Gunnvaldsson and I have had enough of this Skald's game."

"Calm yourself, Simon," Jogrim growls as his hand blurs into motion. Fingers wrapping about Simon's hand, a sudden squeeze sends sharp warning cracks into the air as pain flashes across Simon's face. "The outlaw Barki is known to ride a horse and keep a hound, the presence of both the traveler before us lacks entirely. Keep silent your words lest they find purchase in the wrong ear."

It is the thinnest of fictions, and yet it is all that keeps Barki's head on his shoulders. It is a fiction that all present know to be false, yet only one seeks to call it on this fact.

Simon scowls, but keeps his silence. Pulling his hand from Jogrim's grip, he holds his close to his chest as he turns his back and stalks off into the shadows. Jogrim watches him leave, his face a mask of imperceptible thought, before he turns to Barki and says, "My apologies, traveler, but you will have an hour to serve as guard before we make our return. Should we find you gone, we shall assume that you found and drove off the outlaw in our absence."

Leaning in close, Jogrim's next words are heard only by Barki's ear, "With this, my debt to you is paid in full. I ask, for the sake of the friendship between my Gerda and your Bestla, that you be gone by the time we return, else I be forced to kill you."

Barki nods, his voice silent, but that is enough for Jogrim. Turning to his men, Jogrim calls them to his side as he leads them into the shadows.

Barki breathes a sigh of relief as he watches the men leave, a sudden weight falling from his shoulders. That was a close one, but it still gave him time to investigate the grove.

Where does Barki investigate? (Pick 2)
[ ] The trees and their worms
[ ] The groveskeeper's shack
[ ] The outskirts of the grove

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AN: This was a fun one to write, all things considered

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Sterki Godi's Silkworm Grove, South Quarter, Iceland, Early Summer of 9007

Barki had only ever stood in the silksgrove once. It had been a little over three years ago when Sterki Godi invited Barki and all the others who had arrived with him for a feast. The feast was well-done, all things considered, but what stuck in Barki's memory was how the trees had been so heavily laden with silk that they creaked as they swayed.

Now, though, the grove is silent and empty as Barki walks under its boughs. The trees—a mix of majority native birches and a smattering of odd trees called 'mulberries'—were thick with leaf and clearly in good health, yet not a single worm dances among the branches. The leaves at the party bore hundreds of thousands of little bite marks, yet now they are as healthy as one could possibly hope.

Barki pauses as a harsh wind whips at his hair. Wordless whispers conjure feelings of unease as he casts his gaze about the grove. Like a thousand angry arrows piercing his skin, a shudder passes across his body as he hastens to finish his work as quickly as humanly possible.

Figuring that the groveskeeper's shack is as good a place as any to start, Barki makes his way over to where it squats in the center of the grove. With every step, the air grows thicker as a sort of malevolent pressure plays at his shoulders, drawing tension to the surface with every passing moment. Gritting his teeth, Barki shakes his head and presses on.

The groveskeeper's shack is a short building of square shape. A roof of birch planks protects the spartan interior from the elements and a flimsy door serves as a token entrance-guard. As the groveskeeper only stays here when necessary to watch over the worms, the inside is a barren landscape devoid of all furniture save for a workbench, a knife, and a basket full of...

Full of the bodies of hundreds of worms.

Barki frowns as he squats before the basket, his eyes adjusting to the darkness quickly. Scooping up a handful, he brings the corpses up for a closer inspection. His brows crease ever-sharper lines on his face as, one by one, Barki quickly determines cause of death.

The worms were killed by the thrust of a knife. The marks match the blade resting on the workbench perfectly, leaving little doubt to the culprit.

The groveskeeper's been killing the worms, that much is obvious. But what Barki doesn't understand is why? And, for that matter, though Barki knows little of the workings of silk-make, does it not require hundreds of thousands of worms to make enough silk to be profitable? Surely a few hundred dead worms wouldn't put much of a dent in the final product?

Strange, doubly so when one considers how much work it would be to kill a worm with a knife. Surely it would be far easier to just squash them, right? Using a knife to do the deed stinks of something odd, though Barki can't quite put a finger on what exactly would drive a man to it.

Regardless, Barki sticks a more intact worm corpses to his belt before exiting the shack. As he steps into the grove, however, a certain oddity catches his eye. Amidst the sea of green and brown stands a single solitary splash of black. Charred black, to be specific.

Closing in only widens the mystery further as Barki lays eyes on a curious sight. One of the mulberry trees is burnt to a crisp, yet the nearby birches and fellow mulberries are none the worse for wear. Scattered about the base are shoeprints of an odd sort. Flat-nosed toes and a pointed, triangular heel—presumably the prints of the culprit.

Pressing a hand to the bark reveals the tiny amounts of warmth still trapped within, making this a recent deed.

While burning down the grove would certainly stop silk production, a single tree means little at the end of the day. Could the groveskeeper be responsible for this as well?

As soon as the thought crosses Barki's mind, he frowns and discards it with a shake of the head. No, though burning a single tree down at a time fits with the sort of man who would take a knife to a worm, fire isn't nearly as personal a weapon as the knife is. Besides, the groveskeeper—a man by the name of Duncan Green-finger—wears simple shoes of round design, not the... 'unique' style of the prints. This was done by a different culprit, but still the same question remains.

Why?

Taking one of the few surviving leaves, Barki tucks it into his belt before a certain thought comes to mind. Smoke leaves a very pungent scent, one that should be easy enough to follow. Certainly easier to follow than the footprints quickly vanishing into churned-up mud and muck.

While Keld and his powerful nose are nowhere near here—having been left behind to keep watch over Olfossa—a Norseman of sufficient might has many options at his disposable.

Shapeshifting, the act of altering the prowess of one's physical form, is a skill practiced by all Norsemen to differing capacities. As one refines their bodies to greater potential, so too do they grow the malleability of their bodily self. As one grows in strength, they naturally gain the ability to change and alter aspects of their self to better suit their various needs.

The vast majority of Norsemen wield their shapeshifting to enhance their fighting potential. Denser muscles, thicker skin, stronger bones, all fall under the typical applications of shapeshifting. Some, however, take a somewhat different approach to shapeshifting. By deepening their understanding of certain animals, one can gain some slight semblance of their might.

By studying the bear, a man can weather any storm. By learning the wolf, a man's blows can fall fiercer and bite deeper than ever before. By knowing the raven, a man can gain insight into story yet to come.

Though Barki—to the irritation and deep disdain of Gunnvald—has little talent when it comes to shapeshifting, deep enough understanding makes up for lack of innate ability. And if there is anything in this world that Barki truly understands, it is his dog.

Breathing in deep, Barki closes his eyes as his lungs expand and contract. Cold air flows in through his mouth, warm breath flows out from his nose. With every inhale, Barki draws his ordstirr up from his soul. With every exhale, he allows his ordstirr to suffuse through his body. Again and again, Barki repeats this process until his nose moistens from humid breath. Only then does he take the next step.

With his ordstirr now buzzing beneath the surface of his skin, Barki focuses his will to a needlepoint as he turns to the fabric of his inner sense of self. Though any alteration will be undone with the dropping of focus, as long as he keeps his concentration, so too will the changes stay.

Will-needle in mental hand, Barki works his ordstirr through the fate-weaved cloth of his being. In and out the needle dances, trailing ordstirr-as-string while the tapestry of his body slowly changes to reflect his new additions.

The final stitch ends his work as Barki takes a deep breath. Not through his mouth, but through his nose.

Immediately, a wave of sensation crashes through his body as Barki braces to ride out the storm. Layer upon layer of new smells fill the air as Barki grits his teeth and focuses his will. Sorting through the new feelings is a difficult task, but not one any more strenuous than the altering of one's physical form.

There, hidden beneath a bird's fecal leavings, is the trace of smoke Barki had been looking for. Grabbing hold with both hands, Barki opens his eyes and takes a step down that trail. The scent-trail leads him from the grove and down an earthen ramp, the smell of the sea slowly growing in strength as the sound of waves lapping at the shore reach his ears.

Waves lap at Barki's shoes as he stands at the bottom of the ramp, the scent-trail disappearing into the rolling waters of high tide. But where his nose fails him, his eyes are quick to pick up the slack. There, in the distance, is a sea-side cavern. Though high tide makes any attempt to access the cave a tall order, Barki would be willing to bet considerable wealth on the fire-starting culprit having used it as a hideout at some point in time.

Speaking of which, it would also probably make a good hideout for Barki, if he were willing to use it as such...

Regardless, with morning comes low tide and it will be many hours before both. If Barki desires to investigate the cave, it may be best to set up a small camp and rest till dawn. Still, with the worm's corpse, the scorched mulberry leaf, and some dirt from the grove, he likely has all the evidence he needs for a Seeress to perform her magics.

What next?
[ ] Write in

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Current Situation:
-Serious Puncture, Left Thigh | Bandaged + Yarrow | ~3 Days Remaining
-Two Broken Ribs, Chest | Untended | ??? Days Remaining
You are currently tired
You are currently well-fed

Current Time: Late Evening
~5 Days till Harald begins his hunt

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AN: I had a fair bit of fun writing up that shapeshifting description, if you couldn't tell. I'm excited to see what you folks think of it!