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Thing about mountains is that they're big.
Okay, listen.
I know that seems self-evident, and repetitive, but I'm trying to convey exactly what it means to scour an entire mountain range for a group of Dwarfs who do not want to be found. Needles in haystacks does not adequately encapsulate just what the princess dragged us into. Course I had mentioned earlier that Rangers made trails all across said mountains to quickly get where they needed to go, and one would understandably think that would narrow down the number of places they would be.
But you'd be wrong.
"You travel these trails regularly?" the princess hisses the grip she has on my shoulder sending a constant wave of agony.
I bury the small surge of petty satisfaction back down and stop myself from reminding her that this was what she wanted us to do. Thankfully It's easy to do when you're stuck going back and forth between reminding yourself to keep your eyes forward and ignoring the pain from someone's crushing grip on your shoulder blade.
"Not all the time, no. We have different trails for different purposes," I answer over the howl of the wind, "There's different considerations between hauling supplies versus getting somewhere quickly and quietly for instance."
Smiths and Engineers had five different tools to do the same job, and Rangers like me memorized five different ways to get from one place to another.
Not to mention the numerous alternative routes that I
knew existed but had never actually been shown before…
…well, all of this.
So yeah, looking for needles in haystacks would be preferable to looking for Rangers on a mountain range.
"And you believe the Frostbeards would be taking these specific paths instead of those other trails you mentioned?" she not-accuses with an accompanying definitely-not-accusatory squeeze of her hand.
Ow.
I don't need much to imagine the squinted, suspicion laced glare she's got aimed at my back, and I
definitely don't need to think about the bruises on my shoulders I'll find in the morning after we make camp.
So rather than acknowledge that like a healthy adult, I choose to be a healthy Dwarf and ignore it with a grunt.
"They have a reputation for preferring speed and scouting over anything else, and of the paths I
know about this is the fastest, your Highness."
A cousin had called them glory obsessed trophy hunters once, but then again he had just been taken to the cleaners by a Frostbeard in the Gold Game. Still, there's a kernel of truth there. The Frostbeards specialized in tracking, scouting and hunting the larger monsters that made the northern slopes of Everpeak and her subsidiary summits their home. Not to say they weren't good at anything else, but in the—
"They do?" she asks.
"Pardon?" I reply, pulling myself out of my musing to focus back on Alrika.
"Preferring speed," she explains, ignoring or not realizing I had accidentally tuned her out, "I'd have thought that stealth would be more important for your vocation."
"Well stealth is a given, you aren't a Ranger if you don't know how to stay hidden. Even so, bands have their own quirks and preferences. Clan Growlsh are predominantly a Warrior Clan and the few of us mad enough who took to this career still reflect that heritage in our mentality. Frostbeards though? They're a whole Clan of Rangers, so they've got different traditions, different preferences."
Alrika hums in probably feigned interest, loosening her grip as she starts drumming her fingers on my shoulder.
"I see. I knew, intellectually that there were differences but-" she pauses, trying to find the right words no doubt, "well…"
Why would the daughter of the High King care to know the specific differences among Rangers?
"It's understandable," I cut in gently and saved her the effort of being tactful, "Not like we go sharing that sort of thing unprompted."
Not that there are many Dwarfs who would care to ask a Ranger anything that didn't involve a report about what gribble skulked about on our
mountains, I think sardonically.
"Tell me about them," she replies before coughing a little, "better to have a chat to drown out the howling of this wind some than not."
As if to emphasize the point, a particularly strong gust slightly rustles the tarp that's hiding this path from the outside world and I feel her grip on my shoulder tighten.
I blink, both in pain and surprise.
Why the heck not I guess?
"Well if you really want to know, then I suppose I can share a few things. My unc—"
Now to my credit, I recovered from the hitching quickly this time..
"—I suppose sharing what I know about Clan Frostbeard is as good a place to start as any," I say, feeling Alrika's hand minutely loosen its death grip as I get lost in my impromptu lecture to get away from the memories.
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After another long day of hiking we had set up camp for the night. This time with tents, blankets, and other camping things you take for granted.
Still stuck with a fire in a dirt hole on account of the need for stealth, but it definitely felt warmer than before, and that definitely wasn't placebo.
It's incredible how a normal ass tent feels like the lap of luxury when you spend days sleeping atop bundles of soft branches and/or in holes in the ground. I absentmindedly rub my throbbing shoulder as I watch the stew bubble away inside the pot.
Pots, that's another thing you take for granted until it's missing. Love the damn things, like a pan but better the old pot. Can cook the same things as a pan, but with those high walls you can make
stews. The shitty cook's go-to cheat for basic edibility. Exactly like what I had cooking over our sad little dirthole fire.
The meal itself wasn't anything special; just pieces of rabbit and bird in a broth made from water and a block of stew stock we plucked from the Cache, and thickened with crushed hardbread. Which wasn't to be confused with the ever-infamous stonebread and the literal gravel used to create it, that was for when things were
bad. No, just gamey meat, tough, dehydrated dough and indeterminantly old pre-prepared broth for the princess and I tonight.
Never did like stonebread, for fairly self-evident reasons I would think, but it was a meal every Dwarf had eaten once. Even now, it was eaten as a reminder of the lean times we faced after our empire was quite literally broken up and divided during the Time of Woes.
And to show the youngin's how soft these modern times were.
"Ranger," Alrika says, drawing my attention away from the odd paths my mind had taken me.
"Yes, your Highness?" I say, shoving the thought aside to look at her.
She doesn't immediately reply, but I can tell she's got something on her mind so I wait and watch. The princess is hunched over. Her gaze is focused on the firepit instead of me, and flame casts a dull orange glow and stark shadows across her face that make the pensive look currently plastered over it look all the more contemplative to me.
"My behaviour these past few days has been…unbecoming of my position," she says tentatively.
I stop short and blink at her admission.
What's going on? Ancestors?
Hello?
If you're wondering why this is making me react the way I am, well actually that's understandable. If you were a Dwarf you would know why, but I guess you aren't since you're some nebulous voice in my head. Dwarfs don't
do things like admitting fault, at least not lightly, and that became more unlikely the higher up the totem pole they got. If we could say "my bad," the War of Vengeance wouldn't be a thing now would it?
Alrika's looking at me now. Am I supposed to reply? Shit. Uh…
Right,
focus, don't spiral, don't tangent, stay in the present and reply. Remember what Ma taught me, be honest, be tactful, and never disregard the other person's opinion. I can do that.
"You pushed for the decision you believed in, according to the information available to you," I reply diplomatically.
That sounded good, right? Not too articulate to sound rehearsed? Even if a part of me agreed with that assessment now wasn't the time to address it. The right time would preferably be
never if I could manage it.
"Don't insult me with that Ranger. We both know that's not true," she insists, voice turning harsh and self loathing.
Damn it.
"Your Highness," I begin haltingly, "our disagreemen—"
"Speak like you normally do Ranger,
please." Alrika interjects, finally looking up from the fire to stare at me.
I sigh.
"I don't know why you want to beat yourself up over this," I admit to her after a moment, "What changed? This was the path you wanted."
"I spent the day walking with nothing but you and my thoughts to accompany me. Alternating between thinking about anything at all to ignore the fact that I was one slip away from death, and hearing you talk about your family and what being a Ranger is like, how this trail is one of potentially dozens that the Frostbeards could have taken. If they've even gone out on patrol yet at all! I've endangered our lives on a fool's hope. Risked you, your Clan, and myself, and for what? To assuage my
conscience." She all but spits out.
I stare at the princess, hunched over with her braid twisted and half undone in her hands and her face twisted with emotion.
"Do you regret it?" I blurt out, "Sending us down this path?"
She shakes her head.
"
No. No. Even if I spoke like some freshly risen Thane grandstanding to a crowd of onlookers in the cache, I believed every word of it. Because if it means I don't have to go home knowing another group of Dawi have died to keep me alive… that I could have helped, however faint that hope may be, and
didn't? I'll take it. I'd rather die trying to help them than live and risk being haunted by the alternative. Even when every ounce of training and wisdom I have screams otherwise. My only regret is having you forced to follow me. Better my idiocy takes only one of us."
I don't know what to say to that. I didn't really expect the princess to just blurt out stuff like this to me, a veritable stranger.
But If we're sharing our deepest secrets and darkest inner thoughts, I guess I'll try.
"I-I'm terrified of going home," I begin quietly, stirring the stew to keep my hands occupied "Of what my family will do when they hear what happened. Will they blame me? Praise me? A part of me wants to never find out. But another part wants to see them again, even if it means I'll come back to glares and tears. I can't tell you if I'm happy with this plan, signs point to no but I'm at least partially conflicted. A part of me wants to believe you, wants you to be right. Even if you aren't, then I can die knowing I did everything I could, that I didn't abandon my decency, my morality to do this, and hope that it's enough for the Ancestors when I stand before them."
"We're a pair of hopeful fools then," Alrika mutters self-deprecatingly.
I nod.
I remember another life, one that, however short, felt too full of missed chances and decisions made out of a mix of gun-shy cowardice and fear of the unknown. Maybe this existence wouldn't be that much longer, but I would make the last decision be the kind the version of me I could admire would make.
"It's brave to hope. It means baring your neck out to the world and daring it to swing," I tell Alrika.
"Don't let the elders hear you say that," she mutters, some joviality coming back to her.
"What else can they do to me? I'm already a Ranger, it'll be rain down the mountainslope," I counter.
The scent of the stew hits my nose, and I remember to pull it out of the fire before it burns. Quietly, I take half and put it into a bowl that I offer out to Alrika. She takes it from me quietly and the both of us eat in silence, content to listen to the quiet howling of the wind and the dulled crackle of the fire until it's time for Alrika to sleep and for me to take the first watch.
As I get up from my seat and get ready for my watch, the princess stops at the threshold of her tent to catch my eye and say something before going to bed.
"Thank you Norgrim."
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The morning after felt lighter, even if, true to my predictions, my shoulder was killing me. Neither Alrika nor I felt like talking, so we made camp in silence and got on our way a bit faster than usual.
We were about four hours into our hike when the stench of blood and stink hit my nose.
"Where's that coming from?"
"Up ahead. Strange that I can't hear anything though," I answer.
"We're heading towards it though aren't we?"
I lower my head and hold back a sigh.
"We have no choice in the matter."
"Then what should we expect to see Ranger?" Alrika whispers, hand falling on my shoulder.
"Don't know. Hopefully it's the Frostbeards. Worst case? Whatever killed my kin," I mutter.
"I see, so what's the plan?" the Princess mutters.
"Well we're downwind of whatever's making that smell for one thing, and I want to keep us that way. Wind's due to change soon if my memory's right, so just before that happens we'll change directions so that we approach from a wide angle to keep us that way. Then we see what it is that's making this stench, and work it out from there," I reply honestly.
"As good an idea as any," Alrika says, nodding in agreement.
We lapse back into silence, continuing to walk along the trail for a bit before I make good on the plan and direct us towards a detour to the left as the smell continues to grow stronger and familiar,
green adjacent hints mix in with it.
"Grobi," I tell Alrika grimly, loading a round in anticipation even as memories of a flare flash through my mind.
The sounds slowly grow louder and clearer as we continue heading towards it until I can finally
just make out the clang of metal and the sound of angry voices over everything.
Then I hear the familiar sound of a War Horn.
A Dwarf War Horn.
"That's the Frostbeards most likely, they're still alive but calling for reinforcements," I whisper, feeling hope swell in my chest as I begin to move from my brisk walk to an outright jog in the direction of the sound of what could only be a battle.
"Then we've arrived just in time!" Alrika almost shouts, following after me.
"Be cautious. We don't know how many Grobi they're fighting," I caution in between puffs of air, pulling out my crossbow.
Alrika doesn't quite growl, but she makes her displeasure known with a few grumbles and angrily frowning at nothing in particular.
I don't pay it any mind.
She needs to get to the Frostbeards, no matter what happens.
No matter what happens.
In the distance I can begin discerning the familiar sound of Khazalid cursing amid the cacophony of the skirmish.
I force feeling back into my hands, gripping my crossbow tighter.
"Do you know how to shoot?" I ask, formulating a plan as the sounds of battle continue to grow closer and closer.
"Not well!" she admits, frown disappearing as she looks at me questioningly.
Right.
I slow down and toss my crossbow to her, not watching her grab it but hearing her puff in surprise as it thuds against her chest while I pull my uncle's from my pack.
"Right! That war horn will be calling in every Ranger and Grobi for a good few kilometers." I pause as I hear yet more horns in the distance, Rangers propagating the message. "So here's the plan! From what I can tell when we reach the battle we'll be right behind the Goblins, so we'll be circling around to get to the Frostbeards. While we're doing that, we'll shoot any stragglers or other targets of opportunity we see, but secrecy is what's important here. Save the battlecries for when we aren't risking being surrounded by greenskins. I don't have time to run you through a firing drill so listen close." I say, turning to look at her again.
"When you shoot, aim for their torso, a bigger target is one you'll hit. When you shoot, only fire on the exhale! I'll stay behind them and shoot any stragglers, I want you to slowly circle your way around and get to the Frostbeards!" I say as clearly as I can manage over the din ahead.
Alrika nods.
I take a breath and try to force my body to relax.
Just like your lessons taught you.
We're almost on them, close enough to tell that there are about four dozen goblins between us and the Dwarfs they're fighting. Dozens of Goblins emerging from the nearby woods and charging at the embattled Dawi.
"Ancestors preserve us," I pray, feeling a strong sense of Deja vu.
Alrika and I raise our crossbows and let fly.
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The Goblins don't immediately react to us, I had made sure we stuck to shooting stragglers and any other Goblins that ran into us on their way to the fight as we slowly crept our way to the side of the battle that had more Dwarfs on it.
But our luck doesn't hold out.
Alrika fired a bolt, aiming at a Goblin that had been rushing at the exposed back of a Ranger. The shot hits the Greenskin in the leg and sends him stumbling into the snow with a screech. The unexpected direction of the shot draws several looks our way, and I know we've been made.
"Move," I ordered, watching as a handful began to sneer and point their allies in our direction "move!"
Alrika wordlessly begins jogging while I continue to provide covering fire for her, sending quarrels downrange with each thud of my uncle's crossbow.
Load, aim, fire I chant to myself, feeling my heart beginning to thunder just like before.
We just had to get to the Frostbeards.
Five Grobi break off from their original destination, turning towards me and Alrika instead.
I kill one and draw their attention away from the Princess towards the Dwarf still shooting them.
Two more fall to uncle Malakai's crossbow before I'm forced to pull out my axe and get ready to enter melee with the survivors. I idly note that one carries a shield and rusty dagger as long as his arm while the other's got two vaguely blade-shaped pieces of scrap metal in his hands.
Closest first beardling! Steel your nerves! The voice of Elder Bramblebeard echoes in my head.
With a roar I counter charge the oncoming greenskins, startling them long enough for me to make a downward chop at the nearest Goblin, the blade digging deep into its scrawny neck and sending a spray of arterial blood everywhere. Not willing to let the other Goblin recover, I ignore the ache in my shoulder and find the strength to carry through with the swing, tossing the dead Goblin's body with my axe and slamming it into his ally's shield and staggering him.
While he quails in surprise, I twist my now freed axe around and use the counterswing to get its beard hooked behind the shield, trying to yank it away from its wielder all while my shoulder's screaming from the effort.
I don't manage to disarm him, but going by the pop and squeal of pain I hear, I've at least dislocated the arm it's stuck on.
"I'll kill y—" the Goblin begins to screech before I punch him in the nose with my other hand.
He staggers, and I don't let up.
I punch him again and feel the cartilage of his nose break beneath my fists. The sound of the battle around us growing faint as I tunnel vision on the enemy in front of me.
He stumbles backwards and I feel my shoulder throb.
He'll kill me If he gets the chance.
I punch again and I can't tell if the howl of pain is from me, him or some other idiot in the distance.
I have things to do.
He falls to the ground.
There's still that dinner to go to.
I free my axe and swing it down onto his head, only to curse when the Goblin rolls out of the way while somehow kicking me on the side of the head as he does so.
I promised dad that I would be there.
Feeling lightheaded, I nevertheless swing again, this time my axe finds its mark and yet more blood splatters my face. I make sure I've actually killed the bastard and then take a deep lungful of air before I begin jogging again. Looking to the side as I holster my axe I see more goblins rushing my way and pick up the pace, slowly catching up with Alrika.
I try to reload uncle Malakai's crossbow, cursing at my shaking fingers, while four more Goblins chase after me.
"Get 'im!" one shouts angrily, "Get 'im!"
Up ahead I see Alrika stop her jog to turn around to aim her Crossbow behind me.
"Move Ranger!" I think she says.
I duck instinctively as she fires, the bolt finding its mark and striking that shouting Goblin in the heart.
She keeps firing, shooting the Goblins behind me until I pass her.
We're only a few meters away from the Dwarfs these Goblins are fighting, but even that feels like an impossible distance. Still, the ruckus we cause is loud enough that a few of our fellow Dawi finally take notice of the two idiots running their way from the opposite side of the battlefield and the Goblins chasing after them.
I duck again when a bolt zips by my head, landing right between the eyes of a Goblin that had been catching up to us.
In the distance I see a Ranger shout at us, though I can't make out the words coming out of his mouth. Must be the battle. Still, I can tell he's urging us to get over to him and his compatriots, and I don't need any encouragement to comply.
My arm's screaming in pain, my legs ache, my lungs are on fire, and my ears are ringing, but I'm grinning from ear to ear as the promise of safety crystalizes in front of me.
Then I see one of the Dwarfs shout in alarm.
"Varf! Varf! Form up lads!" he roars, sounding distant despite being no more than ten meters in front of me.
Turning my head, I see that Alrika has fallen behind me by a few meters at some point, and more worryingly I see a trio of Wolf Riders loping towards us.
She won't make it in time.
I slow to a stop, and after sharing a glance at the Ranger who shouted that, I turn around and run in the direction I came from. Crossbow raised.
"Go!" I yell at her, shooting a bolt past her.
One wolf falls, a quarrel embedded in its neck.
Alrika passes me and towards the safety of what I hope is a shieldwall forming behind me.
I shoot again, beginning to step my way backwards.
The next wolf gets a bolt in the haunch, sending it sprawling and its rider thrown bodily off his mount.
The last rider is shouting something, his nasally accent grating on my ears, and I fire.
I miss.
My hand barely reaches my axe before his wolf grabs me in its jaws.
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AN: Entered a fey mood and stuff ballooned out. So here's the first significant change! An entire scene has been added. I wanted to show more interaction between Alrika and Norgrim. Yeah it feels sudden, and from Norgirm's POV it is, but there's a few reasons! Also, did hint at some stuff about Alrika, hope it comes through. Please let me know what you think, and don't forget to C&C! :^)