- Location
- New Zealand
I think the added scene works really well, and gives Alrika more character development.
The Real Adventures of Norgrim Grimsson, Exasperated Recluse (Warhammer Fantasy SI)
- Thread starter soulcake
- Start date
- Fantasy
I like the scene where Norgrim and Alrika confined in each other, Alrika acknowledged she really could've gone about it better and Norgrim got to talk about his fears of returning home.
TimEd
Meteor maker
hanging sentence
bands
Love the damn things. Like a pan but better, the old pot.
go to
broth
hunched. Her
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Evillevi
A Pikachu for everything - Shadow Pikachu,2015
Alrika and Norgrim are now battle dawi in arms. They even drop the honorifics.
Compared to the original, this feels a lot better. THe cliffhanger hits harder because of the more personal scenes and the personal scenes gives so much potential in what happens after the cliffhanger.
Some speculation, Alrika seems to be chafing under the weight of being a princess. She wants to do something but it feels like her father is giving her an intellecutally important and powerful position that she emotionally chaff under.
Additionally Norgrim is probably one fo the very few dawi who "forgot" proprietary to speak with her as a person. And I think she appreciates it.
Compared to the original, this feels a lot better. THe cliffhanger hits harder because of the more personal scenes and the personal scenes gives so much potential in what happens after the cliffhanger.
Some speculation, Alrika seems to be chafing under the weight of being a princess. She wants to do something but it feels like her father is giving her an intellecutally important and powerful position that she emotionally chaff under.
Additionally Norgrim is probably one fo the very few dawi who "forgot" proprietary to speak with her as a person. And I think she appreciates it.
TFTC. She is trying to pull her weight. Hopefully with him now reunited with fellow dwarfs the can survive until they reach a hold.
xbox432
Lover of Editing
I DID like the interaction between the two. Nothing like being stranded in the wilderness while surrounded by enemies to forge bonds of comradery. For Alrika... is she tired of the politics, of having to sacrifice her morals for logic/strategy? Hmm, feels like she's not doing enough cooped up behind the walls perhaps?
Oh, that's one hell of a cliffhanger... Still, he DID grab his axe. So maybe he'll smack the wolf with it? Or the Princess/a Frostbeard could get a shot off at it. I'm curious to see which direction you'll take for getting him out of the maw of the beast. Because I doubt becoming a chew toy is how he'd want to go.
Lastly, below are some typos for your editing pleasure:
hisses the - hisses, the -or- hisses as the
hunchedHer - hunched. Her
been…unbecoming - been… unbecoming
One too many spaces between the lines here.
things admitting - things like admitting
If - if
home." - home,"
Either there should be a space between these two lines, or they should be combined into one paragraph.
mountaislope - mountainslope
goood - good
fighting" - fighting,"
Dwarf's - Dwarfs
us." I - us," I
Deja vu. - deja vu.
allie's - ally's
- Location
- Earth
I think it's less that Alrika doesn't like being a princess, and more that she feels useless currently. Remember that as far as they can tell she was the target of the avalanche, so she feels responsible for getting a lot of good dwarves killed just for existing. Obviously it's not her fault, but that's how she feels.
Night_stalker
Slava Ukraini!
- Pronouns
- He/Him
I mean, she's not being treated like fine porcelain out in the wild, that's probably a big relief for her.
Evillevi
A Pikachu for everything - Shadow Pikachu,2015
Something I think is fascinating is that the Gobi horde shouldn't be in a position to intercept the Frostbeards. This implies that someone saturated the entire area with enemies to catch the reinforcements.
This is probably why Alrika wanted to warn the frostbeards. A scheme to kill her under the pretense of an avalanche requires that reinforcements don't arrive in time to rescue the survivors.
Under this paradigm, Alrika move was probably a safer bet because that means they avoid the flying monsters hunting for survivors. .
This is probably why Alrika wanted to warn the frostbeards. A scheme to kill her under the pretense of an avalanche requires that reinforcements don't arrive in time to rescue the survivors.
Under this paradigm, Alrika move was probably a safer bet because that means they avoid the flying monsters hunting for survivors. .
- Location
- USA
- Pronouns
- He/They
Oh this is a treat. Great character interactions.
- Location
- Do you really care?
~Wool guides it~, heh.
Man, if this fic doesn't end on Dwarf Boy getting married to the princess, I'll be mighty surprised. I like her.
When in doubt, blame Malekith who broke the promise he made to his Best Buddy, Snorri Whitebeard on his deathbed that made the latter so mad he came back as Grombrindal.
And even if Dawi could somehow say "My bad" and let bygones be bygones there, I doubt Caledor II, the Joffrey-lite Phoenix King, would let that go and had the Dwarf ambassadors' beards shaved out of spite which the war would happen anyway.
By the way, this is a really awesome story so far after binge reading and I will be looking forward for more with great interest.
Malekiths part in the War of the Beard can be summed up as 'Hey you go make life difficult for the High Elves.' Underling proceeds to kill off a trade caravan of Dawi in High Elf lands leaving evidence that the High Elves did it.
Caledors diplomatic abilities did the rest. The funniest AU I could imagine is if Malekith then joined the War of the Beard on the Dwarves side.
Granted I'm a major proponent that everything bad that Malekith did is the fault of Morathi (for giving him the chaos artifact headgear/starting chaos cults all over their island and being Morathi) and the council of princes who looked for the first chance they could get to take the throne for themselves.
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- Location
- Edmonton
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Its been canon for a few years now that Caledor was so antagonistic because he had just received word that Kor Venaeth was sacked by a Dwarf army (which was acting without the leave of the High King, not that Caledor knew or probably cared about that particular part)
The Ranger and the Mountain Princess Ch. 7:
- Location
- Edmonton
- Pronouns
- He/Him
TW: An animal is hurt and dies.
The Wolf's charge knocks me into the air and my uncle's crossbow from my hands. Waves of pain that slam into me from the force of the blow and the jaws chomping down on my shoulder. Despite the chaos and agony, strangely enough I can only think of one thing.
Goblins suck.
But now isn't the time for that, so I push those thoughts aside and focus on the fact that I'm about to get mauled and how to prevent that. I immediately use my free hand and reach for the wolf's face, poking out its eye with a vicious jab of my thumb and making the animal yelp in pain. Going by the Wolf's cry of agony and the way its grip weakens as it jerks to a stop to try and get my fingers out of its face it seems to do the trick.
I dig my thumb in deeper, and the wolf finally lets go of me as it whines and screeches, moving its head away from my hand in a desperate attempt to make the pain stop. Not letting up, I push the already tilting animal over by kicking its front feet out from under it to send both mount and rider tumbling to the ground, letting me fall flat to the ground on my back with a thud.
Everything hurts like a bitch, but I push through the pain and begin getting up. Rolling over to stand on unsteady legs before awkwardly unholstering my axe my uninjured arm and walking towards the squawking Goblin and Wolf. The sight of me makes the Greenskin scramble around faster in its attempt to get out from under its mount, but the Wolf's in too much agony from the fall and its injured eye to notice my approach.
When I get close enough I quickly end the animal's suffering with a chop of my uncle's axe. But before I can move onto the Goblin I'm knocked back to the ground by a kick to the chest, the force of the blow making me lose my weapon as I fall. Before I can react any further the rider's already on top of me, dagger in one hand while the other holds my uninjured limb down.
I instinctively use the free limb I have, grabbing the Goblin's arm with my injured arm before he can stab it downwards. I don't bother biting back the scream that follows as the move sends a fresh jolt of agony up my arm. A pain that only grows worse when I have to struggle to keep the Greenskin from overpowering me.
My arm hurts, my everything hurts honestly, and I'm pretty sure we're both screaming at this point. We struggle for a few more seconds, each trying to overpower the other, before the Goblin apperantly gets sick of the struggle. I watch this dumb green fucker change course by baring his teeth before he lunges forward, mouth open and aimed for my throat.
I don't know how I manage it, but I move my head up and turn it to the side, angling my helmet to take the brunt of the blow, just as he surges down to bite me. I hear the thud of flesh on steel, followed by a screech of pain and the grip on my uninjured hand loosening.
Not wasting the opportunity, I immediately punch the reeling Grobi with my now freed hand, sending the nasty little fucker and that stupid dagger flying off me in different directions and onto the cold hard snow. I push myself up on my elbows, sparing a glance towards where he landed and find him too busy howling in agony, clutching his bleeding mouth, to pay me any attention.
Leaving him to his agonized rolling, I roll over and see that uncle Malakai's axe landed just a few feet away. I half scramble half-belly crawl towards it like a baby, making it about halfway there before the little bastard from earlier jumps onto my back. I curse in surprise and pain as he tries to dig his grubby little fingers into my eyes just like I did to his Wolf.
With a yell of effort I roll over, using my weight in a half-hearted attempt to flatten him or at least to knock the wind out of his lungs. The Goblin doesn't take that lying down of course, still screaming and scrabbling against me even as my body weight pins him to the ground.
I elbow his head a few times in quick succession, pause and see if he's still moving, then continue when I feel even a hint of movement. I think I end up doing it a few more times, each time I pull back the red stain on my elbow having grown larger, only getting off of him when I feel his struggling stop for more than ten seconds.
Did I mention that everything hurts?
But despite the pain in my arm and the aches all over my everywhere I manage to reach the axe somehow.
Picking it up feels like a herculean effort, but I manage it and shuffle over to the unconscious Goblin. And just like with his wolf, screaming as I do so, I swing my uncle's weapon down across his neck. I'm in so much pain that I barely register the hot spray of arterial blood that splashes across my face.
"Fuck," I pant out, feeling the fatigue really hit me now that the adrenaline pump's been cut off.
Out of muscle memory more than anything, because my mind's not really functioning right now I think, I turn around and begin walking towards the general direction of the Dwarf lines. Going by the amount of dead and fleeing Goblins, it looks like things are wrapping up now. I know I should feel thankful or at least relieved when I spot two Rangers rushing over towards me, but strangely enough, or actually maybe not that strange at all, I can't muster any emotions and only feel weirdly indifferent about it.
My vision suddenly jerks downwards, and I dumbly note that I've somehow gotten on my knees.
Huh, legs must've given out.
Everything fades after that.
I'm pleasantly surprised to actually open my eyes.
I'm even more surprised to see the roof of a tent and to see Dwarf's head pop out of the corner of my vision to greet me. The first thing I notice is the eyepatch over his left eye, I mean where else would it be, and the mixed grey and black of his facial hair.
"You're finally awake," he notes casually.
You were trying to cross the border right?, some part of my mind giggles deliriously.
"What?" the old Ranger asks, confused.
Uh oh. I said that aloud.
Their brows scrunch in confusion before he shakes his head and sighs.
"Go back to sleep, lad. Things are well in hand here."
I try to nod, but I honestly can't feel anything right now so I don't know how successful I am, and just settle for closing my eyes.
I think I hear him mumble something to someone, but I'm drifting off and can't find it in me to care.
When I wake up again I'm a bit more lucid than last time.
It's a different Ranger who greets me this time, her hair thick and colorful compared to the salt and pepper locks of that other guy.
"Ho there Dawi, how're you holding up?"
"If you'll permit me the chance to bellyache, pretty Grungni-damned terrible," I answer back, my voice hoarse.
She nods.
"Getting dragged off by a Varf will do that to you. Thankfully it's nothing that a bit of rest and Valayan ale can't fix. Sit tight and I'll be back with a drink and some company. A few folks have been waiting for you to wake up."
"Wait," I murmur, making the other Dwarf pause, "Where are we now exactly? And your name, it was rude of me not to ask."
They huff goodnaturedly.
"Balen Drumboot, and as for where we are. About a day and half's trek from where we fought off those Grobi. That's us carrying wounded and escorting a civilian mind you."
My mind does the math subconsciously as I nod in understanding; we were still a decent ways away from Everpeak, but hopefully that would change.
"Where are the other wounded?" I continue, looking around despite the little pangs of pain moving causes.
"In their own tent. Man of the hour gets special accommodations," Balen explains, making me blink.
"What?" I stutter, feeling my cheeks grow warm as I try to force myself up, "I-"
I yelp when a pair of rough hands gently, but forcefully push me down.
"Stop agitating that shoulder you wazzok. You're in your own tent because the Princess insisted," Balun says, eyes narrowing, "And since the Old Man plans to grill you for what's in your head it didn't seem like such a bad idea. Don't you worry, you've not kicked anyone out of their lodgings or anything like that."
I nod at her assurances, leaning back into the bed again..
"Thank you."
"Mhm. You just sit there, relax and look pretty, you'll be wishing you were still unconscious soon enough."
Well isn't that peachy?
True to her word, immediately after Balen hands me a keg she turns and disappears beyond the tent flap, no doubt to inform whoever wanted to talk to me that I was now among the waking and lucid.
I only wait for about three minutes, taking small frequent sips of my drink so as not to upset my stomach, before Balen returns with another person in tow.
At first I thought it was another Ranger, but when they turn towards me I realize that, to my surprise, it's actually Princess Alrika, still dressed in the clothes from the cache.
"Here he is Rinnri," Balen announces, something odd in her voice, "awake and drinking, happy as a clam."
"So it would seem," she says, glancing at Balen before turning back to me. Alrika doesn't say anything immediately, taking her time to look me over in concern. I notice her mouth thin out when she looks at my shoulder before she takes a deep breath, blinks and then regards me a bit more formally.
"Ranger Norgrim. It's good to see you're finally awake. How are your injuries?"
I'm momentarily confused by the formality she's addressing me with before the working part of my brain reminds me that Alrika would obviously interact with me differently among other Dawi than when it was just the two of us.
"As well as I could be your Highness." I reply, following her lead, "According to Ranger Balen it's nothing that some rest and Valayan ale cannot fix."
"I see. That's excellent news. I just wanted to give you my thanks once more. That's twice now that you've saved my life, I pray you won't need to attempt it a third time." Alrika tells me, her voice just a bit tight.
Maybe she's embarrassed? Should I diffuse the situation?
Wait, no that sounds like a terrible idea. I'm horrible at that.
Despite myself I inadvertently chuckle, or at least try to, it sort of just comes out as a semi-hacking cough that makes Alrika's eye widen in alarm and Balen takes a step forward before I wave them off.
"As do I, your Highness. I don't want to put my shoulder through that sort of thing again."
Alrika's eyes quickly glance over at Balen, before she nods.
"We'll speak again Ranger, of that I have no doubt," she says with finality, nodding at me.
"By your will your Highness." I nod back.
Balen and I watch her leave the tent, hands held together in front of her, before I realize something and turn back to the other Ranger.
"I forgot to ask, but would you know what happened to the crossbow and axe I was carrying?" I inquire, trying not to look too panicked.
Balen gives me a knowing look.
"Safe and sound, don't you worry. We'll hand them over to you when you can walk, but you better not go around carrying them on that shoulder do you understand?"
I nod.
"My thanks."
Balen huffs.
"There's no debt to repay, you've had a rough enough time as is, Norgrim was it?"
"Aye," I confirm, "Norgrim Grimsson of Clan Growlsh."
Balen nods before something outside draws her attention.
"That'll be the Old Man. Well Norgrim Grimsson of Clan Growlsh, I wish you good fortune. If we meet again, it'll hopefully be under better circumstances." she offers, giving me another quick nod.
"And you, Ranger Drumfoot."
As Balen leaves, another Dwarf enters. It takes me a moment to remember, but I realize I've seen that same eye-patch and the salt and pepper beard before.
"You were there the first time…" I mutter, trailing off.
He grunts.
"Good. Seems you have your wits about you this time then. Name's Baraz White-eye, and I'm the poor sod in charge of this particular patrol of fools calling themselves Frostbeards. Now, I've already asked the Princess for the general idea of what in Grungni's name is going on, but she's a Kvinn of high standing and lacks the sort of training you'd expect from Zaki like us. So If you're feeling up to it, I want you to at least fill in the blanks for me, and more if you're up for it."
I nod without hesitation.
"I don't think I'm much better, but I'll tell you what I know Elder," I reply firmly.
Baraz eyes me critically.
"We'll see lad. We'll see." He turns towards the entrance and hollers. "Balen! Get the kegs!"
I spend maybe three hours speaking with Baraz, telling him what I know and answering the slew of questions he bombards me until my voice gives out. Deciding not to grill me any further that day, Baraz ends up telling me what happened after I had passed out. True to what I remember, enough reinforcements had arrived that they had managed to rout the Goblins by the time I was done with my fight, and got out of dodge post haste. They didn't even bother to ask Alrika what was going on until Baraz had led them to one of our most secure cache sites; an area that was apparently protected by old Runes from the Golden Age against "enemy magic." To his credit the Old Dwarf didn't waste time after that, immediately sending off a half dozen runners on ahead to inform Everpeak of what happened once Alrika had given him the gist of things.
"This is troubling," Elder Baraz mutters, finally speaking after having been silent for the past few minutes of walking, "Everything you've described tells me it's the Grobi. Avalanche, night attack, subterfuge and a diversion to lull us into a false sense of security. And don't think I don't see the parallels to what happened with us and your folk lad, it makes me all the more happy I brought us here, dark as that sounds. Typical Blood Spearz tactics if I've ever seen them, but there's no Grobi magic I know that can put an entire Clan's worth of Dawi to sleep that deep. "
"Or kill a group of Rangers so brutally and somehow leave without making any tracks." I mutter quietly, trying not to agitate my throat.
"Wyvern'll do it. Some of 'em are more than nasty enough and the Bloody Spearz have the wealth and lack of brains to do it," Baraz dismisses with a wave, still deep in thought.
"That sound I heard that night was no Wyvern, and the marks left at the cache didn't match their track pattern. Two legs, three toes, but the spacing was wrong and there weren't any wing marks. I may be a beardling, but my master taught me that much. It wasn't a Wyvern, I'm sure of it." I insist, voice cracking.
Baraz regards me with his one eye, squinting suspiciously, before he sighs.
"Fine. May not be a Wyvern." he concedes before returning to silently scratching his chin in thought.
That makes me blink in surprise.
Elder Baraz silently sits there thinking for another five minutes before he lets out a sigh and calls it a night, leaving my tent after telling me he'll keep thinking it over and for me not to worry.
Honestly I just nodded along with what he said, still busy reeling from being listened to by an Elder. I was prepared to make my case, get dismissed, then continue to make it until the older Dwarf finally acted like he had come to the same conclusion, so the quick and frank deferral to me, was in a word-
-shocking.
Still, I won't look that gift pony in the mouth and just keep my mouth shut.
I was cleared to walk under my own power the morning after my discussion with Baraz, and joined the marching column as we made our way back to Everpeak. As Balen promised, both my personal weapons and my uncle's gear were returned to me under the condition that I not carry any of it on my injured shoulder. We spend a day quietly marching before making camp for the night, which gives me the time to think about my current situation.
Alright, so that gift pony? Shat on my flowers. Trampled 'em even. Horrible equine, a toothless bastard of the highest order. A black mark on all ponies.
I think I've run this metaphor into the ground.
So the reason Baraz was willing to listen to me back then was because he, very unrightfully, assumed I wasn't just some lucky barely-adult beardling who had no idea what he was doing. On account of that whole "save the princess," business. Nonsense I tell you! I let my whole Clan get killed!
Now, knowing that's important, because that same sort of logic was getting me a lot of stares from the other Rangers. By my guesstimate it was an even mix of pity and respect everytime I managed to lock eyes with one of them. They alternated between treating me with kid gloves and the sort of gruff responsibility they offloaded on the more competent, read older, Dawi.
It was maddening, more specifically the back and forth was maddening.
Just pick damnit! Either I'm a beardling dangerously threading the needle between madness and sanity or I was a veteran, none of this ambiguity.
Hated ambiguity, far as I was concerned, the only thing that should be ambiguous is my silhouette when I'm wearing camo! Fastidious certainty was the name of my proverbial game dammit, in this life and the one before it.
Where am I going with this?
Right.
A cough from a nearby Ranger pulls me out of my head (ass) enough for me to look down and realize that, in my frustration, I've fucked up the hardbread. I glance around and see more than a few looks of well-deserved pity from my fellow Rangers. The thing about Dwarfen hardbread, at least the stuff from Karaz-a-Karak, is that we "pride" ourselves on using traditional Dwarfen grain in its making as much as is practically feasible. I personally think it's a mix of some chauvinistic belief in the quality of our goods mixed with the practicality of human grown food being more expensive to import than places like Barak Varr, Zhufbar or the Holds in the Grey Mountains and Vaults.
Anyway, I'm not sure on the specifics, because that's a Guild Secret even though the Farmers Guild is a desiccated corpse stubbornly kept on life support, but you have to be careful about mixing our hardbread with water. It's bland, but filling, and in large enough chunks it does its job as a stew thickener, but if you mash it fine enough, like I just did, the stuff effectively makes a mix of mud and dough. No, not a runny batter, I can only wish it was like that because I could make a poor Dwarf's pancake in that case. No, it was mud and dough and don't ask me to explain it better than that voice in my head.
Anyway, when that happens you're stuck with two options: cook the mass over the fire and get a dense, terrible pseudo-bread that I can never make right, or—
—you power through.
Without an ounce of fanfare and tragic, hard-won experience, I lift the small pot to my lips and tip it back. Normally I'd ladle it and suffer through the ordeal a bit more politely, but I'm operating on one arm and critical fucks deficit. So over the course of a few minutes I take large mouthfuls of the stuff and, after the minimum amount of chewing, swallow it down and take another bite without complaint.
The thing I've learned after years of eating only technically-edible foods is that the longer it stays on your tastebuds the worse it gets. I'm not sure when I started doing the whole swallow down like some madman bit, but it was definitely after the fifth time I screwed up the stew recipe my uncle taught me as part of my training.
It wasn't even that bad, didn't even crack my top ten worst meals, but maybe that wasn't a good thing.
Well whatever, I finish off the last of the stew-paste and release a quiet burp as I put down the pot and stare at it, wondering what the fuck my life is.
Looking up from my "meal," I realize a few of the Frostbeards are staring at me with varying degrees of disgust and understanding.
There's no winning when you fuck up your hardbread, just a choice on how you wanna take your poison.
I spend a few more minutes just sitting by the fire, letting the food settle in my stomach, before I call it a night and offer everyone a parting nod.
When I reach my tent I lift the flap and take a step inside, but take a moment to stop and look around.
The camp is small, but well organized. Several rangers quietly sit around the fire, resting, cleaning up their cutlery, or getting ready for their watch. A few feet away I see Alrika's personal tent, next to mine and the medical tent, all protectively encircled by all the others. My mind idly reminds me that we still haven't had that talk she promised, but I ignore it with some of that same, hard-won experience.
A part of me is amazed we managed to get to this point. After everything we've been through.
After everything I've lost.
But it's almost over. Soon we'll be safely behind the walls of Everpeak, I'll get Alrika home, grovel before the High King for a tax break for my Clan or something, deal with my surviving family, then spend my time figuring out who exactly is responsible for killing the rest so that I can do the expected thing and relentlessly chase them until either they or I die.
Huh.
By Valaya, I'm tired.
AN: You what would be really funny? Making this lull a fake out. :^)
━<><><>< 2204 I.C. ><><><>━
The Wolf's charge knocks me into the air and my uncle's crossbow from my hands. Waves of pain that slam into me from the force of the blow and the jaws chomping down on my shoulder. Despite the chaos and agony, strangely enough I can only think of one thing.
Goblins suck.
But now isn't the time for that, so I push those thoughts aside and focus on the fact that I'm about to get mauled and how to prevent that. I immediately use my free hand and reach for the wolf's face, poking out its eye with a vicious jab of my thumb and making the animal yelp in pain. Going by the Wolf's cry of agony and the way its grip weakens as it jerks to a stop to try and get my fingers out of its face it seems to do the trick.
I dig my thumb in deeper, and the wolf finally lets go of me as it whines and screeches, moving its head away from my hand in a desperate attempt to make the pain stop. Not letting up, I push the already tilting animal over by kicking its front feet out from under it to send both mount and rider tumbling to the ground, letting me fall flat to the ground on my back with a thud.
Everything hurts like a bitch, but I push through the pain and begin getting up. Rolling over to stand on unsteady legs before awkwardly unholstering my axe my uninjured arm and walking towards the squawking Goblin and Wolf. The sight of me makes the Greenskin scramble around faster in its attempt to get out from under its mount, but the Wolf's in too much agony from the fall and its injured eye to notice my approach.
When I get close enough I quickly end the animal's suffering with a chop of my uncle's axe. But before I can move onto the Goblin I'm knocked back to the ground by a kick to the chest, the force of the blow making me lose my weapon as I fall. Before I can react any further the rider's already on top of me, dagger in one hand while the other holds my uninjured limb down.
I instinctively use the free limb I have, grabbing the Goblin's arm with my injured arm before he can stab it downwards. I don't bother biting back the scream that follows as the move sends a fresh jolt of agony up my arm. A pain that only grows worse when I have to struggle to keep the Greenskin from overpowering me.
My arm hurts, my everything hurts honestly, and I'm pretty sure we're both screaming at this point. We struggle for a few more seconds, each trying to overpower the other, before the Goblin apperantly gets sick of the struggle. I watch this dumb green fucker change course by baring his teeth before he lunges forward, mouth open and aimed for my throat.
I don't know how I manage it, but I move my head up and turn it to the side, angling my helmet to take the brunt of the blow, just as he surges down to bite me. I hear the thud of flesh on steel, followed by a screech of pain and the grip on my uninjured hand loosening.
Not wasting the opportunity, I immediately punch the reeling Grobi with my now freed hand, sending the nasty little fucker and that stupid dagger flying off me in different directions and onto the cold hard snow. I push myself up on my elbows, sparing a glance towards where he landed and find him too busy howling in agony, clutching his bleeding mouth, to pay me any attention.
Leaving him to his agonized rolling, I roll over and see that uncle Malakai's axe landed just a few feet away. I half scramble half-belly crawl towards it like a baby, making it about halfway there before the little bastard from earlier jumps onto my back. I curse in surprise and pain as he tries to dig his grubby little fingers into my eyes just like I did to his Wolf.
With a yell of effort I roll over, using my weight in a half-hearted attempt to flatten him or at least to knock the wind out of his lungs. The Goblin doesn't take that lying down of course, still screaming and scrabbling against me even as my body weight pins him to the ground.
I elbow his head a few times in quick succession, pause and see if he's still moving, then continue when I feel even a hint of movement. I think I end up doing it a few more times, each time I pull back the red stain on my elbow having grown larger, only getting off of him when I feel his struggling stop for more than ten seconds.
Did I mention that everything hurts?
But despite the pain in my arm and the aches all over my everywhere I manage to reach the axe somehow.
Picking it up feels like a herculean effort, but I manage it and shuffle over to the unconscious Goblin. And just like with his wolf, screaming as I do so, I swing my uncle's weapon down across his neck. I'm in so much pain that I barely register the hot spray of arterial blood that splashes across my face.
"Fuck," I pant out, feeling the fatigue really hit me now that the adrenaline pump's been cut off.
Out of muscle memory more than anything, because my mind's not really functioning right now I think, I turn around and begin walking towards the general direction of the Dwarf lines. Going by the amount of dead and fleeing Goblins, it looks like things are wrapping up now. I know I should feel thankful or at least relieved when I spot two Rangers rushing over towards me, but strangely enough, or actually maybe not that strange at all, I can't muster any emotions and only feel weirdly indifferent about it.
My vision suddenly jerks downwards, and I dumbly note that I've somehow gotten on my knees.
Huh, legs must've given out.
Everything fades after that.
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I'm pleasantly surprised to actually open my eyes.
I'm even more surprised to see the roof of a tent and to see Dwarf's head pop out of the corner of my vision to greet me. The first thing I notice is the eyepatch over his left eye, I mean where else would it be, and the mixed grey and black of his facial hair.
"You're finally awake," he notes casually.
You were trying to cross the border right?, some part of my mind giggles deliriously.
"What?" the old Ranger asks, confused.
Uh oh. I said that aloud.
Their brows scrunch in confusion before he shakes his head and sighs.
"Go back to sleep, lad. Things are well in hand here."
I try to nod, but I honestly can't feel anything right now so I don't know how successful I am, and just settle for closing my eyes.
I think I hear him mumble something to someone, but I'm drifting off and can't find it in me to care.
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When I wake up again I'm a bit more lucid than last time.
It's a different Ranger who greets me this time, her hair thick and colorful compared to the salt and pepper locks of that other guy.
"Ho there Dawi, how're you holding up?"
"If you'll permit me the chance to bellyache, pretty Grungni-damned terrible," I answer back, my voice hoarse.
She nods.
"Getting dragged off by a Varf will do that to you. Thankfully it's nothing that a bit of rest and Valayan ale can't fix. Sit tight and I'll be back with a drink and some company. A few folks have been waiting for you to wake up."
"Wait," I murmur, making the other Dwarf pause, "Where are we now exactly? And your name, it was rude of me not to ask."
They huff goodnaturedly.
"Balen Drumboot, and as for where we are. About a day and half's trek from where we fought off those Grobi. That's us carrying wounded and escorting a civilian mind you."
My mind does the math subconsciously as I nod in understanding; we were still a decent ways away from Everpeak, but hopefully that would change.
"Where are the other wounded?" I continue, looking around despite the little pangs of pain moving causes.
"In their own tent. Man of the hour gets special accommodations," Balen explains, making me blink.
"What?" I stutter, feeling my cheeks grow warm as I try to force myself up, "I-"
I yelp when a pair of rough hands gently, but forcefully push me down.
"Stop agitating that shoulder you wazzok. You're in your own tent because the Princess insisted," Balun says, eyes narrowing, "And since the Old Man plans to grill you for what's in your head it didn't seem like such a bad idea. Don't you worry, you've not kicked anyone out of their lodgings or anything like that."
I nod at her assurances, leaning back into the bed again..
"Thank you."
"Mhm. You just sit there, relax and look pretty, you'll be wishing you were still unconscious soon enough."
Well isn't that peachy?
True to her word, immediately after Balen hands me a keg she turns and disappears beyond the tent flap, no doubt to inform whoever wanted to talk to me that I was now among the waking and lucid.
I only wait for about three minutes, taking small frequent sips of my drink so as not to upset my stomach, before Balen returns with another person in tow.
At first I thought it was another Ranger, but when they turn towards me I realize that, to my surprise, it's actually Princess Alrika, still dressed in the clothes from the cache.
"Here he is Rinnri," Balen announces, something odd in her voice, "awake and drinking, happy as a clam."
"So it would seem," she says, glancing at Balen before turning back to me. Alrika doesn't say anything immediately, taking her time to look me over in concern. I notice her mouth thin out when she looks at my shoulder before she takes a deep breath, blinks and then regards me a bit more formally.
"Ranger Norgrim. It's good to see you're finally awake. How are your injuries?"
I'm momentarily confused by the formality she's addressing me with before the working part of my brain reminds me that Alrika would obviously interact with me differently among other Dawi than when it was just the two of us.
"As well as I could be your Highness." I reply, following her lead, "According to Ranger Balen it's nothing that some rest and Valayan ale cannot fix."
"I see. That's excellent news. I just wanted to give you my thanks once more. That's twice now that you've saved my life, I pray you won't need to attempt it a third time." Alrika tells me, her voice just a bit tight.
Maybe she's embarrassed? Should I diffuse the situation?
Wait, no that sounds like a terrible idea. I'm horrible at that.
Despite myself I inadvertently chuckle, or at least try to, it sort of just comes out as a semi-hacking cough that makes Alrika's eye widen in alarm and Balen takes a step forward before I wave them off.
"As do I, your Highness. I don't want to put my shoulder through that sort of thing again."
Alrika's eyes quickly glance over at Balen, before she nods.
"We'll speak again Ranger, of that I have no doubt," she says with finality, nodding at me.
"By your will your Highness." I nod back.
Balen and I watch her leave the tent, hands held together in front of her, before I realize something and turn back to the other Ranger.
"I forgot to ask, but would you know what happened to the crossbow and axe I was carrying?" I inquire, trying not to look too panicked.
Balen gives me a knowing look.
"Safe and sound, don't you worry. We'll hand them over to you when you can walk, but you better not go around carrying them on that shoulder do you understand?"
I nod.
"My thanks."
Balen huffs.
"There's no debt to repay, you've had a rough enough time as is, Norgrim was it?"
"Aye," I confirm, "Norgrim Grimsson of Clan Growlsh."
Balen nods before something outside draws her attention.
"That'll be the Old Man. Well Norgrim Grimsson of Clan Growlsh, I wish you good fortune. If we meet again, it'll hopefully be under better circumstances." she offers, giving me another quick nod.
"And you, Ranger Drumfoot."
As Balen leaves, another Dwarf enters. It takes me a moment to remember, but I realize I've seen that same eye-patch and the salt and pepper beard before.
"You were there the first time…" I mutter, trailing off.
He grunts.
"Good. Seems you have your wits about you this time then. Name's Baraz White-eye, and I'm the poor sod in charge of this particular patrol of fools calling themselves Frostbeards. Now, I've already asked the Princess for the general idea of what in Grungni's name is going on, but she's a Kvinn of high standing and lacks the sort of training you'd expect from Zaki like us. So If you're feeling up to it, I want you to at least fill in the blanks for me, and more if you're up for it."
I nod without hesitation.
"I don't think I'm much better, but I'll tell you what I know Elder," I reply firmly.
Baraz eyes me critically.
"We'll see lad. We'll see." He turns towards the entrance and hollers. "Balen! Get the kegs!"
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I spend maybe three hours speaking with Baraz, telling him what I know and answering the slew of questions he bombards me until my voice gives out. Deciding not to grill me any further that day, Baraz ends up telling me what happened after I had passed out. True to what I remember, enough reinforcements had arrived that they had managed to rout the Goblins by the time I was done with my fight, and got out of dodge post haste. They didn't even bother to ask Alrika what was going on until Baraz had led them to one of our most secure cache sites; an area that was apparently protected by old Runes from the Golden Age against "enemy magic." To his credit the Old Dwarf didn't waste time after that, immediately sending off a half dozen runners on ahead to inform Everpeak of what happened once Alrika had given him the gist of things.
"This is troubling," Elder Baraz mutters, finally speaking after having been silent for the past few minutes of walking, "Everything you've described tells me it's the Grobi. Avalanche, night attack, subterfuge and a diversion to lull us into a false sense of security. And don't think I don't see the parallels to what happened with us and your folk lad, it makes me all the more happy I brought us here, dark as that sounds. Typical Blood Spearz tactics if I've ever seen them, but there's no Grobi magic I know that can put an entire Clan's worth of Dawi to sleep that deep. "
"Or kill a group of Rangers so brutally and somehow leave without making any tracks." I mutter quietly, trying not to agitate my throat.
"Wyvern'll do it. Some of 'em are more than nasty enough and the Bloody Spearz have the wealth and lack of brains to do it," Baraz dismisses with a wave, still deep in thought.
"That sound I heard that night was no Wyvern, and the marks left at the cache didn't match their track pattern. Two legs, three toes, but the spacing was wrong and there weren't any wing marks. I may be a beardling, but my master taught me that much. It wasn't a Wyvern, I'm sure of it." I insist, voice cracking.
Baraz regards me with his one eye, squinting suspiciously, before he sighs.
"Fine. May not be a Wyvern." he concedes before returning to silently scratching his chin in thought.
That makes me blink in surprise.
Elder Baraz silently sits there thinking for another five minutes before he lets out a sigh and calls it a night, leaving my tent after telling me he'll keep thinking it over and for me not to worry.
Honestly I just nodded along with what he said, still busy reeling from being listened to by an Elder. I was prepared to make my case, get dismissed, then continue to make it until the older Dwarf finally acted like he had come to the same conclusion, so the quick and frank deferral to me, was in a word-
-shocking.
Still, I won't look that gift pony in the mouth and just keep my mouth shut.
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I was cleared to walk under my own power the morning after my discussion with Baraz, and joined the marching column as we made our way back to Everpeak. As Balen promised, both my personal weapons and my uncle's gear were returned to me under the condition that I not carry any of it on my injured shoulder. We spend a day quietly marching before making camp for the night, which gives me the time to think about my current situation.
Alright, so that gift pony? Shat on my flowers. Trampled 'em even. Horrible equine, a toothless bastard of the highest order. A black mark on all ponies.
I think I've run this metaphor into the ground.
So the reason Baraz was willing to listen to me back then was because he, very unrightfully, assumed I wasn't just some lucky barely-adult beardling who had no idea what he was doing. On account of that whole "save the princess," business. Nonsense I tell you! I let my whole Clan get killed!
Now, knowing that's important, because that same sort of logic was getting me a lot of stares from the other Rangers. By my guesstimate it was an even mix of pity and respect everytime I managed to lock eyes with one of them. They alternated between treating me with kid gloves and the sort of gruff responsibility they offloaded on the more competent, read older, Dawi.
It was maddening, more specifically the back and forth was maddening.
Just pick damnit! Either I'm a beardling dangerously threading the needle between madness and sanity or I was a veteran, none of this ambiguity.
Hated ambiguity, far as I was concerned, the only thing that should be ambiguous is my silhouette when I'm wearing camo! Fastidious certainty was the name of my proverbial game dammit, in this life and the one before it.
Where am I going with this?
Right.
A cough from a nearby Ranger pulls me out of my head (ass) enough for me to look down and realize that, in my frustration, I've fucked up the hardbread. I glance around and see more than a few looks of well-deserved pity from my fellow Rangers. The thing about Dwarfen hardbread, at least the stuff from Karaz-a-Karak, is that we "pride" ourselves on using traditional Dwarfen grain in its making as much as is practically feasible. I personally think it's a mix of some chauvinistic belief in the quality of our goods mixed with the practicality of human grown food being more expensive to import than places like Barak Varr, Zhufbar or the Holds in the Grey Mountains and Vaults.
Anyway, I'm not sure on the specifics, because that's a Guild Secret even though the Farmers Guild is a desiccated corpse stubbornly kept on life support, but you have to be careful about mixing our hardbread with water. It's bland, but filling, and in large enough chunks it does its job as a stew thickener, but if you mash it fine enough, like I just did, the stuff effectively makes a mix of mud and dough. No, not a runny batter, I can only wish it was like that because I could make a poor Dwarf's pancake in that case. No, it was mud and dough and don't ask me to explain it better than that voice in my head.
Anyway, when that happens you're stuck with two options: cook the mass over the fire and get a dense, terrible pseudo-bread that I can never make right, or—
—you power through.
Without an ounce of fanfare and tragic, hard-won experience, I lift the small pot to my lips and tip it back. Normally I'd ladle it and suffer through the ordeal a bit more politely, but I'm operating on one arm and critical fucks deficit. So over the course of a few minutes I take large mouthfuls of the stuff and, after the minimum amount of chewing, swallow it down and take another bite without complaint.
The thing I've learned after years of eating only technically-edible foods is that the longer it stays on your tastebuds the worse it gets. I'm not sure when I started doing the whole swallow down like some madman bit, but it was definitely after the fifth time I screwed up the stew recipe my uncle taught me as part of my training.
It wasn't even that bad, didn't even crack my top ten worst meals, but maybe that wasn't a good thing.
Well whatever, I finish off the last of the stew-paste and release a quiet burp as I put down the pot and stare at it, wondering what the fuck my life is.
Looking up from my "meal," I realize a few of the Frostbeards are staring at me with varying degrees of disgust and understanding.
There's no winning when you fuck up your hardbread, just a choice on how you wanna take your poison.
I spend a few more minutes just sitting by the fire, letting the food settle in my stomach, before I call it a night and offer everyone a parting nod.
When I reach my tent I lift the flap and take a step inside, but take a moment to stop and look around.
The camp is small, but well organized. Several rangers quietly sit around the fire, resting, cleaning up their cutlery, or getting ready for their watch. A few feet away I see Alrika's personal tent, next to mine and the medical tent, all protectively encircled by all the others. My mind idly reminds me that we still haven't had that talk she promised, but I ignore it with some of that same, hard-won experience.
A part of me is amazed we managed to get to this point. After everything we've been through.
After everything I've lost.
But it's almost over. Soon we'll be safely behind the walls of Everpeak, I'll get Alrika home, grovel before the High King for a tax break for my Clan or something, deal with my surviving family, then spend my time figuring out who exactly is responsible for killing the rest so that I can do the expected thing and relentlessly chase them until either they or I die.
Huh.
By Valaya, I'm tired.
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AN: You what would be really funny? Making this lull a fake out. :^)
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- Location
- A Pit Of My Own Making
- Pronouns
- He/Him
- Location
- United States
Buddy, you are hero worthy of ballad now. Get used to it!
- Location
- USA
Ha! It took me a second read through for the border joke to hit. Lmao I'm so slow.
- Location
- Leeds
Is that distant rumbling I hear?
- Location
- Russia
Norgrim here is a real veteran. Not in age, but in experience. Like a soldier in real war who ages not by years he lived, but by battles he survived
And now I have a flashback to Starship Troopers movie with Norgrimm being John Rico in this analogy
P.S. him beating that varg with eyepoke and then that goblin with his bare hands is what cemented him as a veteran in the eye of elder ranger. I think. That was badass
(Edited)
And now I have a flashback to Starship Troopers movie with Norgrimm being John Rico in this analogy
P.S. him beating that varg with eyepoke and then that goblin with his bare hands is what cemented him as a veteran in the eye of elder ranger. I think. That was badass
(Edited)
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