Turn 30 Social - 2484.5 - Part 4
The Temple of Ranald is not a tavern, but that just means it offers good drinks at a fair price instead of trying to slice every copper. To those with the clout to not be subjected to the gentle but insistent reminders from the staff that this is a gambling establishment and one is expected to partake, it's one of the better places for a reasonably quiet drink. Or a rather loud drink when the fighting ring is in use. It's also a favourite hangout of the Karak's small but growing clowder of cats, ruled over with a merciless iron paw by Captain Snuggles. The cat-shaped Shrine in the centre of the Temple is her favoured perch, and one can take in the current state of the pecking order at a glance by seeing which cats sit alongside their giant obsidian fellow, and which have been banished to the ignominy of ground level.
The only exception to this merciless and ironclad social structure is Wolf, who is known to doze alongside the obsidian cat while keeping a sleepy eye on the comings and goings of the worshippers. Either because of his unique relationship with Ranald or simply because he is a fully-grown wolf, none of the cats challenge his right to take up a significant portion of their chosen territory, not even the otherwise unchallenged queen-slash-officer.
"It takes a special kind of bond for a cat to be a soldier's pet," Oswald says, after you ask him of his cat's rank. "A dog will stick by your side through anything, but cats? They don't like moving and they don't like schedules, and for a cat to stick with you even through that instead of running away or being left behind because they weren't with you when it was time to march means something special. That's where the ranking system comes in. Not sure if it was just my regiment or wider, but animals get promoted and demoted based on how good they are at sticking around. Which means there's a lot of highly-ranking dogs and a lot of cats that never make it past lance corporal. If a Private is missing you just look around the place a bit, but if it's a Sergeant you go ask a few pointed questions of local butchers and the regiment's cooks."
You nod in understanding. "And now that you're in one place for the foreseeable future..."
He nods. "They were easy promotions to make. I doubt I'm going anywhere for the rest of her lifetime."
That's a sobering thought. It's been six years since the start of the Expedition, so Snuggles must be at least that old, almost certainly older. So at least half of her lifetime is already spent, probably more. You can't help but be quite glad that Familiars last longer than their ordinary counterparts. Rather than voicing that thought, you let the conversation drift into the conversation every pet owner is familiar with: the conversation about the personal quirks and foibles of one's pets, which is never interesting to anyone else, but listening to them is the price of admission for the always irresistible opportunity to talk about your own companion. And once that exchange is over, there's the question that's been in the back of your head ever since you met the man: what's with the generations of Oswaldsons? Oswald takes a long pull from his drink and stares at nothing in particular.
"There was once a Norscan raiding crew lead by a man named Ásvaldr," he begins, in the tones of someone repeating a story, "who broke with the Raven and fled to Nordland, eventually settling in a small fishing village willing to take a chance on some dubious new citizens in exchange for their skills at combat and boat-building. When it came time for them to adopt a surname, they collectively chose Ásvaldsson to show loyalty to their former captain. Over the years, this family demonstrated a strong adventurous streak and grew scattered across the Empire but remained in contact, and in each generation there was an Ásvaldr, an avatar of the original ancestor to bring luck and prosperity. By this time the descendants of the original crew had intermarried enough that they truly were a family, and everyone could draw a line back to the first Ásvaldr. But the Dark Age of Three Emperors shattered this unity." He waves a hand absently. "It's a long story of heartbreak and betrayal I won't go into, and by the time of Magnus the Pious few of us were left. The Ásvaldssons that supported the Wolf Emperors had died out in battle, the Aswealdssons who backed the Ottillian Emperors had been absorbed into the noble families of Talabecland - could probably find a blood link between me and that Hubert if you spent a month researching - and only the Oswaldsons who supported the Nuln Emperors remained, and there were damn few of us after the Great War Against Chaos."
"That's quite a history. I'd thought it was an unbroken line."
"Gods no. Many an Oswald has died childless, but the Oswaldsons continue and name a new Oswald or Osvalda for our ancestor. Even if we're a bit diminished now, there's still part of the Reikwald that we technically own, with some of the foundations of the original manor house still visible if you know where to look. By the time I'm ready to retire I should have enough squirrelled away to begin rebuilding in the Reikwald, unless I've gotten too attached to this place. Might take a page from the Halflings' book and decide that we're more secure if there's a new branch of Oswaldsons here in the mountains."
Considering your own family, it's hard to imagine having such a weight of history behind you, but Oswald seems to draw great comfort and motivation from his. And you can definitely respect the strength of will it must have taken the original Ásvaldr to turn from the Chaos Gods and lead his people to a new land. That's definitely worth celebrating, and perhaps even worth enshrining. You smile and listen with interest as Oswald turns to his current pet topic: his theorizing on the mystery of why the Dwarves have never embraced an indirect-fire blackpowder weapon. His world is very different to yours in many ways, but there's definitely parallels in how he approaches his world and how you approach yours.
The only exception to this merciless and ironclad social structure is Wolf, who is known to doze alongside the obsidian cat while keeping a sleepy eye on the comings and goings of the worshippers. Either because of his unique relationship with Ranald or simply because he is a fully-grown wolf, none of the cats challenge his right to take up a significant portion of their chosen territory, not even the otherwise unchallenged queen-slash-officer.
"It takes a special kind of bond for a cat to be a soldier's pet," Oswald says, after you ask him of his cat's rank. "A dog will stick by your side through anything, but cats? They don't like moving and they don't like schedules, and for a cat to stick with you even through that instead of running away or being left behind because they weren't with you when it was time to march means something special. That's where the ranking system comes in. Not sure if it was just my regiment or wider, but animals get promoted and demoted based on how good they are at sticking around. Which means there's a lot of highly-ranking dogs and a lot of cats that never make it past lance corporal. If a Private is missing you just look around the place a bit, but if it's a Sergeant you go ask a few pointed questions of local butchers and the regiment's cooks."
You nod in understanding. "And now that you're in one place for the foreseeable future..."
He nods. "They were easy promotions to make. I doubt I'm going anywhere for the rest of her lifetime."
That's a sobering thought. It's been six years since the start of the Expedition, so Snuggles must be at least that old, almost certainly older. So at least half of her lifetime is already spent, probably more. You can't help but be quite glad that Familiars last longer than their ordinary counterparts. Rather than voicing that thought, you let the conversation drift into the conversation every pet owner is familiar with: the conversation about the personal quirks and foibles of one's pets, which is never interesting to anyone else, but listening to them is the price of admission for the always irresistible opportunity to talk about your own companion. And once that exchange is over, there's the question that's been in the back of your head ever since you met the man: what's with the generations of Oswaldsons? Oswald takes a long pull from his drink and stares at nothing in particular.
"There was once a Norscan raiding crew lead by a man named Ásvaldr," he begins, in the tones of someone repeating a story, "who broke with the Raven and fled to Nordland, eventually settling in a small fishing village willing to take a chance on some dubious new citizens in exchange for their skills at combat and boat-building. When it came time for them to adopt a surname, they collectively chose Ásvaldsson to show loyalty to their former captain. Over the years, this family demonstrated a strong adventurous streak and grew scattered across the Empire but remained in contact, and in each generation there was an Ásvaldr, an avatar of the original ancestor to bring luck and prosperity. By this time the descendants of the original crew had intermarried enough that they truly were a family, and everyone could draw a line back to the first Ásvaldr. But the Dark Age of Three Emperors shattered this unity." He waves a hand absently. "It's a long story of heartbreak and betrayal I won't go into, and by the time of Magnus the Pious few of us were left. The Ásvaldssons that supported the Wolf Emperors had died out in battle, the Aswealdssons who backed the Ottillian Emperors had been absorbed into the noble families of Talabecland - could probably find a blood link between me and that Hubert if you spent a month researching - and only the Oswaldsons who supported the Nuln Emperors remained, and there were damn few of us after the Great War Against Chaos."
"That's quite a history. I'd thought it was an unbroken line."
"Gods no. Many an Oswald has died childless, but the Oswaldsons continue and name a new Oswald or Osvalda for our ancestor. Even if we're a bit diminished now, there's still part of the Reikwald that we technically own, with some of the foundations of the original manor house still visible if you know where to look. By the time I'm ready to retire I should have enough squirrelled away to begin rebuilding in the Reikwald, unless I've gotten too attached to this place. Might take a page from the Halflings' book and decide that we're more secure if there's a new branch of Oswaldsons here in the mountains."
Considering your own family, it's hard to imagine having such a weight of history behind you, but Oswald seems to draw great comfort and motivation from his. And you can definitely respect the strength of will it must have taken the original Ásvaldr to turn from the Chaos Gods and lead his people to a new land. That's definitely worth celebrating, and perhaps even worth enshrining. You smile and listen with interest as Oswald turns to his current pet topic: his theorizing on the mystery of why the Dwarves have never embraced an indirect-fire blackpowder weapon. His world is very different to yours in many ways, but there's definitely parallels in how he approaches his world and how you approach yours.
