#ironhand's daughter

[atomic-chronoscaph]

art by Ciruelo Cabral

[thetavolution]

BG3 Tav Backstory Bash by Kelandrin

This is a challenge to help people flesh out their Tav’s backstory by exploring their past. It is organized into four sections with seven prompts. You can treat this as a monthly challenge or a general project. You can write headcanons, fics, or share art based on the prompts! You can interpret the prompts however you want. If you want to share use the tag #bg3backstorybash

I was tagged by NO ONE. I am unstoppable.

Tagging (no pressure!): @tavsboots @whenwindwhispers @himbo-hunter-hadrian @vatyrie-avaris @durgeteriormotives @fainlin @auspex-author

INGRID SULLENBERGER

Deep Gnome — Druid (Circle of the Spores)

Baby:

Parents

Calvin "Sully" Sullenberger: He's an artificer and he works for the Ironhand Gnomes. He doesn't feel that strongly about their mission statement though. He's more self-serving than that. He believes in it, just not enough to die for the cause himself. He prioritizes his own skin first. He loves the fact his current wife hates his ex wife. He enjoys being fought over, even if it hurts his kids in the long run.

Greta Bloodstone: She's Ingrid turned up to 11. She's far more timid and scared, and she gives into her fears. She's the reason Ingrid refuses to let her fear win. She's seen what a doormat it made of her mother. She's a bard who often sings about other people's accolades, except for her own daughter's.

Anna Sullenberger: She's Ingrid's step-mother and Sully's second wife. She never behaved like an actual parent to Ingrid, but she's here on a technicality. Anna is a forest gnome and she hates living in the Underdark. She's convinced she'll change Sully's mind about leaving someday. She tries to use the fact the kids both left as an excuse to move to Baldur's Gate. She's just as self-serving as Sully, she's just more open about it. Anna is a wizard who focuses on illusion.

Birth

Ingrid was born in Silverdale, a deep gnome settlement in the Underdark. It's largely hidden away which is partially why it's still standing.

Greta had a midwife while having Ingrid and it was a traumatic birth. Both survived, but Greta decided she would not have any more children. She felt it would be too dangerous for her. It was a source of contention between her and Sully.

First word / Tantrum / When they first walked / First sickness

Her first word was "Ada." Correct me if I'm wrong, but I do believe that's the gnomish word for dad. That would have been her first word, just for the man to mostly reject her.

Her first tantrum would have been over a lack of attention, most likely.

She started walking at around 10 months old.

Her first sickness was a cold. She was a baby and miserable, but it wasn't life threatening.

Childhood:

Friends

She didn't have a ton of friends growing up, but she did have some. They send letters to one another.

Bimpnottin Cobblegem (she/they): I saw the name Bimpnottin and decided I needed to have someone in Ingrid's life named this. Bimpnottin is a sweetheart, but naive. They've never left their hometown of Silverdale. Bimpnottin also talks very loudly almost all of the time. She comes from a long line of cobblers and she kept up the tradition.

Gerbo Ironfoot (he/him): He was another childhood friend. He was the kid who talked the others into doing stuff. He wasn't a bad kid, just a little rebellious. He's a fisherman these days and he's married to Orla, a tailor, and they have two kids, Roondar and Dimble.

Umber Rivers (they/them): I'll talk about them in a minute. They weren't a friend in the traditional sense. They were a druid water genasi and the reason Ingrid became a druid.

Siblings

Ingrid has one younger half-brother, Sebastian. His other is a forest gnome and so he looks like a forest gnome. No one immediately pegs them as siblings because of it. I'm still fleshing him out. He is either an artificer, like his father, or a wizard who focuses on transmutation.

Getting into trouble

She rarely got into trouble as a kid. Or, at least, for anything she actually did. Anna was hard on her and would get upset with her over small things, like how she cleaned dishes or something of that nature.

Birthday

I've been waffling on exactly when, partially because I keep forgetting the calendar months in DnD/BG3. I'm officially going on record as making it 22 Alturiak. In her original story, she was born on February 22nd.

She would celebrate as a kid, but they would be small occasions with just close friends and her brother.

Games / Learning something new

She played the same games as many other deep gnome children. She did spend a lot of time alone, so she learned to entertain herself a lot.

She likes to learn. As a kid, she would get excited when she had a chance to learn something new. As a baby, she was a lot more afraid of things. It wasn't until she got older that she deliberately started fighting her fears.

Trauma

Oh boy, her parents did a number on her. Her dad was more excited to have two women fight over him than take care of his kids. He allowed Anna to treat the kids as pawns.

She was neglected a lot as a kid. Her parents were way more into their own drama than the kids.

She and Sebastian were pitted against each other. They have no ill will toward each other, but they never had a chance to grow close. Maybe one day they'll change that.

Teenager:

First love

Her first crush was her schoolmate, Alston Garnet (he/him). He was a deep gnome fighter. She didn't know that much about him because it was a pretty innocent teen crush.

I like to use songs as reference points and my first immediate thought was I'm In A Perfect Relationship from Central Park. It's the perfect sum up of how she and Alston felt about each other.

They both think it's really funny now that they're adults. They aren't close, but do consider each other friends.

Alston is now in a relationship with a deep gnome ranger, Orryn Filchbatter (he/him).

Rebellion / Running away

Her fondest memory comes from the one time she ran away. She was probably around 13, just barely a teen. She left home and traveled the Underdark alone when she was discovered by a druid. The druid guided her home and kept her safe. It left a huge impression on her and it's why she's a druid.

The druid who took care of her was Umber Rivers, a nonbinary water genasi who identified with the Circle of Land (Coast). As a kid, Ingrid fantasized about Umber raising her instead of her parents.

Reckless behavior

She wasn't really a reckless kid. She would sometimes get pulled into things by friends (Gerbo specifically) or her parents. This is when she started to experiment with drugs to treat her anxiety. She eventually found the right mix. It only counts as reckless behavior because she had no guidance while doing it as a teenager.

Peer pressure

She would sometimes give into peer pressure. It was never when it came to hurting other people though. Every time she gave into peer pressure, it was usually just stupid teen shenanigans or trying a drink or drug she shouldn't.

Taking responsibility

She was good at taking responsibility for her actions as a teen. Sometimes a little too much where she'd be held responsible for stuff that wasn't even her fault.

She was often treated like an adult by her parents. Parentification led to her taking responsibility for stuff her parents did, too. It didn't help her anxiety.

Adulthood:

Their “first time”

Donella Underhill (she/her) was her first real relationship and the person she shared her first time with. Donella was a deep gnome cleric, but she focused on becoming a merchant. Donella still lives in Silverdale and sells potions. If someone ever goes to Silverdale, they could encounter her as a potion seller.

The first time was awkward, but they learned a lot from each other.

Ingrid and Donella no longer talk.

Serious relationships

Depends on the universe/AU! In BG3/DnD, her first serious relationship was with Donella. They were young and it didn't end well. Neither of them knew how to navigate relationships and Ingrid didn't know how to set boundaries of any kind.

They have no ill will toward each other, but also have no interest in reconnecting. When they first broke up, there was a lot of raw feelings that turned into "hatred" for each other. Once it subsided, they took a much more nuanced view of the failed relationship.

Donella is now married to another deep gnome named Caramip Sparklegem.

Work

She's a druid, but she also works and makes money as a tattoo artist.

In her original universe, she's a human and a tattooist. It's not the career people expect of her. She loves tattoos and she loves drawing, so it made sense.

Leaving home

She was still a teen when she officially left home for good. She figured if she could take care of herself, she could hit the bricks. She wasn't kicked out, she just didn't want to be around her parents anymore.

Aging

She's a deep gnome so she could live to 350 to 500 years. And that's assuming some DnD shenanigans don't prolong or shorten her life somehow.

Most deep gnomes are expected to ease into adult life by 40 and she's only 28.

Staring a family/found family

Minty, Laura, and Bex are her found family. If you have to compare them to anything, I would say sisters or cousins. In BG3, she also considers her companions found family.

Eventually, she might like to settle down and have children with someone. This could be biological or adopted children. She does fear she'll have a similar birth experience as her mother though.

[blackjackkent]

It occurs to me that after punching so many Steel Watchers into small pieces, Hector's knuckles must hurt like all nine of the Hells.

Anyway, let's finish this place and get the hell out of here.

"The Neurocitor. I can hear its hum - familiar, yet painful. I helped design the Steel Watchers, toiled night and day on the first bipedal prototype. It is fitting it ends this way. I will bring down not only the Steel Watch but the very Foundry itself. This place will be smoke and rubble when I am finished. Are you ready, my friend?"

Why do I get the concerning impression that you are about to go down with the ship, Toobin?

(Gods, Hector looks tired.)

"What are you going to do?"

"Like the Foundry, the Neurocitor's exterior is near impossible to penetrate. However, its inner circuitry is highly unstable. I'm going to rain fire upon it - from the inside out."

This is not doing anything to assuage my concerns but I don't really seem to have the option to stop you at this point.

"Do it."

"Gond - let your hammer be my courage, your furnace my heart."

-----

Astonishingly, he actually wasn't sacrificing himself, and we got a very fun little sequence of everyone booking it out of the facility before it exploded.

And, of course, guess who's waiting for us outside. >:(

"That was a hell of a show, my friend. Watchers collapse in the street as we speak. And the Foundry? Well, it won't stain this beautiful city with its abominations - not anymore."

Oh, man, Wulbren, Hector is SO not in the mood to deal with you right now. Go away.

"But it's not over. So long as a single parasitic Gondian remains, Baldur's Gate is under threat."

"Wulbren. Enough. The Gondians are no more. I am all that is left. You've won. Take the city - let the Ironhands reign supreme. I just wish to go home and mourn my daughter in peace."

(A/N: This quest is definitely a bit confused about itself at times. Most of what Toobin just said is incorrect - there are at least two Gondians still alive from the Foundry besides him, not to mention all but two of the hostages from the Iron Throne - one of whom is his daughter that he claims to want to go and mourn. I suspect this line will be the target of a humorous patch note at some point in the future.

The main point of course remains the same, which is that the Gondians have suffered terribly and Wulbren is being an enormous turd.)

"Toobin is right," Hector says wearily. "It's over." There is just the slightest hint of muted threat in his voice. This has been a long physically taxing and emotionally draining day and he is more than ready for it to be over. He doesn't want to be Wulbren's enemy, but he is pretty sure he's also no longer Wulbren's friend, and if the Ironhands try to push this issue Hector is fully ready to throw them over the horizon.

Wulbren laughs coldly. "Please. If a Gondian told me the sky was blue, I'd look outside and check. Toobin will lie, torment, and scheme until his dying breath. Kill him - or the Ironhands will."

(A/N: Hector kept making this incredibly sad-puppy face through this whole scene, which is definitely a face he has made in a lot of other circumstances, but is actually not appropriate for this one. He's tired, and he's MAD - at Gortash who is not within immediate reach, and at Wulbren who is the nearest available target.

We have the option for a [CLERIC OF SELUNE][PERSUASION] check here but I think this is one of the few scenarios in which Hector doesn't want to take it. There's another, much harsher line that is much more in line with his mental state right now given how shaken up and upset he is at the moment.)

Hector is silent for a long moment, then lifts his head and meets Wulbren's eyes with a steady, hollow stare. No more. I can't stop all the cruelty in this city, but I can stop you, right now.

[ROGUE][INTIMIDATION] "I know a hundred ways to kill you, Wulbren," he says. His tone is flat and hard, like an unbreakable wall. "So I'm only going to say this once." He takes one step forward in the gnome's direction. "Walk. Away."

Wulbren's head snaps back and his eyes narrow to slits.

"I thought you a rebel in arms," he hisses. "I see now you were but a snake waiting for its moment to strike."

He turns a sneering gaze across each member of the group in turn, and then spits on the road between them. "Keep your blind Gondian," he growls. "I have no use for broken things. But know that I will not rest until this city is rid of the Gondians and their bootlickers. When the day comes, my hammer will find your skulls and crack them wide open. Ironhands - move out!"

------

Karlach knows Hector very well by this point and she has seen him reach his breaking point a couple times. She can see the signs of it now, and as Wulbren turns to walk away, she darts forward and throws both arms around Hector's torso from behind, pinning his arms to his sides. She feels the tense of his muscles in her grip and knows she guessed right - he was about to leap forward, to lash out.

"Easy, soldier," she mutters. "He's not worth it. Let him go."

For a moment she thinks he is going to try and struggle away from her, but he hesitates, then sags a little in her embrace, his weight sinking back against her chest. "Bigoted bastard..." he mutters. "Does he not see the suffering these people have endured? Does he not care?"

"Don't think he does," Karlach says grimly. "Too caught up in his own anger. Wish I could say I don't know what that's like, but I guess I'd be lying. But that doesn't make it right."

He nods slightly. "Gods, what a day. What a bloody day..."

"Lets go home, soldier," she says quietly. "Let's just go home. We did it. The Watchers are done. We can go after Gortash now, come morning. We did what we had to do."

"It doesn't bring Toobin's people back," he says hollowly. "It doesn't bring that little girl back..." A long pause. "So many years I lived in that cloister and never realized how much cruelty there is in the world. How much anger..."

She hesitates, then presses a cautious kiss to the back of his neck. He shivers, closes his eyes and turns in her embrace to rest his face into her shoulder.

She just holds him a little while before speaking again. "I was stuck too, the last ten years, you know. Not able to do much good for anyone. Maybe we would have done more, if we were here before, but we weren't. We're here now, and we're doing a hell of a lot. Don't you fucking lose sight of that, Hec. Not for a moment."

He draws a slow breath and lets it out heavily. "Thanks," he says quietly. "Let's just... let's just go. I need to put this place behind us."

[androidsvsvikings]

Once you rescue Zanner Toobin's daughter and help him out of the exploding steel watch factory, he says something along the lines of "I wanna bury my daughter in peace". Once Wulbren and Ironhands leave, and you talk to him again, he says he wants to leave the city with his daughter.

Many people think it's a bug, I think he says so to protect his daughter. If Wulbren gets to know that one other Goldor survived other than Zanner, he'd hunt them down. Zanner deliberately makes Wulbren believe his daughter is dead and he - a blind halfling - is the only one left.

[sutajogawug]

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[timelesstimesgoneby]

EPISODE SEASON DISC 1 S01E01 -MR BIG (PILOT EPISODE) S01E02 DIPLOMAT'S DAUGHTER S01E03 SCHOOL DAYS S01E04 OUR MAN IN TOYLAND S01E05 NOW YOU SEE HIM, NOW YOU DON'T S01E06 WASHINGTON 4, INDIANS 3 S01E07 KAOS IS CONTROL S01E08 THE DAY SMART TURNED CHICKEN DISC 2 S01E09 SATAN PLACE S01E10 OUR MAN IN LEOTARDS S01E11 TOO MANY CHIEFS S01E12 MY NEPHEW THE SPY S01E13 ABOARD THE ORIENT EXPRESS S01E14 WEEKEND VAMPIRE S01E15 SURVIVAL OF THE FATTEST S01E16 DOUBLE AGENT DISC 3 S01E17 KISSES FOR KA0S S01E18 THE DEAD SPY SCRAWLS S01E19 BACK TO THE OLD DRAWING BOARD S01E20 ALL IN THE MIND S01E21 DEAR DIARY S01E22 SMART, THE ASSASSIN S01E23 I'M ONLY HUMAN DISC 4 S01E24 STAKEOUT ON BLUE MIST MOUNTAIN S01E25 THE AMAZING HARRY HOO S01E26 HUBERT'S UNFINISHED SYMPHONY S01E27 SHIP OF SPIES, PART I S01E28 SHIP OF SPIES, PART IL S01E29 SHIPMENT TO BEIRUT S01E30 THE LAST ONE IN IS A ROTTEN SPY SEASON 2 DISC 1 S02E01 ANATOMY OF A LOVER S02E02 A SPY FOR A SPY S02E03 THE ONLY WAY TO DIE S02E04 MAXWELL SMART, ALIAS JIMMY BALLANTINE S02E05 CASABLANCA S02E06 THE DECOY S02E07 HOO DONE IT DISC 2 S02E08 RUB-A-DUB-DUB.…THREE SPIES IN A SUB S02E09 THE GREATEST SPY ON EARTH S02E10 ISLAND OF THE DARNED S02E11 BRONZEFINGER S02E12 PERILS IN A PET SHOP S02E13 THE WHOLE TOOTH AND.. S02E14 KISS OF DEATH S02E15 IT TAKES ONE TO KNOW ONE DISC 3 S02E16 SOMEONE DOWN HERE HATES ME S02E17 CUTBACK AT CONTROL S02E18 THE MAN FROM YENTA S02E19 THE MUMMY S02E20 THE GIRLS FROM KAOS S02E21 SMART FIT THE BATTLE OF JERICHO S02E22 WHERE-WHAT-HOW-WHO AM 1? DISC 4 S02E23 THE EXPENDABLE AGENT S02E24 HOW TO SUCCEED IN THE SPY BUSINESS WITHOUT REALLY TRYING S02E25 APPOINTMENT IN SAHARA S02E26 PUSSYCATS GALORE S02E27 A MAN CALLED SMART, PART I S02E28 A MAN CALLED SMART, PART II S02E29 A MAN CALLED SMART, PART III SEASON 3 DISC 1 S03E01 THE SPY WHO MET HIMSELF S03E02 VIVA SMART S03E03 WITNESS FOR THE PERSECUTION S03E04 THE SPIRIT IS WILLING S03E05 MAXWELL SMART, PRIVATE EYE S03E06 SUPERSONIC BOOM S03E07 ONE OF OUR OLIVES IS MISSING DISC 2 S03E08 WHEN GOOD FELLOWS GET TOGETHER S03E09 DR. YES S03E10 THAT OLD GANG OF MINE S03E11 THE MILD ONES S03E12 CLASSIFICATION DEAD S03E13 THE MYSTERIOUS DR. T S03E14 THE KING LIVES? DISC 3 S03E15 THE GROOVY GURU S03E16 THE LITTLE BLACK BOOK, PART I S03E17 THE LITTLE BLACK BOOK, PART II S03E18 DON'T LOOK BACK S03E19 99 LOSES CONTROL S03E20 THE WAX MAX DISC 4 S03E21 RUN, ROBOT, RUN S03E22 OPERATION RIDICULOUS S03E23 SPY, SPY, BIRDIE S03E24 THE HOT LINE S03E25 DIE, SPY S03E26 THE RELUCTANT REDHEAD SEASON 4 DISC 1 S04E01 THE IMPOSSIBLE MISSION S04E02 SNOOPY SMART VS, THE RED BARON S04E03 CLOSELY WATCHED PLANES S04E04 THE SECRET OF SAM VITTORIO S04E05 DIAMONDS ARE A SPY'S BEST FRIEND S04E06 THE WORST BEST MAN S04E07 A TALE OF TWO TAILS DISC 2 S04E08 THE RETURN OF THE ANCIENT MARINER S04E09 WITH LOVE AND TWITCHES WITH S04E10 THE LASER BLAZER S04E11 THE FARKAS FRACAS S04E12 TEMPORARILY OUT OF CONTROL S04E13 SCHWARTZ'S ISLAND S04E14 ONE NATION INVISIBLE DISC 3 S04E15 HURRAY FOR HOLLYWOOD S04E16 THE DAY THEY RAIDED THE KNIGHTS S04E17 TEQUILA MOCKINGBIRD S04E18 I SHOT 86 TODAY S04E19 ABSORB THE GREEK S04E20 TO SIRE, WITH LOVE, PART I DISC 4 S04E21 TO SIRE, WITH LOVE, PART II S04E22 SHOCK IT TO ME S04E23 LEADSIDE S04E24 GREER WINDOW S04E25 THE NOT-SO-GREAT-ESCAPE, PART I S04E26 THE NOT-S0-GREAT-ESCAPE, PART II S05E13 SEASON 5 DISC 1 S05E01 PHEASANT UNDER GLASS S05E02 IRONHAND S05E03 VALERIE OF THE DOLLS S05E04 WIDOW OFTEN ANNIE S05E05 THE TREASURE OF C. ERROL MADRE S05E06 SMART FELL ON ALABAMA S05E07 AND BABY MAKES FOUR, PART I DISC 2 S05E08 AND BABY MAKES FOUR, PART II S05E09 PHYSICIAN IMPOSSIBLE S05E10 THE APES OF RATH S05E11 AGE BEFORE DUTY S05E12 IS THIS TRIP NECESSARY S05E13 ICE STATION SIEGFRIED S05E14 MOONLIGHTING BECOMES YOU DISC 3 S05E15 HOUSE OF MAX, PART I S05E16 HOUSE OF MAX, PART IL S05E17 REBECCA OF FUNNY-FOLK FARM S05E18 THE MESS OF ADRIAN LISTENGER S05E19 WITNESS FOR THE EXECUTION S05E20 HOW GREEN WAS MY VALET S05E21 DISC 4 S05E22 AND ONLY TWO NINETY-NINE S05E23 SMARTACUS S05E24 WHAT'S IT ALL ABOUT, ALGIE? S05E25 HELLA COLUMBUS, GOODBYE AMERICA S05E26 DO I HEAR A VAULTS S05E27 I AM CURIOUSLY YELLOW

[budapestbug]

Perhaps the most recognized medieval object from Hungary is the Holy Crown of Hungary, commonly known as the Crown of Saint Stephen, displayed on the last picture. King Saint Stephen, the first Hungarian king received a crown from the pope in the year 1000, the legend says, but we know, the surviving crown dates from later in the 11th century, but throughout ther Middle Ages it was regarded as the Crown of Saint Stephen. Are there other crownes Hungary survived? How king was crowned before the arrival of the Holy Crown. Well, yes, other crowns were also found, used before the 12nd century, or in those thurmoiling decades, when rivalry and fight went on for the Kingdom of Hungary. First pic shows the so called Monomachos-crown, a Byzantine crown dating from the mid-11th century (is in the Hungarian National Museum) possibly used from the time of Coloman I, who was crowned in 1095. Second pictures shows a crown from the 13th century, this crown was found in the Margaret Island. On the island according to some historians stood at that time one of the monasteries of the Hungarian Temple Order, supporters of Anjou Charles Robert to seize the power in Hungary. He was crowned three times, in 1301, 1308 and 1310, but only at the last occasion the present Holy Crown of Hungary was used. Maybe this crown palyed role during the second coronation of him in 1308. Third picture display a crown found in the shrine of Saint Simeon in Zara (Zadar), probably donated by King Louis the Great or Queen Mary, his daughter. The role of this crown is unknown, maybe wored by Luis's widow, Elizabeth Kotromanic, who did not let her daughter to reign, but ruled for some years with ironhand over Hungarian territories. Fourth picture shows a crown, the funerary crown of Emperor Sigismund, husband of Queen Mary, who followed his wife on the Hungarian throne after her death in 1387 (died 1437). This crown was found among the ruins of Nagyvárad today Oradea in Romania - cathedral, and presently in the Hungarian National Museum. Last pic is hopefully known by everyone: the Hungarian Regalias with the Holy Crown of Hungary.

[onwesterlywinds]

It's late evening when an unusual face shows up to the Saltery - an older white Hrothgar, with a giant bow on his back. Dressed in various furs, and guiding a chocobo that holds several carcasses on its back. There's quite an assortment as well - a yabby, a gagana, and an aldgoat. He pauses on the outskirts, just on the stairs, and scans over the small town. Ashley Rosenheim has been lost in thought for a while - staring first at his feet, then at the waste of the crumbled pillars. Eventually his eyes found the statue of the King of Ruin, ruined itself now. The memories of the day it was unveiled are too strong for him to ignore, and so he lets them play out. Tikhomir Ajuyn spots the man easily, and follows his gaze to the base of the statue. He ambles over, and gives a low whistle from a few fulms away. Tikhomir Ajuyn: Ah, a shame. I remember when it stood tall. Ashley Rosenheim is hardly thinking of it as a shame, but he doesn't open with that. Instead, he surveys the newcomer - the first Hrothgar he's seen in these lands since before the Garleans came. Ashley Rosenheim: The pillars, too, I gather. Tikhomir Ajuyn nods, giving a toothy grin that shows fangs. Tikhomir Ajuyn: Aye. I traveled through here when I was young and lost, still trying to figure out what to do with myself. Tikhomir Ajuyn sighs, and shakes his head. Tikhomir Ajuyn: It ... was a bit of a shock, to come here and see the destruction a couple of moons back. Ashley Rosenheim: Hm. Ashley Rosenheim breathes in deep of the salty night air. Ashley Rosenheim: I know the feeling well. Tikhomir Ajuyn: Apologies. I mistook you for a soldier; I used to know a few back when I came through and traded. Ashley Rosenheim smiles wryly. It's an utterly humorous look. Ashley Rosenheim: Can't imagine why. Ashley Rosenheim's expression broadens ever so slightly - a single twitch of his lips - and he's back to staring out at the loch.

Tikhomir Ajuyn blinks at him, then chuckles softly. Tikhomir Ajuyn: Fair enough. I didn't mean to disturb you, and I can go, if you like. Ashley Rosenheim: No, by all means. Tikhomir Ajuyn: You just... Tikhomir Ajuyn crosses his arms, thinking. Ashley Rosenheim: ...Yes? Tikhomir Ajuyn: You look sad. I realize I'm a stranger, but... Ashley Rosenheim is surprised. It may even show on his face. Ashley Rosenheim: ...This is a sad land. Ashley Rosenheim breathes. Ashley Rosenheim: I've a child. And I'm thinking of all that she's had to do in my stead to make this a place worth living in again. Tikhomir Ajuyn goes quiet at that, and looks away. His tail flicks behind him idly. He isn't exactly sure what to say to that. Tikhomir Ajuyn: You must be proud. That she's accomplished so much. Ashley Rosenheim nods, stoically and wordlessly. Tikhomir Ajuyn offers a smile again. Tikhomir Ajuyn: My apologies, I didn't mean to drag you out of your brooding. Ashley Rosenheim: What brings you back here? Tikhomir Ajuyn motions at his chocobo. Tikhomir Ajuyn: I've been out hunting the past week, and I've come to trade my kills. I take commissions for families, as well as help cull unruly beastkin. Ashley Rosenheim nods his approval. Ashley Rosenheim: Too few are willing to do it. Tikhomir Ajuyn gives a small snort. Tikhomir Ajuyn: It's something of a family trade. My wife and her mother taught me. Before I met her clan, I was a gunbreaker. Tikhomir Ajuyn speaks his words easily, but there's a sadness to his eyes, and he frowns. Ashley Rosenheim was about to ask if they're Gyr Abanian, then sees that look. Ashley Rosenheim: ...Were they Gyr Abanian? Tikhomir Ajuyn blinks at that, and shakes his head. Tikhomir Ajuyn: No. Keeper Miqo'te, actually, living in the Black Shroud, sometimes the East End, before the Wall went up. Ashley Rosenheim doesn't know what to say to that - and so he looks back out at the statue of the Ruiner. After a time, he speaks again. Ashley Rosenheim: ...If only their steel could have gone the way of our stone. Tikhomir Ajuyn huffs, and shakes his head. Tikhomir Ajuyn: If only. I did my part -- smuggling people under or around the Wall, or picking off patrols if I could. Ashley Rosenheim regards him with solemn but genuine admiration. Ashley Rosenheim: That's... that's good. Tikhomir Ajuyn smiles. Tikhomir Ajuyn: I do what I can. I didn't dare venture into Gyr Abania proper until after the liberation, as I didn't need one of the Garleans thinking me some 'beast man'. Tikhomir Ajuyn snorts, and rolls his eyes. Tikhomir Ajuyn: Better an arrow in the dark than that. Ashley Rosenheim knows there's a reason he didn't see very many Hrothgar during his years of service in the Empire - even among the conscripts. He nods, a dark look in his eyes. Tikhomir Ajuyn: Forgive me, I never introduced myself. Tikhomir Ajuyn offers a short bow. Tikhomir Ajuyn: Tikhomir. Ashley Rosenheim inclines his head, and the gesture is no less respectful than a full bow. Ashley Rosenheim: Rosenheim. Tikhomir Ajuyn wants to make a joke about shortening his name to Rosy but even he knows that won't fly. Tikhomir Ajuyn: Well met, Rosenheim. Ashley Rosenheim hesitates, then asks the question he's been keeping bottled up. Ashley Rosenheim: You said you knew some former soldiers. Kingsguard? Tikhomir Ajuyn has to think about that. Tikhomir Ajuyn: ... Yes? I believe they were called that. High up on the chain, as it were. I traded with a few here and there. Ashley Rosenheim: Do you happen to recall their names? I'm trying to track down any who might be of assistance to the rebuilding. Ashley Rosenheim is, in fact, looking for information that could be useful to his daughter. Tikhomir Ajuyn: Hmm... One was Folles, I think. Tikhomir Ajuyn scratches his chin and while he thinks. Tikhomir Ajuyn: Einar smiled at me quite often, but paid fairly. And ... a woman? Ironhand, or some such? Ashley Rosenheim is surprised to know so many of those names. Tikhomir Ajuyn: Someone you knew? Ashley Rosenheim: More acquainted with, but yes. Tikhomir Ajuyn waves a hand. Tikhomir Ajuyn: I haven't seen any of them since I crossed the Velodyna and traveled to the Shroud, some twenty five or so years back, I'm sorry to say. Ashley Rosenheim considers for only a moment longer, then nods to himself. Ashley Rosenheim: There's a free company in Ul'dah - the Sandsea - that hosts some few former Kingsguard knights. If you're looking for old connections, that would be a fitting place to start. Tikhomir Ajuyn makes a face at the mention of Ul'dah. Tikhomir Ajuyn: Ah, the desert. I will give it some thought; thank you, Rosenheim. I can't promise I will drop by, as the heat does not agree with me, and cities... Tikhomir Ajuyn shivers. Ashley Rosenheim: Nor with me. But if nothing else, it lets you work up a sweat. Tikhomir Ajuyn gives him a flat look. Tikhomir Ajuyn: I'm covered in fur. Sweat is the last thing I need. Tikhomir Ajuyn manages a stern expression for all of two seconds, before chuckling. Ashley Rosenheim: ...Point taken. Ashley Rosenheim lets out a small chuckle himself. Tikhomir Ajuyn: Thank you for the information, though. I'd wondered over the years what had happened to the lot of them. Ashley Rosenheim: Too many disappeared without a trace. Ashley Rosenheim thinks, despite himself, back to the Resonatorium, and the piles of bodies Ashe agreed to help sort through - not knowing if they were dead to further Zenos' plans for her. Ashley Rosenheim: ...Too many. Tikhomir Ajuyn's lips part in a small growl, and he shakes his head. Tikhomir Ajuyn: ... That i know only too well. I was fortunate enough to bury my wife, but others of our clan were not so lucky. And the Garleans only made it worse for many. Ashley Rosenheim: I'm sorry. Ashley Rosenheim has a feeling Tikhomir Ajuyn will wave off the condolences, but it feels like the only right thing to say. Tikhomir Ajuyn: Thank you. I suspect it's only worse for you, never knowing if your people are alive or not, and not having proof. Tikhomir Ajuyn has something empathetic there, with his last words, as if he knows the feeling only too well. Ashley Rosenheim knows he's had it far, far better than most - what with all of those who have turned up alive, if not well. Ashley Rosenheim: I've my daughter. That's more than most can say. Tikhomir Ajuyn: It is, yes. ... I must admit, I'm glad you have your child. I never found out what happened to mine. Ashley Rosenheim scowls at the thought. This time, even a word of sympathy seems too banal for such a tragedy. Tikhomir Ajuyn pats Ashley Rosenhiem's shoulder gently. Tikhomir Ajuyn: T'was years ago - you've no need to give me sympathies or be angry on my behalf. Ashley Rosenheim: ...A sad land. Gods only hope the children who survived will be able to make it better. Tikhomir Ajuyn: We can only hope, and help them make a better world for the morrow. That's why I help out as best I can. Ashley Rosenheim: I've wasted enough time you might've spent doing just that. Ashley Rosenheim offers a slightly more noticeable smile. Ashley Rosenheim: I'll leave you to your good work. Tikhomir Ajuyn: Pah! Tikhomir Ajuyn scoffs and waves a hand. Tikhomir Ajuyn: Sometimes help is a good conversation. Thank you for it. Ashley Rosenheim: Likewise. Ashley Rosenheim does, in truth, feel much lighter. Ashley Rosenheim: If you've a mind to reach out back in the capital, I'll be at the Keane house. Tikhomir Ajuyn makes note of the name, though it's unlikely, because any more than twenty people makes him break out into hives. Tikhomir Ajuyn: I will keep that in mind. Ashley Rosenheim: Safe journeys, then. Ashley Rosenheim begins to walk back across the loch, toward the White Aisle and the city proper. Tikhomir Ajuyn nods, and then reaches into his pack. Tikhomir Ajuyn: Before you go- Ashley Rosenheim: Yes? Tikhomir Ajuyn: Here. Tikhomir Ajuyn hands over a small satchel of what smells like jerky, and a couple of dried fruits. Tikhomir Ajuyn: Some dinner. You looked hungry. Ashley Rosenheim shakes his head. Ashley Rosenheim: You've much more need of it than me. But thank you. Tikhomir Ajuyn: Save it for a rainy day, then, or pay it forward. Tikhomir Ajuyn waves his hand, and turns back to his chocobo. Ashley Rosenheim: If you insist. Ashley Rosenheim gives one last wave, then begins to jog back. Tikhomir Ajuyn waves after him, and then turns back to the Saltery.

[beeblackburn]

Pretender Reads A Little Hatred, Part I, Chapter Three

Guilt really is a luxury for the living, isn’t it. Goes without saying spoilers ahead for the entirety of The First Law works beyond the keep reading. Read at your own risk.

Chapter Title: Guilt Is a Luxury Point-of-View: Rikke

The snow had all melted and left the world cold and comfortless. The icy slop that stood for ground seeped into Rikke’s boots and spattered up her sodden trousers. Cold dew dripped endlessly from the black branches, through her sopping hair, onto her soggy cloak and down her chafed back. The wet from above met the wet from below around her belt, which she’d been obliged to tighten on account of having hardly eaten anything in the three days since she killed a boy and watched her home burn.

At least it couldn’t get any worse. Or so she told herself. 

In short, it’s really goddamn cold. As an opening, it serves as a microcosm of the lack of small comforts that Rikke’s endured since watching Uffrith burn, a relentless litany of the miserable chill upon her person, but as a contrast to the Original Trilogy, it’s a difference in prose craft and characterization between our two Northern voices, from Logen’s more stripped-down viewpoint to Rikke’s longer ruminations on the comfortless environment. Just compare here:

The sky was a brilliant blue, the sun was blazing overhead. He turned his face towards it, closed his stinging eyes and let the light wash over him. The air was painful cold in his throat. Cutting cold. His mouth was dry as dust, his tongue a piece of wood, badly carved. He scooped up snow and shoved it into his mouth. It melted, he swallowed. Cold, it made his head hurt.

Whereas Abercrombie went for a more bare-bones description of how cold it is, note the repetition of cold and how the descriptions don’t quite connect as neatly here, Rikke’s descriptions have a greater sense of continuity, going more directional as she notes the dew above dripping down her hair, soaking through her cloak, then her back, then from above to down below. There’s a sense of seamless rhythm here that Abercrombie’s earlier word craft doesn’t quite have, in terms of being refined by the later books. I definitely think Logen’s more bare-bones voice in reaction to his condition is intentional, but I also think the comparison shows concretely how much he’s improved since then. 

And, character-wise, you can see the difference between the two: Logen acknowledges that things can always get worse. He’s a survivor, a hardened man who’s been through tougher and been through far blacker conditions than the cold. Rikke, though? She’s not there yet. An inexperienced naif who thinks it can’t get worse, even though past books in the Circle of the World make a point that things can always get worse, and the difference between the winners and the losers being how clear-eyed you are about taking reality as it is.

One can argue that makes Rikke less compelling compared to the savage experience Logen had, but she’s still learning, and everyone in this world learns about how this world works in full.

“Aye, and his uncle Scale Ironhand’s, and his father Black Calder’s. The thorns may scratch your downy-soft skin, but a lot shallower than their swords would.”

WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!! CALLED IT!!! 

CAN’T WAIT TO MEET STOUR!

On a more serious note, yeah, this makes sense on how Stour’s taking back Angland plan would have the traction it got. If Black Calder wasn’t involved, he’d plot to assassinate Stour Nightfall in a heartbeat. That being said, I wonder what made him decide to cut Bayaz’s strings now? Did he meet with King Casamir Shenkt already? If not, then Calder’s playing a hugely dangerous game, given Bayaz’s history with the North and their talk in The Heroes. 

I hope you can slither your way out of Bayaz’s wrath, Calder.

“It’s almost like an unfriendly army swarming over your land is an inconvenience in all kinds o’ ways. You’re used to reckoning the world your playground. Beset by dangers now, girl. Time to act like it.” Isern slipped on through the thicket as quick and silent as a snake, leaving Rikke to struggle after, pointlessly cursing.

She liked to think of herself as quite the rugged outdoorswoman, but in this company she was a towny oaf. Isern-i-Phail knew all the ways, that was the rumour. Even better’n her daddy had. Rikke had learned more from watching her the last couple of weeks than she had from that fool Union tutor in Ostenhorm in a year. How to build a shelter from ferns. How to set rabbit traps, even if they hadn’t worked. How to reckon your course from the way the moss grew on the tree trunks. How to tell a man from an animal in the forest just by their footfalls.

Aw, Rikke calling the Dogman daddy instead of da’ or father’s a cute detail.

This chapter really digs into how lacking Rikke’s been in real experience, giving this picture of a coddled Northern girl. And, on the one hand, that’s honestly kind of sweet: Dogman getting out of a life of relentless violence to try and give his girl the peaceful sort of upbringing he didn’t get to have, drenched in blood and the violence that comes with being the following dog to the Bloody-Nine. 

But, at the same time, life in the Circle of the World is pretty pitiless to those with illusions. As someone who’s lived through the old trilogy, but isn’t in a familial capacity like the Dogman, Isern is an old hand at how this world works, and she’s giving Rikke a crash course on how to survive it.

Union tutor, eh? I wonder if that better life for the Dogman’s daughter also included giving her an education. Though, Rikke certainly isn’t appreciating it now.

Some folk said Isern was a witch, and no doubt she’d a witchy look and a witch’s temper, but even she couldn’t magic food out of rocks and bogwater at the arse-end of winter. Sadly.

Snrrrk. I’m noticing a patterns with how much Abercrombie shades magic and magicians from other series in Rikke’s chapters. Which, you know, makes sense, given how much the Long Eye pervaded her first chapter, and I imagine that not stopping in later ones. Magic isn’t a cheat code in this world, no substitute for lived experience and knowing how to survive.

Rikke knew what folk said about her, and maybe her head didn’t have the right parts in the right places, but she’d always had a sharp eye for things. So in spite of the gloom and Isern’s nimble fingers, Rikke saw the hillwoman only ate half as much as she handed over. She saw it, and was thankful for it, and wished she had the bones to insist on fair shares, but she was just so damn hungry. She stuffed her shred of dry meat down so quickly she swallowed her chagga pellet too without even noticing.

1. That first bit makes me think of a growing thought about how Rikke could be read as neurodivergent, given the whispers and the consideration that her brain isn’t wired “right.” In some ways, I’m not entirely sure how to feel about this, considering the magic = disability trope is a thing, but I think Abercrombie’s earned enough credit in the bank, and the writing with her mundane difficulties with the Long Eye makes me feel that Rikke isn’t really written as a figure of pity as some poorly-written disability-coded characters can be, so much as someone who has to deal with the inconveniences of a mental condition, but is still their own person beyond that. 2. Awww, Isern! That’s really nice of you. Though, I will admit, what’s Isern’s skin in this game? She says it’s the Long Eye, but why not just knock Rikke out and give her to Stour’s men? Would be the selfish thing. Would be the easy thing. 3. Rikke really isn’t a bad person at heart, but, when the practicalities of hunger push us, we find it easier to lean on our self-interest to make our choices. Selfless choices are rare in this world and a good way to determine the choices of characters in this world is “how does this benefit me?” Not always, but you’ll rarely be disappointed.

While she licked the wondrous taste of stale bread from her teeth, she found she was thinking of that lad she shot. That bit of dyed cloth around his scrawny neck, like mothers give sons to keep the cold off. That hurt, confused look he’d had. The same look she used to have, maybe, when the other children laughed at her twitching.

Man, Rikke really is a soft person and it’s such a tonal contrast from Logen’s “welp, I didn’t really have a choice, best not think on those I killed” attitude towards killing. The difference between lived experience is a chasm between them. An evil older man in a harsh world, and a decent younger woman in it.

Also, I know a friend similar to Rikke, who’s got a mental condition. It inconveniences her more often than not, and she’s not particularly happy about it, but, at the same time, she was born with it and she appreciates all the people in her life that don’t define her by her disability.

And when I read that last part, my heart hurts for Rikke. And my mouth tells those children to fuck off.

“I killed that lad.” And she sniffed up a noseful of cold snot and spat it away.

“Aye.” Isern trimmed off a chagga pellet and stuck it behind her lip. “You killed him all to bits, and robbed everyone who knew him, and cut all the good he might ever do out of the world.”

Rikke blinked. “Well, you’re the one split his skull!”

“That was a mercy. He’d have drowned on your arrow for sure.”

Oh, Rikke. I get the defensiveness, I do, but Isern’s right in that you effectively killed him first, so don’t deflect the blame there. Sure, it might’ve been an accident, but sometimes, intentions don’t mean anything to the reality of actions. Just ask Khalul.

“Deserving won’t make much difference to an arrow. The best defence against arrows is not a life nobly lived but to be the one who shoots them, d’you see?” Isern sat back against her, smelling of sweat and earth and chewed chagga. “They were your father’s enemies. Our enemies. Wasn’t as if there was any other choice.”

The difference between the killer and the killed, the hunter and the hunted, the living and the dead in this world.

Rikke hunched into her cold cloak and her bleak mood. “No justice, is there? For him or for me. Just a world that looks the other way and doesn’t care a shit about either one of us.”

This chapter is basically The First Law 101, one of the fundamental truths of the Circle of the World: the world is full of shit, and the people living in it just have to make the best of it through the eyes of a naif who wishes she didn’t have to kill to preserve herself. Someone like Logen would’ve given up on the idea of existential justice or wishing things were better, he’s long past that point. 

Rikke still wishes for that, and it’s a heavy feeling borne from her youth.

She felt Isern’s hand firm on her shoulder, and was grateful for it. “If killing folk ever starts to feel right, you’ve a worse kind of problem. Guilt can sting, but you should be thankful for it.”

“Thankful?”

“Guilt is a luxury reserved for those still breathing and with no unbearable pain, cold or hunger demanding all their fickle attention. Long as guilt’s your big problem, girl …” Rikke saw the faint gleam of Isern’s teeth in the gathering darkness. “Things can’t be that bad.”

In short, “I am still alive.” When you’re alive, you can feel all these emotions, you have the luxury of guilt. Because once you go through the Last Door, meet the Great Leveller, guilt’s your last worry. So, at the very least, be grateful to be alive. Because there are some who don’t get to be grateful, especially the corpses you made to keep yourself breathing.

She slapped Rikke’s thigh and gave a witchy cackle, and maybe there was some magic in it after all because Rikke cracked her first smile in a day or two, and that made her feel just a bit better. Your best shield is a smile, her father always said.

Awww! This is so much more emotionally warm than Logen’s first few chapters, trying to survive in the bitter cold. And I love how, after a dig against fantasy’s penchant for easy magic, Abercrombie flips it, giving a sort of magic to just these mundane gestures. Abercrombie’s gotten more optimistic as the series went on, and I just smile at how much it’s carried over to the official start of the new trilogy. There’s a sweetness to this I adore after the first trilogy’s more cynical touch.

“Why haven’t you just left me behind?” she asked.

“I gave my word to your da.”

“Aye, but everyone says you’re the most untrustworthy bitch in the whole North.”

“No one should know better than you what the things everyone says are worth. Truth is, I only care about keeping my word to folk I like. I seem untrustworthy because there are only seven of those outside the hills.” She made a fist of her tattooed hand, trembling tight. “To those seven, I am a rock.”

Rikke swallowed. “You like me, then?”

“Meh.” Isern opened her blue fist and shook out the fingers with a clicking of knuckles. “About you, I remain to be convinced, but I like your father and I gave him my word. That I’d try to put an end to your fits and coax your Long Eye open and bring you back to him still breathing. The small matter of an invasion may have nudged him out of Uffrith, but the commitment still stands, far as I’m concerned, wherever Stour Nightfall’s bastards might’ve driven him off to.” Her eyes flickered to Rikke, cunning as a fox that sees the coop unguarded. “But I’ll admit I’ve a selfish reason, too, which is a good thing for you, since selfish reasons are the only reasons you should trust.”

“What reason?”

Isern opened her eyes very wide so they bulged from her filthy face. “Because I know there’s a better North waiting. A North free of the grip of Scale Ironhand, and the one who pulls his strings, Black Calder, and the one who pulls his strings even. A North free for everyone to choose their own way.” Isern leaned close in the darkness. “And your Long Eye will pick out our path to it.”

Hah! Setting up the joke, only to deliver that “Meh” punchline. Perfect.

Well! That explains why Isern hasn’t abandoned Rikke yet. Though, frankly, that’s pretty non-selfish as far as motives go, Isern. You’re a nicer person than you give yourself credit for. Few of the characters in the first trilogy gave a shit about their countries in terms of better. I think only Jezal did, by the end, and... well. We all know that sad story in the end.

Though, whoa, does Isern know about Bayaz? Or is she just smart enough to realize Calder’s got strings around him, just like everyone else? Intriguing...

And I have to laugh a little about this ending. Isern’s sentiment’s in earnest, don’t get me wrong, but at the same, this feels like the typical “protagonist with magical gifts is set-up for a huge destiny” and... well, we all know Abercrombie doesn’t entirely roll that way. His character and genre deconstruction work is way too notable for him to play that sort of trope entirely straight and I relish that expectation coming true.

In short, this chapter is definitely a bit more light-weight than the others I’ve read, but it definitely serves a crucial purpose: The First Law 101, the Lesson. Imparting to a new reader, unfamiliar with this world, that this is how the Circle of the World works, but also, for old readers, pointing out that we’re getting different blood fore-running our stories, a huge difference from Logen’s world-weary mindset. 

And, I got to say, it’s a lovely contrast so far! It only makes me like Rikke all the more, as she wrestles with her guilt and the reality that the world doesn’t care for her guilt. Her first steps in being a survivor. And Isern really helps bring out the naivete in her, but there’s also a splash of character, both wild and warm, in her that makes it a more winning combination than the first trilogy’s Logen-Quai roadtrip duo.

PART I

Chapter One: Blessings and Curses Chapter Two: Where the Fight’s Hottest Chapter Three: Guilt Is a Luxury Chapter Four: Keeping Score Chapter Five:  A Little Public Hanging Chapter Six: The Breakers Chapter Seven: The Answer to Your Tears Chapter Eight: Young Heroes Chapter Nine: The Moment

[ogrimskar]

Even Gods Must Die Part 1

The winds of Northrend howled like banshees in flight, bringing with them a biting cold which clawed at the eyes and the flesh. It was as much the enemy here as the dead who walked the landscape. Sapping hope and light in one fell blow, and nothing could fight that all encompassing cold. Not furs, blood, or shelter. For it seeped into the earth, it seeped into the pores and followed along with those who sought to escape it. Until that time when the claws of darkness dragged one into its clutches. And those who called it home were hardy, and tainted by its touch. Those who were foreign had not the strength that was born of the blood here. Those who came to the shore had to fight for every step, every breath.

There were only three left of the ten who set out that fateful day. The humans had perished long before them, the dwarven hardiness and stubbornness the only thing that kept their armored feet moving through the drifts of snow. Starvation took two of his people, the horrific rationing of their last dwindling supplies forcing them to make drastic choices. They had come across wild beasts, but the taint had seeped into them as well and made their meat poisonous to those who consumed it. One of his guards, the ever wild Soldi had thrown caution to the wind and consumed a wolf’s flesh raw from its body. He had spasmed one last time before they moved off. He was dead or turned into something far worse. They could only hope for the former. The last ones had died at the hands of the gripping cold, exposure to the elements doing them in. All that was left was three. Two foolish men who still followed their further foolish Thane who would never be.

Argyle, the former Master of the Guardians was too stubborn and too old to give up on their work. He would follow young Gunnar until the sun fell into the ocean. Hungir was simply too big and too dumb to know when death was stealing upon him. Even as frostbite took a finger and a toe, he just kept moving, unmindful of it. There was no pain in his extremities anymore, so there was nothing to fear in his simple mind. Gunnar appreciated the lack of complication within his mind. He wished he had such simplicity. Inhaling a lungful of the burning cold, he looked across the tundra and saw a glimpse of giant beasts lumbering. He did not know if they were simply beasts or the machinations of the Great Enemy. It did not matter. They were too many and too large for them to strike. Or perhaps they should, to bring an end to this ignoble journey.

“We should rest Gunnar!” Argyle called with his gruff voice over those howling winds, his gray beard whitened all the more by the blowing snows. He carried with him his great axe, shifting his fingers now and again so that the frost would not grow too strong on his fingers and locked his gauntlets to the metal of the weapon.

“No! We shall press on! This is our punishment! This is our destiny!” The call was returned by the sorrowful tones of the Thane-to-be. He did not even turn back to his Guardian, instead pushing on through the ankle deep snow drifts. His own sword, ancient and honed by those who came before him in his clan, rested at his back. The haft and the scabbard were frosted over and would require working to get out, but thankfully the grease they had made from a beached whale’s blubber kept it from freezing fully within the sheathe itself.

“There won’t be naught left to find your honor boy if you keep up this pace! Think about your last kin!” Argyle shouted all the louder, coming to stop in the snow. Hungir stopped as well, looking between the two men who he held his loyalty to. Master Guardian and the Thane that should have been. He didn’t know what to say or do, as he did not much of the time so he kept his mouth shut.

Gunnar turned slowly and there was something wild in his eyes. His black beard was caked in traceries of ice and snow, his wild hair weighted down by frozen sweat. He blinked slowly through a rime of cold slush, and raised a gauntlet to wipe away the worse of what had built up on his features. He stared at Argyle, stubbornly spreading his feet in that way a dwarf will when he shant be moved another inch unless he got his way. Gunnar snarled like an animal, hand reaching up to clasp around the hilt of his sword.

“You will do as you are bid Guardian! You chose to follow me! You could have remained at my Father’s side. You chose to side with me and throw yourself into this treason and this redemption! And now you shall follow me! By your oaths, you shall not defy me!” For a moment, through the months of guilt and pain, shone through the dwarf who could have led his Clan. Since his wife had died delivering his daughter, he had not been the same dwarf. Even as he took up the banner to defy his mad father and tried to retake his clan from the brink of calamity, he had been a shadow of his former self. And now, as what was left of his loyal followers dwindled and died upon the stalk, he was left only with barren fields to supplement his strength.

“I shall not Gunnar. And you know why. I defied mad orders before, and it becomes a habit. We should find shelter and figure a way to replenish our supplies safely. If we can find the ocean once more, we could fish and perhaps come up with something untainted by this land. See sense my boy. What honor is there in this death?” Argyle shook his head and stepped forward, hands raised, pleading in his own way with his leader. Hungir seemed once more to be confused and shifted his feet, looking between the two. In his simple mind, all he wanted was food and warmth. So perhaps Argyle had the better of it. But he could not say it to his Thane.

“So it comes to this! I should have seen your treachery Argyle. Why now? When there is nothing left to claim? Why choose now to rise your hand against me?” Gunnar’s voice came out a strangled rasp, his eyes wild and wide as his sword was yanked from its scabbard with a crack of ice. The shimmering blade slipped into his hands with ease, perfectly weighted for him.

“Put your sword away Gunnar and listen to sense! Look what this place has done to us! Perhaps we will die here. Seems almost assured. But the least we can do is take it on our own terms! Lets regroup, and do a proper sally into a camp o’ tha’ undead bastards! Go down swinging! Please boy! Don’t throw us away for nothing!” Argyle’s eyes would have been wet with tears if the wind and the cold had not robbed him of the ability.

“I will bring us the honor we sought my friend. I’m sorry you were not strong enough to see it through.” Gunnar’s voice trembled as it was robbed of all hope.

There was naught but sadness and wretched darkness within his mind now, seeing the last of the people who had walked side-by-side with him turn away from him. The cold had seeped into his skin and his bones, and the darkness had crept into his mind. It consumed him, took what little was light, twisting it. And as he stepped towards Argyle for one last time, he would not seek his embrace as before. With eyes burning and his heart hammering in his chest, his blade rose and pressed its tip to the heavy iron of his breastplate. Argyle did not even have time to defend himself from the strike, as he was so taken aback by the sudden action. Never in a hundred lifetimes would he think the dwarf he had watched grow from a baby into a man would turn on him like this. And in that last moment before the tip of the sword pierced his heart he had a moment of clarity. Perhaps the madness was genetic. Perhaps it had passed from father to son. He had never thought Grimfal capable of what he did. He should have worried about Gunnar’s mental health. And as his body fell back on the cold plains of Northrend, he was only thankful he didn’t have to watch the final agonizing end of Gunnar. Hopefully the Thane-to-be would find the peace he was seeking.

Gunnar Ironhands twisted his blade in the breast of his oldest friend, choking on a throatful of bile which he spattered onto the snow to the side of him. Hungir’s eyes were wide in shock as he watched his Thane kill his Master of Guardians. His hands gripped tightly to his hammer, but he did not raise it against his Thane. He didn’t know what to do. He was lost. Nothing in his past or his training could bring him any sort of comfort in this moment. He stared at the rapidly cooling body of Argyle, and then fell to his knee beside the corpse. His frostbitten hands scrabbled at the beard and throat of the old dwarf, trying to find a heartbeat he wouldn’t even be able to feel through his nerve damaged fingers. A low moan of sadness passed his lips as he found nothing. And the moan transmuted to a blood choked gurgle as the blade which had fled the heart of Argyle, pressed into the back of Hungir. Gunnar could not rightly say what drew his hand. Perhaps in the depths of his addled mind he saw Hungir’s convern as collusion with the traitor. Perhaps there was a voice there, pushing him foward and whispering from the winds themselves. But blood trickled down the thick brown beard of the big dwarf, until he fell forward over the body of the Master of Guardians.

Gunnar stumbled back from the bodies of the two men who followed him so far. As their lives pooled away from them, his senses returned to him. His eyes which had been clouded with anger and fear, were released from the grip of madness. And all he saw was what he had wrought. His sword was tainted with the blood of the last two who trusted him, the last two who were willing to give everything for him. And he took away the last bit of their lives for nothing. As the wind of Northrend howled on with no care for what he had done, he fell to an armored knee in the snow and let out a cry of hopeless and endless rage. His voice echoed across the tundra, a sound of such anguish and bleak hoplessness that it might have stirred the heart of even the coldest of creatures. But there was nothing in this land to heed such a cry. There was nothing here that would give him what he sought. And as his cry died down and the echoes stopped reverberating, he was forced to stand. Blood stained sword in hand, he turned his back on the crimes he committed. Inhaling another lungful of frozen air he stepped forward once more. And through the snow he trudged, alone and dwarfed by the enormity of the landscape. This was his last day of life, for his death would come during the night. But for him, this was the last moment of who Gunnar was. Gunnar was gone now, dead in the snow next to Argyle and Hungir. Left behind in the mad quest for redemption, for the failings that haunted his every step.

[ogrimskar]

Ashes of Memory

Ogrimskar watched as the world burned, and the ashes of what was were blown out to sea. With impassive eyes he stared at the past and allowed it to pass through his metal clad fingers, like sand. He closed his eyes once during that endless time, to fight back tears that would never truly come. Nothing could be returned, and nothing could be regained. And it still hurt so bad, that even in his unbeating heart he could feel the ache.

He had come here to find something. What was it he came to find? The past, history, old and unburied. He had prayed that it would lead him somewhere, that it would lead him nowhere. The duality is what upset him the most. How bad he wanted it, and how he couldn’t conceive of finding what he sought. It had not been burning in the beginning of course. It had been standing open and naked, stark and raving to the night skies above. The skeleton of his history, the bones of his origin. It had not been touched since they left long ago, left to moulder beneath uncaring sky. Had they left soon after he? Or had they lingered there? Pretending to be what they were no longer, keeping up the charade for as long as they could.

There were few who knew his story, the shameful tale that led to his death in the cold land of Northrend, left behind by those last few who cared for him. He saw her ghost in those smouldering bones of a settlement, walking along the well worn footpaths with her light step. Her hair bouncing with every movement, windblown and tousled. She passed him, with that challenging look in her eye. She had always challenged him. And he had loved her for that. When he saw that ghost, his cheeks stained with red, bloody tears forming. She vanished as she passed, gone like smoke in the night. The rest came and went, but had not the power that she had. His father, his brother, his mother. Argyle and his gruff words, Uhlrid and his quick wit. The ghosts of his clan came and went, though perhaps not ghosts. No, these were phantoms of memory not death. Many could still yet live, luxuriating in their damnation

The yawning abyss opened beneath him, like a great fanged maw in the earth. The thing that had swallowed up his people. It was cold and old, hungry and unyielding. The Twilight’s Hammer had come slowly and sickly, a disease which had swept over the weak minded. It consumed even the most powerful in the clan, promising power and riches. Even as Ogrimskar had mourned his fallen bride, his family betrayed him. They knew he would never understand, would never yield before the Void. And they had tried to take the last thing he cared about, the last tether to the living world.

He saw her in his plated arms, where once she lay in his bare hands. His child, his daughter. She who had become his whole world. This last little shred of his beloved. She had never cried, dwarven children were strong and stoic. He flexed his gauntleted fingers, remembering her weight and the way she shifted. He could still feel it after all these years. Another raw ache which would follow him for all time.  She vanished, as he remembered what he had to do. The lengths he had to go to protect her from his family. He had left his wife behind, and would never be able to visit her body again. But that was a small price to pay to protect her. She deserved to grow up without the taint of her clan, of her family. So he did the unthinkable.

He fell to a knee before the bones and the spirits, unable to hold his footing. He was weighted down now by his armor and his deeds. Was he any better than what his family had become? He had served a terrible power, and had been saved from it. Could they too be saved? Or had the passing of time so irrevocably damaged them? He had no idea, he couldn’t even find them. He had seen not one clue of his people since he had returned. Perhaps they were all gone, and their echoes really were their ghosts. Was that comfort? Or was that just more pain? He could not tell any longer, unable to distinguish the two aches from one another.

He had decided to burn it. There was nothing left of the past to preserve, and it remained only a mute testament to what had come before. Better to obliterate it and move forward as best as one could. It had not taken much to set them aflame, the structures of rotted wood had gone up quickly. There was nothing left of Gunnar Ironhands, and the people he was of. Now there was only Ogrimskar, and the scars he bore. Mental and physical, marring him for the rest of eternity. And as he turned his back on the burning past, and looked toward a bleak and unforgiving future, he could only grit his teeth and steel his spine.

For there was nothing but darkness ahead of him and only ashes behind him. And the transformation of those two things, was the gift he gave the world. He would be the one to burn the shadows. For was it not better to burn, than to drown?