Sosir the conspirator

He deeply mistrusted the Gestr, despite their apparent hospitality. He had stayed for over a week in the strange warren, but barely slept a full sleep. Two purple mountain nornir and an elder Jotnar had been his company, and his reason for remaining in the strange place.

On the first night there he and the others had slept in a room somewhat suited to their needs, with dry plant matter and warmth. They had all woken up in a different part of the warrens though, all well rested and healthy, but thoroughly confused.

The Gestr suggested they had sleepwalked. Both the young purple mountain nornir had been frightened and uneasy since before they had arrived, and simply accepted the idea of sleepwalking as just another odd addition to the list. On the other end, the grey giant Mimson simply accepted and trusted the Gestr blindly. When they shared what strange knowledge they wanted to share, he had accepted them as both his mentors and students.

Sosir had attempted for a hopeless moment to talk sense into them, but as efforts proved fruitless Sosir decided to restrain his efforts. He had spat in the clay, gritted his teeth and walked out into the tunnels. The flabby and wet Gestr that always seemed near were pushed aside.

From that moment on he had slept very little. He had tried sleeping with one eye open and had crawled into what to him seemed hidden and abandoned places and nooks to rest. He never rested for long though. His hosts were a furtive and almost formless lot. They weren't necessarily anxious, but preferred to remain unseen. This nature always seemed to bring them eventually to the hidden places.

Sosir had tried his best with the plumed archivist and his furry assistants. He was not the most social of Nornir, and by trying to talk them into leaving, had done more for them than he ever would have done in his youth. A week of sleepless observation had honed his ability to remain hidden to its zenith. He had witnessed enough of the unpleasant practices of the Gestr to make up his mind about them, even though he had never seen them harm something permanently. Especially the pale blue spotted type, whose intelligence and cruelty was only rivalled by their physical degeneration.

He felt a strong dislike for the musty, damp tunnels and warrens. Despite a week of crawling through the tunnels and exploration he could never reliably navigate there. Ceilings often became floors, despite the best attempts at keeping one's feet on the ground. The Gestr fed their guests, but held no regard for their dietary needs. Rather than fruits and nuts they had all been given the same gelatinous rations their hosts preferred. Foods still reeked of awful sea-slime, and translucence was a common colour, for lack of a better word.

One Morning, a day after his last attempt at reasoning with the shivering wrecks that were the assistants, he woke up in the middle of one of the greater halls. One of his arms and one leg had been shaven, though little else seemed harmed. He considered that he must have finally succumbed to sleep, and decided he had seen and done enough.

He waded through the traffic of Gestr that filled the main tunnel. No one stopped him, but he was certain his intent was written on his face. He collected a stone shard from the ground, grabbed a flabby piece of shelled food out of the tentacles of one of the gestr, and went on his way. He managed to find his way out easily enough, as if the tunnel had read his mind and formed to it. 

A steel grey sky welcomed him back to the outside world. The air still felt charged, and a light rain fell from the cool heavens. The broken wasteland around the meso had seen growth since his arrival. The slight rain had led the alien foliage to grow into a writhing savanna, and a dull journey now promised to be an uncomfortable one. The silence of the land was a stark contrast with the bustling insides of the warren, and Sosir felt greatly relieved. 

The way back to the road was arduous. He was more tired than he had ever been before, and felt weak from a lack of fitting foods. Slashing and cutting his way with the stone shard he carved a way for himself, though the undulating growths would close again behind him. As he climbed out of the canyons he noticed the plants were no longer trying to keep him, and instead seemed to have learned a collective lesson as they receded from him.

The slim road was no different than how he left it. Recent drag-marks from presumably an ettin sled marred it. With nothing better to do, he followed it dir-wards. The horizon curved up before him, showing the land far beyond it. Peaks of an to him unknown mountain range rose up in a several days of travel away. Moving quickly and with determination had kept him awake, but the weariness of barely resting for a week was becoming very noticable. He stepped into the underbrush, checked the soil for ants and curled up against a tree. The soft wind through the trees whispered him to sleep.

Somebody was pulling at his toes. He kept his eyes closed, but felt genuine shame at having been caught unaware like that.

“No need to pretend, ombre furred friend. I know you're awake because you stopped snoring.”

Sosir opened his eyes. A nornir stared down at him, amusement smugly written on his face.

“I know all Nornir snore but you’d put a Grendel to shame.”

“Fair, lavender stranger. I’d not slept in a long enough while, the snoring was inevitable but I should thank you for waking me up.”

“I appreciate it, brown stranger. I expected less courtesy from one as ruffled as you, so that too is a pleasant surprise. I am Selwin.”

“Suppose I've looked better at times, Selwin. I've been called Sosir.”

Sosir was usually not too keen on company, but Selwin appeared sensible compared to his most recent companions and the Gestr that hosted him, and he wished not to become an involuntary guest to them.

Selwin was a journeyman. He was travelling from the colony lo-ward to the mountains, carrying tools, tech and a little booze with him. Booze had suddenly become something of great value, since the last working still had been smashed earlier. The meadows and thinly wooded hills he called the “shee lowlands”, a name stuck throughout the ages, named after what the nornir assumed to be semi-divine ruins and technology.

The journeyman too was happy to travel together. He told of the great highlands between them and his tribes home in the mountains. It was a great stretch of grassland, with little in the way of food growing there and water running chiefly in canyons or in underground streams, generally out of reach. Grazers of various types had found a home there and fed the Nornir tribes living on it.

The tribes themselves were an unusual lot, Selwin told. They struggled among themselves for territory, for grazers, even for the spoils of robbing travellers, yet preferred the open steppes over either lowland or mountains. At times they would trade for tools with his kind, though he felt wary still and therefore was glad to have Sosir along.

The road to the uplands was easy enough. It meandered somewhat, and they passed by a stream where they filled their vessels and foraged roots and fruits. After that, every step seemed to elevate them, and at every turn the land seemed a little more barren. Sosir had barely noticed when they passed the last scraggly trees onto what appeared to be an endless sea of waving grasses.

Selwin was not as chatty a companion as the Yotnar had often been, but not as silent as Anlong, either. Despite his youth he was an able speaker, but also frequently posed questions to Sosir, somehow managing to even get answers from the stoic wanderer.

They camped out in the open, something neither of them enjoyed and they slept in shifts to keep watch. Small flightless birds scurried through the grasses throughout the night, using the cover of darkness to remain safe as they ate grass seeds and insects. As the sun once more crept around the bend and the dry cool steppe winds had supplemented their foraged breakfast they quickly went on their way. 

A steely blue pillar had caught their attention from miles away. It stood out sharply on the otherwise flat plains. They had seen little to break the monotony of travel during the morning, and they had changed course to investigate.

As they neared the monolithic structure a dappling of white tents and their inhabitants surrounded the pillar like mushrooms around a tree. The inhabitants had seen them too, as a contingent of them came up to meet them and escort them to the encampment; sturdy, dark faced nornir, covered in a fluffy coat of white fur. The hut like tents were the same color, suggesting they supplied their own wool to build them.

They were taken to the chief of the tribe, a somewhat unimpressive meadow Norn. His eyes were darker than those of this kin, his statue a little slighter but his voice deeper. A heavy robe covered his body, denoting leadership.

“You are not of the herds, yet you come here in time to experience a day that will soon be very important to us.”

His tone sounded dark, harsh and almost threatening, yet somehow felt as if it was merely his accent.

“I would ask if you outsiders have come to witness the unification of the herds, but I have learned not to expect such respect from outsiders. You may address me as Oktai, and freely observe the alliance, but hinder us and your future will be easy to predict.”

One of the retainers that had escorted them told of the unification of the herds. The bovine, the fallow, the zebra, the meadow, the caprine and the unicorn nornir would send their retainers and representatives to the pillar, the traditional neutral meeting ground of the herds. Warchief Oktai had simply appeared at the pillar one day, claiming he had been remade there. He had led the meek meadow Nornir aggressively in raids and had realised what great protection their thick layer of wool had in a fight, keeping his warriors unshaven. The meadow herd had risen in status until they had been highly respected.

once unified, they would “unify” all of norndom on the entire wheel.

Sosir ground his teeth at the thought of such a forced unity.

They were told to wait for the other herds, witness the meet. It was not so much an invitation as it was a demand. They were appointed a yurt, an old small hut of norn felt.

Finally settled and alone, they breathed in the dry, cool steppe air. They watched waves of wind roll through the grass, shining red seedballs of balloons plants floated swiftly along. They sat down by the door of their tent, watching small herds of grazers herded through the camp to the grazelands nearby.

Thick furred longhorn grazers, yellow striped grazers and the pale butteryip with their shaggy mountain coat.

As the days mount they try to make the most of their time in the camp. More and more different Nornir enter the camp, entering between two lit smokey fires in a cleansing ritual. Many of the steppenornir seemed quite comfortable eating merely grass, to Sosirs surprise. Some, like the fallow, bovid and caprine norns, were capable craftsmen, and spent a lot of their time carving intricate designs from shedded horns.

Both Sosir and the journeyman spent their days observing life on the plains, learning about the herds, their beasts and their habits. The evenings were spent discussing their findings, covertly seeking a way to hinder the birth of such a warherd.

One night Sosir was awakened by Selwins attempts at sneaking. Silently their gaze met, and Sosir joined him as he creeped out of the tent. To Sosirs surprise the purple norn was very capable at avoiding attention, and they made their way unseen to the massive ettistone pillar. The worn surface made the ascent easier than expected, and out of earshot Selwin came clean:”Im not a trader or journeyman. In a way I would be called one, if theft was a trade. The main goal of this journey has always been this pillar. These herds have robbed for the duration many nornir lives, and their wealth should be massive, yet no one has ever seen it…”. No words were necessary as to why they were scaling the tower.

Sosir, determined to prevent something as unnatural as Nornir oppressing their own kind, decided any way to weaken them was reasonable.

They climb down into the top of the pillar, an ancient ventilation shaft, build in a more intricate fashion. Perhaps the builders had acted upon creative whims, or long-gone Nornir of the steppes had decorated their venerated meeting place. As they neared the bottom the shaft broke off into different thin ettin tunnels. The air felt just as dry as on the steppes, but felt somehow more sterile than outside. The eerily narrow, softly lit tunnels spread out like a grand maze, or like the roots of a tree, twisting through and among themselves. They navigate slowly, frequently retracing their steps, until they reach a greater hall. A single strange pod is the only thing of interest, a thing Selwin is convinced must contain treasure.

The strange leathery pod opened suddenly, and Selwin greedily stepped into it, despite the strange warmth and darkness. It happened too fast for Sosir to act, to pull his co-conspirator back out, and the pod closes as suddenly as it opened.

With an electric crackle the amplified voice of Oktai booms through the chamber:”Was pur hospitality not enough, outsiders?! Was it not enough of an honour to be the first hand witnesses and heralds of the herd?”

Sosir could not find the source of the sound, nor see any trace of the warchief himself.

“Thief! May your skin fit your spirit!” the voice thundered.

A great surge of energy ran through the pod, sparking and arching off it, driving Sosir back, preventing him from clawing and hacking at it. Immense agony radiated from inside the pod, any empathic creature would feel pain sensing what was happening inside.

Few minutes pass,moments which felt like hours but likely a lifetime to poor Selwin. The sparks slow down, and the pod lazily opens again. With a thud that which used to be Selwin topples out, the stench of both burned flesh and remade skin stings Sosirs fine sense of smell.

The black doll eyes of an ettin stared up at Sosir, Selwins body now grey furred, and his hair a pale straw. A slight lavender hue still reminded of his former tint. The creature at his feet looked like an ettin, but despite that and the absolute torment he expressed, this was still Selwin.

Sosir cursed his careless companion but dragged the numb ettin along through the maze, up the shaft where he slowly prodded and pushed him to the surface. Selwin was slowly coming to and climbed down the monumental pipe by himself. The gloom of the early morning hid Selwin enough to hide him in their yurt, where Sosir left him after some comforting words;”Stay put, Selwin. I will get Oktai for this, avenging you if I can't fix this.”

The day came, the last few tribal representatives arrived for the unification. Sosir, now even more disgusted with the idea of a violent unification of all Nornir clans and the transmutation of his comrade, still attents.

Oktai too arrived, flanked by bulky retainers and clothed in an intricately knit robe. He holds his grand speech to the rallied representatives, carefully entwining his arguments with veiled threats and surprisingly even blatant lies. To Sosir though, the pieces finally fall together; the transmutation between Norn and Ettin of Selwin, the doll eyes of Oktai, the warlords slight statue, and the body-hiding robe he wears.

Oktai is part Ettin, he must be. He is obsessed with unity, driving Nornir together by using Nornir themselves as the whip. Whether he intends to corral them into becoming like ettins culturally, or hold even more maleficent intents is impossible to know.

The sudden realisation untangles a twisted knot of frustration, disgust and his taken freedom;”No ruler should be untested and unchallenged, Oktai!”

To his surprise, and to that of Oktai, the Nornir of the steppes nod in agreement, closing the circle around the two. The burly retainers step back, and leave a slightly panicked Oktai and the tall, determined Sosir alone in their duel. 

Oktai could not bluff or order his way out of it, and he was not one to bargain. He charged Sosir hoping to get the jump on him, but Sosir grabbed the shorter Nettin by the neck as he twisted him around in passing. The ruler was no fighter and could not escape Sosirs grip as he was pinned down into the dust.

Sosir’s instinctive rage simmered down as the herdsmen saw their leader-to-be as he was. His torn robe showed a distinctive tailless Ettin backside, and his rounded facial features and coaly eyes are all the more apparent as they looked down upon him rather than up at a distance. The legend had fallen before it became lore, and an outsider could never lead the herds. The grass eating Nornir dispersed, leaving their warchief to the mercy of the tall, dour Norn.