Red skies and grey soil part 2

 He had found the houses back through the fire and smoke. Rains of embers had marred his fur, his nose and throat stuck with the sharpness of the smoke. The tribe had been kind to take him in despite only a little of the food had been gathered by his hands.

The flickering and fluttering fires they had lit had fed on the parched needles and brittle forests, and a raging firestorm had grown out of them. As they hid underground in the stone domes, the inferno washed waves of flame over the roofs. Some days the heat was unbearable in the upper burrows. Thins streams of fine ash eventually came falling though the roof, as the hot winds above blew the fine ashed through the blazing infernos.

The days underground were enjoyed by the magmas. Having experienced many of those cycles of flame before, they made a festival of their stay. They made fine meal out of corn and kneaded this in a dough with fruit and juice. This dough was flung at the hot ceilings of the dome, where the heat outside would bake in into crunchy cakes and cookies. A tradition Sosir made mental note of to copy in the future.

in other domes logs had been brought down before the fire. Adults carved patterns and symbols into these pules, turning them into totems to build new fluttering fires around. He assisted in the moving of the logs and poles where needed, and carried chips and unnecessary wood into storage. He fashioned torched on other moments, finding the repetitive work soothing. It kept his hands busy, where his mind ran over the land, searching the missing pieces to what had motivated the otherwise lazy rammer grendels to the chaotic arson.

When the others sang and feasted, Sosir haunted the lower halls and tunnels. The ancient burrows that stemmed from a time when the magmas had not yet reached the level of control they now held over the fires, and the period of hiding had been longer and less predictable. Here a small candle of greasy wax lit his way through generations old wall paintings, wall paintings that told stories of a cycle endlessly repeated. Clearly the rammer grendels had been a part of the land for as long as the magmas had lived in the forests. The cycle of fire and rebirth too had somehow been there when the magmas came.

Tall, pale blue beings were depicted making white birds. Birds that seemed to burst into flames, immolate all around them, yet from the fire again unmarred chicks would arise. A giant beast they also made, perhaps to watch the land. The rotund body, beak like snout and tusks made the feathered giant a mirror image of Torsun, a Jotnar friend in a now far away land. Sosir wondered if after all that time there could still be Jotnar in this part of the ring. With patience and care the giants offered good advice, despite their preference for meaningless facts and endless words.

Eventually, the flames abated. The forest it self had become a wasteland of blackened trunks, of charred brittle underbrush and glowing embers. Sosir ventured out into a changed world. His umber fur stood out little in the charred and drab vista, and he could to an extend trust he would be camouflaged. The magmas would have to remain in their bunker, as their otherwise natural camouflage would give them instantly away.

The destruction he saw was immense. Smoke and smog had painted the sky a blood-like red where it had not downright blotted out completely the sparse rays of sunlight. Trunks of scorched trees stood like mooring poles in the windswept dunes of shifting ashes. His feet sunk deep in this loose dust, impeding his movement and making it unpleasantly clear why the magmas would remain in their burrows.

On top of hills and ridges the soil had been blown mostly clean, scouting along these paths he saw the river run in the distance, its water a thick anthracite gray. In the distance he noted peaks, hills and possible caves where a Jotnar might possibly hold its library and hide out in. Along the way he found the tracks of Grendels, swerving seemingly random over the fields covered with ash.

Hastily dug holes interspersing these tracks, along with gory litter however implied determination and gluttony over randomness.

The deep rumbling in the clouds gave Sosir the sign to return to the burrows. He made extra efford to erase his tracks. The trails of grendels were everywhere, and he had no desire to sure them towards his generous hosts.

His trip brought him no proof of unnatural behavior from the grendels, and instead brought him an admonishment from Heike for venturing out unannounced. Yet he felt still there was something off about the grendels, and he had some ideas where to look next. His head would remain busy as they waited through the worst of the nitrous downpour.

Sosir industrial nature made him very useful dring the further weeks under the ground. Time passed quickly and eventually he persuaded the tribe to send him out alongside the other scouts. Officially they were out to seek early signs of the forests revival and to check whether the air was safe enough again. Sosir had other plans. He tracked along the maze of muddy grendel footprints and made out their general direction and origin.

The tracks fanned out from a flat basin in the bend of the river. Washed up trees and debris made up a ramshackle camp. The simple huts and primitive cooking fires did little to impress Sosir. The inhabitants themselves impressed him little more. The thick skinned Grendels wallowing in the grey mud were physically imposing, but clearly not overburdened by wit. The one thing that did inspire surprise, and even some fright, was the plump and as of yet unfinished construction that loomed over the small hovels around it; An octagonal building, tall as it was wide.

He slinked away from the camp. His throat felt dryer than it probably was, and his hands sweated somewhat as he revisited the memory of another octagonal building he had seen. It had been the home to a devilish sorcerer: Mouth-of-the-Shee. He intended to thoroughly educate the magmas on that serpent. That crossbreed's tongue carried more venom than any adder, real or artificial, and his lies were more potent than even his stolen magic.

Sosir creeped further away, swerving between charred stumps and boulders. He was certain he had not been seen by natural eyes, but the warlock was known to notice things unseen. A loose rock rolled down onto a boulder. For a moment Sosir felt relieved the stone had stopped without a sound, until he realized it should have made enough noise to echo about the ash muffled hilltops. Up close the boulder seemed off: odd folds and and sparse, thick hair betrayed it to be a Grendel's hide.

Shocked and angered as he realized his mistake, Sosir carefully and swiftly backed up the hill.

"No need for that, brother Norn!"

The heap stirs, and a comfortably Norn-like bundle of orange and yellow fur steps out from under the pelst.

The stranger folds the grey hide around his waist and stands up.

"Soil, ash and that leather cloak cannot hide that fiery fur for ever, stranger. Lets leave now and make our acquaintances later." Sosir said through his teeth.

They strode out into the rain and the scorched woods. There was something odd about the strange Norn's attitude, as it seemed to carry a sort of carefree self esteem. The Norn was not one of the tribe that hosted him, and thus it could not be his territory. Yet he walked confidently as if he owned the hills that carried them.

"You seemed quick to pass judgement, once you laid your eyes upon the basin by the river. Either you know nothing and the scene simply frightened you, or you know so much you needn't know more. My name is Unnikár, and I think we should talk about what you think you saw."

"Alright, Unnikár. My name is Sosir, and I saw a host of imbecilic brutes wallow in the sludge, having built something they could not have imagined by themselves. Something leads them, and that makes them very dangerous."

"So they are, Sosir. But from a glance you could not be able to know who leads them, and just how dangerous and clever this person is unless you know something I do not."

Sosir scowled and stubbornly walked on through the rain-shrouded wreck of the forest.

"DEVILS! Fine, keep your mouth shut then, ash-brown mute, but I found my entire tribe either asleep or missing and that tower is the key!"

Sosir stopped and looked at Unnikár. "Don't think I am trying to fool you, but their leader is a sorcerer. A vile half blood who leeches the dreams from Nornir to fuel his occult powers."

Unnikár spat in the dust. "I don't see another explanation for my tribes sudden and absolute hibernation, I believe you well enough. What matters is that you know our enemy, and that we at the least share this opponent."

Sosir answered:"What matters is how we can stop this. Nornir deserve harsh and dangerous lives, it keeps them Norn, but this unnatural conjuration robs them of even an unfair chance."

Unnikár listened well to the few words Sosir needed to explain his earlier encounter with Mouth-of-the-Shee. Sosir relaxed somewhat as he spoke, finding a kindred spirit in the sharp minded natural born scout. He had been easy to trust others in the past, and this worked out fine for him eventually, his earlier hesitations to trust Unnikár seemed nonsensical now. Unnikár suggested that it would be wasteful to involve the tribe that hosted Sosir in their hunt, as the time spend convincing them could be used more fruitfully elsewhere.

The Rammer Grendels indeed had indeed been taught to light fires frequently. To the simple brutes it would simply mean frequent meals, likely more than they needed. To small tribes of magmas it meant staying underground however, a chance Mouth-of-the-Shee greedily used to lull them to sleep in efficient numbers. Sosir and Unnikár found themselves powerless to awaken them, and every tribe greatly increased the conjurers power.

Sosir had told of his earlier attempt to simply spear the evildoer with a stone shard, and of the utter failure this had turned out to be.

"And to slay the sleepers instead would yield us nothing then?" Unnikár asked.

"Fat can be eaten to fuel one for days, or burned intensely to fuel for a moment. This arcane stranger is already fueled enough to risk giving him more."

Ready to risk all, the duo agreed to end the magician by what ever fate would offer the brave. They snuck in at night, easily fooling the Grendel watchguards by throwing rocks into clusters of eating grendels, provoking fights. Neither the closed gate and steep walls proved to be functional barriers to the experienced scouts, as they climbed in through the narrow, high windows. 

This tower more closely fitted the Sorcerers grendel side, in addition to the arcane and occult symbols on the walls, ceilings and floors, it was laden with visceral remains. Animal pelts, bones, eggs sucked empty decorated the filthy floors. Limited light from few candles, all placed in ritual pattern, bathed the place in an earie glow. The waxy smell of candle smoke and burnt herbs could not mask the hideous smell of predation, carnivorism and filth.

A single ettistone brazeer filled with coal embers stood in the center of the upper floor, its soft light barely lighting the aromatic herbal smoke that arose from it. Bedding of hay and pelts circled it, among which a cloth marked with obscure and occult symbols and sigils. The one cloth Sosir would recognise anywhere.

A stir in the bedding took their immediate attention. Sosir and uhkku froze as a cool laughter daused the flickering little candlefires. Rising tall and muscular from the heap of bedding, Mouth-of-the-shee was undressed. He made no attempts at calling in the guards as he ignored Unnikár and stared down Sosir with a vile grin, his fearsome countenance lighted by the star light through the open window.

"Will you flee again, hideous magician!?" Barked Sosir at his opponent. The tall hybrid anwered in his turn:"I shall not, brave Norn, this time I will overpower you myself, and not risk your cunning out of my reach again."

Sosir hid behind his thigh a stone shard, dripping with herbal poisons. As Sosir tried to slowly overcome the small distance he said: "Do not be overconfident, foul priest. This time you're outnumbered!"

The priest pointed at Unnikár without taking his eyes of Sosir. "Do you not recognise a sleepwalker?"

Unnikár stood motionless with his eyes open. His arms hung limbly by his side. The sight distracted Sosir for a moment, a moment long enough for the half-blood to grab hold of him. "To him, you and all you did together will all be a dream, íf he ever wakes up."

Sosir struggled against the immense strenght that opposed him, biting and kicking. He knocked his forehead into his enemies face, but was thrown clean into the room,spilling the brazeer of its coals and making him lose his knife. Smoldering coals singed his pelt, and even in the darkness it took mouth-of-the-shee only a moment to be on top again. Ready to strangle Sosir he looked on Sosirs face which held a wide, victorious grin as he showed his hand wounded with heavy burns. 

"Why do you smile so, brave Norn?" The beast sneered angily.

Sosir pointed at the other side of the room, where the occultedly paterned cloak layed, now starting to burn from the embers Sosir threw on it in the confusion of the struggle. Mouth-of-the-shee stormed at it to douse the starting flames, but as the cape was consumed so did parts of the sorserer's body glow and dissapear. Flames were fanned and soon the cloth sparked and spat fire and undescribable powers around the too small room.

What was left of the occultist glared back at the wounded Sosir and said:"I still win, I get release from Nornity!"

The cloak and its owner are utterly consumed by the roaring flames, and in that moment the space is filled with swirling, brightly glowing portals. The color of their glow varies from deep blue to dark green, and suck and blow up a storm of different winds and gales, fanning the flames to an unbearable heat.

Pulling the now awakened and frightened Unnikár along by the ear, he curses and jumps in the portal closest to escape the heat.