Sosir and exiled ettins part 1

A flash and a sensation of falling fast. The sensation was different from his jumps through the warp, yet left him equally if not more disoriented and nauseous. He slumped, as the feeling of falling instantly abated and normal gravity took over. Dazed, he tried to take a moment to come to. The floppy pitter-pattering of some soft creature scrambled swiftly away from him.

Of course, the Gestr he had tried to arrest. This odd creature that corrupted metals to eat. Their soft, lilling bodies were so detestable. Somehow the raw and violent stench of Grendels inspired less disgust in him than the strange outsiders and their briny-sour smell. He stood back up. The sensation of strange and instant travel was not new one to him, so he felt no surprise to find himself in a different cave. 

He could not account for the strange lights source, it allowed him to look around what would have otherwise been deep darkness. The dank place, stained with residue of dissolved metal, had an alien homeliness about it. Tunnels curved about each other, twisting in manners that seemed both natural and strange. He shrugged, and started walking.

The pitter patter of clumsy, sticky little feet he could hear at almost every turn, every other chamber he passed. The uncomfortable feeling of being watched abated though. The strangers disapeared as his own accidental abductor had done. The caverns were clearly their home, as the rubbery nests of solidified slime attested to, and they feared him as an intruder. A hint of what another would recognize as fear touched him, and he called out. 

Silence. He felt trapped and alone, not unlike on the island beyond the warp. Here he was truly alone though, not responsible for an unconscious friend. 

>>

Tashi was a sorcerer. His father was one, and so all the others before him. That's what they said. Gossipers, children in the street, bored housewives. It wasn't true, obviously. Dote was like all Ettins, in that he had to see to believe. He had a library, however. And the rumors allowed him to make money on conjuration and parlor tricks in fake rituals.

Somehow, however, his rituals had been getting out of hand lately. He could not explain it, but rather than the smoke and mirror tricks he intended, rituals took their own course. More frighteningly, they worked.

Ever since the bony horde's siege of the forbidden city the effects had become stronger and more blatant. He became very popular for a while, especially in those days of fear. When the Nornir from Vafborg arrived, swearing to break the siege, rituals started giving him seizures and visions of terror and dread.

As vague as the visions were, the rituals still worked, and they healed and sanitized those that came to him.

The visions came frequently, even when the combined power of the armored Nornir and the mechanical prowess broke the siege, and the Grendels themselves. When their benevolent liberators were paraded through the forbidden city, unexpected horror pinched and ate through his gut. He could have recognized this premonition, and act upon it. He did not. He was far too preoccupied with trying to understand why his rituals had suddenly become real, why he had vague feelings and visions, and if there was a cost to all this unasked for power.

The festive atmosphere in the city changed when the parade, in a way, never ended. The tall, ombre Norn that led them had installed himself in a residential block, along with an apparently personal guard of many Nornir. Gossipers had many stories on the tall, dark youth with his fiery red hair. Travelers, journeymen and traders from the blue mountains spoke softly of a foretold Norn warlord, an escaped stranger.

Tashi sat in the cramped basement. He used to enjoy being there, ruminating on his next trick, on the right mirror setup, the hidden door, how to produce enough smoke. All for the best effects during a ritual. Now, the space was just small. All the fun of the setup, of knowing what really was happening, of being in control, all that was gone. A skull of a bony Grendel, once one of the invaders, sat on the floor. It was intended to be a prop, but more and more often seemed a passive participant.

"Tashi.": It said.

Tashi was not the least bit surprised. His beloved basement sanctuary had become a pandemonium.

"Leave, Tashi. Break a tooth from my maw, take only what you need the most and leave."

Tashi sighed deep. A tired, accepting and completely deflating sigh. He had lived in the city his entire life, as had his father and all others before him. The terrors, nightmares and premonitions were too much to be ignored, though. Even if he did not believe in them.

<<

One small hidden chamber had held gelatinous, milky eggs. His hunger and frustration won from his disgust for the sourly, briny and raw stinking eggs, for the wormy, tentacled creatures inside. He bit down with ferocity, eating fast and aggressively to ignore the squirming, and to think as little as he could about what he was eating.

Whether days had passed or weeks he did not know. The unnatural tunnels had become very known to him yet he found new passages frequently. The solidified ooze that made up the furnishings proved inedible, and he found the place otherwise barren. The stone dust itched his feet, and the fine gravel that made for pathways in the burrow crunched as he walked.

He must have passed the hole a hundred times. Every time he had moved up, and down the hive he would have walked straight by. Simple rubble had camouflaged it, and its placement at the wall of a straight corridor had simply not drawn attention to it. Only a slight draft had eventually been enough to notice it. It was narrow, even with the debris cleared, but he felt he had no other option and forced his body through the opening.

<<

Tashi stood upon the city walls. The heartbeat-like rhythmic swooshing of the windmills soothed him, as they always had. Behind him shimmered the tile roofs of the city, before him beyond the gate the black night lay like a thick woolen blanket over the mountains. He gazed back upon the city, the city he had lived in his entire life, the city he had not once been outside of. It was an oozing black gulf to him. Wormy things writhed in the ink-like depths, the uncaring light of stars stared back at him.

He blinked, twice, trice, as one does when blinking tears out of their eyes. The vision was gone, but the message clear. He could not remain here. He turned to the calm night outside the walls, the mountain air that smoothly flowed down into the valley, and the reflected light of the world curving up at the horizon. He had thought of simply leaving by the maintenance tunnels, safe and certain. However, he would have to explain his leaving risking being interred for delusion. Besides, nightmares of black, wormy earth and howling, gibbering fiends in tunnels deterred him even more.

The braided rope went over the crenelations. A small water bag, travel biscuits and the jagged Grendel fang were tied to his sling bag. If it all proved a mistake, his basement and possessions would still be there when he returned, otherwise he would never need it again.

>>

The dust in the air was mixed with the metallic tang of his raw skin, the cuts and scrapes from worming himself through a fearfully narrow tunnel. His fur had not been protective enough, but he had no way back either. So he forced himself through, praying in vain hope to stars and shee that the tunnel would not get more narrow. The slight glow of the Gestr's hive had been left behind, and he was truly blind as he wormed through the earth. Mad relief flowed through him when he could no longer feel the sides of the tunnel, even though the ceiling stil scraped his ear. He bumped his head a few times as he stumbled his way, and tumbled headlong forward.

A soft, woolen floor cushioned his fall. Panting, he lied there happy to be out of the spelunk.

"This one is no mere critter." A voice boomed above him. "Not slimy, vile and chattering gibberish. You curse in the albian tongue."

Weary and tired, Sosir coughed up an answer:" who are you? Can you show me the way up and out?"

Thundering laughter rolled through the cavern. "A Norn, speaking ald albian no less! There is no way up, unless you wish to. Be seated upon my shoulders rather than my lap. As for the way out, you arrived from the only way!"

<<

Tashi had not been alone in his desire to leave the city. Though few in number, other golden Ettins had chosen to take to the roads into the wide open uncertainty. He learned many were of the more adventurous side to begin with, them being job-hoppers by vocation. His own reasons to leave he kept to himself, but most simply distrusted the Nornir of Vafborg, a reasonable enough explanation. He knew he had to learn and to learn quickly about living in the open and joined a caravan of these refugees.

They passed the former battlefields, marshy vales littered with evilly grinning remnants. The jagged tooth felt hot on his side and he was glad he had wrapped it. Foul pathways led through the mud, trailing slippery tracks up the cliffs. Tashi kept his head down and carried his part of the baggage. Whatever strange magic aided his rituals certainly bore none of the weight here.

As the days cycled by,  so did the terrain.  A harsh and toothed crown of mountains and crags was the first land they marched through. The ruins of immense wooden fortresses stood on high lookouts, and among these ruins and dales they found wild honey and eggs to still the worst of their hunger. Tashi learned the others knew little more of survival than he did. Winding though the mountain pathways, they eventually ended up onto a vast waste. Scarce rains and thin streams made water valuable, and food equally rare. 

Once again they had set up their simple camp. It was little more than a nest of local grasses surrounded by their packs, yet is was still better than sleeping on the cold, bare ground. Tashi slept like a stone, at least. The exertion of the trek had been hard on all of them, none had been able to stay awake. Burning nightmares of fangs and claws shook him, and visions of fire and worming darkness set him running. The fang burned on his hip, glowing with an eerie red light, anchoring him to what was real. He was lying on his face in the grass, his ears ringing and his mouth dry. He still heard howling and screaming far behind him, suggesting events he wished to know nothing off. The morning light rose over the wastes, but Tarsi fell asleep again.

<<

"How can there be no exit? You could impossibly have gotten in through that hole!" Sosir said. He spat a little as he spoke, the dust gritted in his teeth and his tiredness quickly made way for an anger more natural to him.

The voice thundered its reply:"youre feeling trapped, and in distress. I'll forgive you your lack of courtesy. Let us start over, little Norn. It has been ages since I have seen another sentient creature so I was rash myself. My name is Angra, the white mother."

The latter title she pronounced with great care, as if it should mean a great deal to Sosir. He had never heard of it before. "Good to meet you, great Angra. My name is Sosir, the journeyman. Would you mind helping me, or at least educate me?" 

"There, now we are having a conversation. It is a pleasure to meet you as well, Sosir. You seem very keen on finding egress, so let me explain. There is no exit because the mountain collapsed over me. A gigantic slate sheet has kept me from being crushed by the rubble."

Sosir:"I am sorry to hear that, Angra. For you and me both. I will find an exit eventually though, or be ended by my search."

She laughed at his determination. An honest mirth was heard in her laugh. "I can probably help you with either, little Sosir." Boomed Angra's voice. "Let me first tell you of my world, for I suspect it has changed greatly. When this world was young the Shee placed us in it. Four mother Jotnar to maintain the race of rememberers. We would send each other sons like love letters, for each of us sat immobile, overburdened with responsibility. This prevented genetic stagnation. Oh my dear Echidna, inky matron..."

"I know of the Jotnar, Angra. Two I call acquaintances, one a friend. Perhaps the other ladies are still around?"

"Perhaps they are, Sosir." She said, but sounded distant. "Let me help you. I have been knitting this same scarf for ages, and I am just weary from loneliness and inaction. Jotnar have a saying, that living long enough to become a mountain is a great honor. But honor and patience too wears out. For the first time in my life, I will stand up. Lets see if the mountain can move!"

Before Sosir could protest, he was thrown clear by the kicking of her tree trunk like legs. The giantess groaned in exertion as she pushed up against the ceiling. The immense slate lifted and showed daylight peering through. Half blinded by the brightness, Sosir climbed up like a rat in rising water, reaching the top as the mountainside collapsed again. An avalanche of rock, debris and fresh snow dragged him down  a way. Luck and panic more than ability kept him from being buried. Tired, and more shook and beaten than before he dug out his legs. He took a deep and painful breath and looked back to the place of his exhumation. 

A deep red stream flowed from under the massive slate slab. The wind picked up the stream, and the red woolen scarf danced in the wind. For a split second he remembered what he saw in the moment of adrenaline, when the light fell upon Angra. Terror took hold, true and absolute horror as the middle aged Norn had never beheld. He ran and stumbled down the rubble, for once in his life too frightened to curse.

<<

Tashi was adrift in a dream. One moment he dug through the dirt and grass like a hedgehog eating an unsavory fill of invertebrates, another had him sprinting through the night, hunted by terrible predators. He fought for survival and ignored all civilized boundaries, yet the moments switched like pages in a book, and nothing seemed constant. Not a moment did he feel in control, nor did he feel any discomfort or pain that his body experienced. What he saw and heard was separate, too. Whispered voices, only just unrecognizable from words echoed through his head.

Dust and viscera coated his paws, his golden fur was matted and felted yet seemingly enough to keep his body alive through the colder nights. Hopping critters galloped in herds over the plain, too fast to keep up with, but indicators of safe waters tp drink. Grazers dug through the grasses and dust, and the messy eaters always left half eaten scraps for him to survive on. Empty burrows, once having been communal homes of sentient creatures now semisafely hid him in the night. A small pack of omnivorous howler weasels proved to be competition for his food, and several unpleasant clashes were needed to fend them off. Feral bony Grendels trailed him, costing his body valuable sleep but never catched up with him.

In a strange sense the whisperings and the wild visions of enduring his body went through unassisted were a comfort, not unlike imagening his tricks in his basement. A warm and forgetful comfort he could safely remain in, compared to the feral survival outside his mind.

<<>>

Small forests of oaks and twisted conifer trees cradled the mountains. The warmth of the electrical sun was a boon to his battered body, and with each step down he came closer to the treeline. He could smell the warm resin on the soft wind, a scent that brought only partial nostalgia, for the boreal forests he grew up in were far more humid than this arid place. Evidence of primitive logging and a trail of simple markers brought him through the woods to a basic encampment. A small troop of simple forest Norns welcomed him. The weirdness of the preceding days was not immediatly forgotten but it was good to see Nornish faces.

As hospitable as the foresters were to Sosir, they were not the organised troop he needed, nor did he believe he could even convince them of the existance of more than just the forest they knew. In less than a day he left the honorable primitives and continued his journey. Forests became chorral, and soon made way for familiar wastelands. The foresters had told stories of the burrowing Ron Norns thad had lived in the hilly grazelands before the bony grendel hordes had eradicated them. The hordes were by now gone, in part thanks to Sosir himself. The grazelands were regenerating gracefully and he found the way much more comfortable than on his earlier visit.

Despite the greener land, the more relaxed wildlife and lower heat, something troubled him. A nagging sense of stress, a feeling as if he didn't notice something obvious. As the day moved past eve, he found an abandoned burrow to spend the night in. No smells past those of stale animal trails he could find in the burrow, yet the feeling of unease remained. His tiredness was, however, slowly winning from the faint unease. Only in the moment he was drifting off to sleep did a slight movement of yellow fur tear him into the land of the waking, the magic perhaps overcome as his contiousness was falling beyond its grip. 

With a swift jump he had tackled the partially visible thing before he had considered another option. It struggled wildly, clawing and howling with a deeper sound than its statue suggested. A foot to the face threw Sosir off, but he sprang up and blocked the exit. Invisible or not, he would not be surprised again!

<<>>

His body snarled and howled as he threw the Norn off. The middle aged Norn was clearly well built, and Tarsi was stunned by his own power. The ferociousnes frightened him. To finally see a face that could be friendly, a Norn rather than unthinking animals or vile grendels, and to then fearfully stalk and fight it was not how he was. From the depths of comfort he fought to regain control, and found the whispering to clear. A heavy fog lifted from his mind, and what used to be comfort was now frightening and claustrophobic. 

He saw the Norn stare straight through him as his body hid in the shadows, but as he fought to regain control the Norn could follow him more and more. Suddenly his body stopped, and the Norn clearly and sharply focused on him. He raised his own arms now, and with a hoary and little used voice he cracked:"Please, I mean no harm!"

"My lip still bleeds, Ettin. Why did you stalk me!?"

"I don't know! We were ambushed, and I was alone, and I was desperate, and hungry, and cold, and tired..!"

"Hush, Ettin. I believe you, you look ragged and your kin is otherwise never alone. I'll keep my eyes on you, though. What is your name?"

Tarshi sighed with relief, deflating him as he sank to his heels. "It is Tarsi, and I am happy to give it once more in safety. What is yours, good Norn?"

"Mine is Sosir, and what is safety, Ettin? I will likely not sleep until I can fully trust you."

Tarsi was utterly empty, and within moments slept on the moldy straw, finally resting without voices or animalistic fears keeping him alert. Sosir remained standing to keep awake, though the ragged little doll guy seemed quite harmless. He relaxed his schoulders and touched his split lip. Tomorrow he would make sure the Ettin would eat well. This could be a respectable Ettin, considering his stubborn survival.

Night went, and day came. The soft light fell through the den's opening as they emerged. Sosir's suggestion to travel to the rim of the ring and enter the tunnels was quickly turned down. Tarsi had no idea where to go through that labyrinth and had an unpleasant premonition about the idea. So they travelled back over the jagged mountains where once Sosirs beloved had bitterly found her demise, obsessed by vengeance and ignoring a chance at a future.

Tarsi found his nightly terrors reduced near dour Norn. The premonitions remained mostly silent as did his feelings of dread and unease, but still the tooth felt warm. Though aged, Sosir appeared like a stoic champion to the diminutive Ettin. Tarsi was not brave, nor strong. Would he have been forced to actively survive that wilderness he would have meekly layed down and accepted fate.

When pressed, Sosir told Tarsi the important parts of his story. At first this was little more than:"I travel to travel", later he expanded with:"I live to travel and travel to live" dull evenings eventually had him tell of his travels in more detail, and what creatures he met. How he had fought witchcraft and the technological mistakes of creatures past. Once moved to speak, he was a good story teller, and Tarsi admitted to himself he was at ease. That ease did not last for long, and that night the jagged fang whispered that he would return home, though home it would no longer be.

By day the Norn was stoic and serious. The he was not told so, Tarsi felt like a liability. He knew nothing of survival and he cpuld do little to help. When told to dig, he dug. When told to climb, he climbed. Somehow  this guidance and Sosirs work allowed them to thrive. To Sosir this was not very surprising. A lifetime of hardships made him very capable in the wild, and the crags were far fresher and more verdant than when he had last visited them. For a while this had puzzled him, but when they came upon the ruins of a fortress and the bones of grendels he knew what had changed.

On the winding paths through the broken terrain they frequently meet groups of refugee Ettins. The city Ettins travel in huddled clusters, having never been out of the city. Sosir and Tarsi warn them for feral Grendels, which usually was responded with warnings for the Grendels ravaging the city.

Grendel hordes spread out from the great ancient city. Somehow they came from within, surprising both the sentries on most of the walls and the armored Nornir garrisoned in the city blocks. They flooded the streets and the tunnels below in a wild deluge of uncoordinated agression. Sneaky dustdevils, lazy rammer grendels, brutish tiger grendels and beastly boney grendels all prowled the torn up streats in mixed bands.

The civilian Ettins had fled, but the organised and very stubborn Nornir still held fast in and out of the city, holding some blocks within, and the field and walls without along with the remaining Ettin sentries. So they were told.

The same refugees described the tall and dark Norn sergeant and his giant advisors. Word of ombre fur and flaming red hair made Sosir feel the sting of responsibility. Like all refugees they had met, they passed along the warnings for the coming terrain, and a message that would hopefully end up eventually at Unnikar. The meek Tarsi offered to guide Sosir for he knew the city, despite the horrible premonitions and fears he held.

The windmills were stalled, the teatime tower bells silent. The life and light of that ancient golden city still and the wildness of the grouping grendels corrupting the atmosphere of prosperity. Instead they found the air filled with both the smells and noise of violence. They had not met any more refugees for a good while now, and they expected none no more.

Under grey skies Tarsi guided Sosir over the open fields around the city. Expecting no vigilance from the grendels, they ran mostly openly along a trail of boulders to the foot of the wall. Tarsi had been there before under the cover of night. He knew this was the least guarded gatehouse. His braided rope was gone, though this surprised them little. Nor did this matter at all, for the gatehouse itself was empty and the gate ajar. 

City was in full disarray, hollering and howling heard in the city center combined with the racket of plunder. "Where now, wee Ettin?"

Sosir said as they strode throu the empty sidestreet. "The center first, one of the towers might give us overview. Otherwise I have no plan either!" Sosir cursed as a response, and cursed at himself for once again charging in without a plan. Their tempo increased with every Grendel they met. Soon Sosir found himself desperatly fending them off, and confused they could not touch his meek little companion. The short confusion sees him caught by a bullish rammer grendel, the monster's thick hide imperverous to Sosirs slaps and punches.

Tarsi spits on his hand, holding the wrapped fang at his side with the other. With unpleasant sounding words he cussed and slapped the grendel. It aged instantly to ancienthood leaving it too weak to hold the tough Norn. Sosir squirmed away from the rimpled creature, and threw Tarsi a revolted look. Quickly his expression changed again, accepting Tarsi's revealed power and moving on in the face of danger.

They neared the center of the city and its square steeples. "They aren't openly falling from the sky here, Tarsi. They must come from somewhere, and any gate can be closed!" From their cover they scanned the streets. An electric revultion nauseated Sosir, a clear sense of witchcraft he first ascribed to his companion. The feeling abated a little when he turned to the little fellow with the doll-like eyes, however. Again he turned, noting the feeling was strong enough to nauseate him when he turned to the tall, central teatime belltower. Sosir dragged Tarsi through the fleeing masses and sneaks past the grendel hordes. 

The square, solid tower was a maze of winding staircases, senseless chambers, dead end passages and entryless rooms. A testament to the drive and willingness of Ettins to build, and to how utterly unguided they are. Along the way up ladders, down slides and usually úp stairways they meet ettins who have no idea of the siege, absorbed by their work.

They meet a lost and lonesome tiger Grendel, whom sosir bricks with a loose stone. They follow his trail up a slide and find the great ringing hall of the upper level. The great standing bells of glittering and nigh indestructable Ettistone lay broken, and a warp portal in its center oozed forth Grendels like a pestulent wound in space.

The thin red lines of the ritual's sigils snaked and writhed over the ground, glowing with covert light. The sunlight from outside the tower was blocked by hastily pinned cloth. The hall was dark and filled with grendels pushing theor way tp the stairs. Being pulled though the warp clearly had confused them, something Sosir made full use of as he pushed through. Standing on a dais where once the bell ringer stood was a tall, strange creature. Surpassing adult grendels in height the pale, doll eyed fiend radiated a commanding presence. It led the ritual with the motions of an experienced sorceror.

Tarsi, small and insignificant among the grendels, wasted no time. The words roll out over his lips and the jagged fang bleeds strange light through the wrappings. With his small hands he grabs the chalked lines that form the sigils of the ritual and with each word further unwinds them. Sosir and the gaunt stranger lock eyes in the red glow, and a smirk combined with the revolting hate directed at Sosir immediatly reveals the sorceror to be an old acquaintance: Mouth of the Shee. The moment Tarsi unravels the ritual, the gaunt necromancer spits a word directly at Sosir. It is caught by Tarsi. The meek ettin releases the word out loud, and it violently dehydrates the grendels around them. 

In a mad dash Sosir grabs his friend, charges at the window and grabs one of the rags in haste. Somehow they manage to grab the tips, hold on for dear life and make an almost suicidal escape by jumping out. 

The ritual is broken, but the magician lives. The flow stemmed, but the tide not broken. Two creatures are swinging in the wind, hoping their descend is slowed enough.

***