Sosir and exiled Ettins: pt 2

 Sosir looked around him. The glow of the small fire lit a large whitewashed room, a plastered ceiling with simple cut beams for support, and a stamped earth floor. The faces around him looked weary, and not only the Ettins who carried that expression naturally. A hole in the ceiling let out most of the smoke, but the smell was still pressing. He and his companion had been in there for two days, the other for close to a week. 

Next to Sosir was a youthful Norn, not yet an adolescent but already frightfully experienced. His flaming red hair contrasted with his ombre fur, and he needed little words to convey his anger at the situation. To see him and Sosir next to one another made the connection abundantly clear. Standir was the leader of the armored Nornir, in part by merit and in part by connection.

On his left was a sorrowfull Jotnar. He had lived for many of a Norns life, yet appeared far more unexperienced. Torsun, the talkative giant. The advisor to the Nornir of Vafborg and Standirs foster parent.

Tashi, too, sat by the fire. Sosir had not yet spoken to the bumbling Ettin about the arcane feats he wrought to halt the sorceror. He could not believe them himself. The whispers from the jagged fang were now incessant. An unpleasant and nagging headache was an equally constant companion. Somehow he could not let the thing go, knowing that it could be the only key to end the chaos. Tashi feared the eventual dues he would pay.

Standir spoke:"it has been a hard time to defend this block. The chaotic architecture made it easier once we were entrenched, and the Ettins proved a great asset with their tireless repairs, but even so we struggle. To pull information from these two adventurers has been almost equally difficult." He glanced at the stoic Sosir and the traumatised Tashi. "We cannot continue like this indefinitly. They told me the portal that allowed entrance to these greenhide devils has been closed, but also who had opened it in the first place. The lankey advisor we trusted has used us to gain ingress to this city, and fouled our thust and that of our hosts to start this madness."

The atmosphere was pressing. Each of the Nornir had trusted the tall and pale traveller. In hindsight none could remember if he had even given his name. Being told the trickster was a sorceror scarcely helped their wounded pride. Their numbers were already lower than they had left Vafborg with, and lower still than after the fight against the bony Grendels. Not only their pride was wounded, and many were mending their armor. 

Sosir had little to add to the words of Standir. His expression revealed nothing of what went on behind his eyes. Most of the Nornir knew him, either from life or legends, and trusted and respected him. He had refused a suit of the bamboo scaled armor, but repaired one nevertheless to share the load.

Little, dirty rain droplets fell through the smoke and sizzled in the little fire. The stores of marsh roots, dried fruit and gruel of the appartment block had been well filled, and they wanted not for food. A sweet and filling stew had fed them well, though that stew had tasted a little less sweet, as all felt the impending confrontation near. Sosir had baked fist sized cookies the preceding day, something the other Nornir were eager to copy later.

A few floors below, through a maze of winding hallways and staircases, the roars and drumming of combat clamored through. Rammer grendels had crushed the barricade once again. The noise was now normal to the hardened Nornir, and they knew their comrades downstair could hold the entrance again. To rush to their aid would be a waste, for their shift would come soon enough.

He finished the last stitch on the bamboo scaled vest. Horn, teeth and rawhide had replaced the missing scales and bamboo cloth. He shook his work, checked to be certain and found it to be completely sound. He spat into the little fire as the others argued and talked. Tashi met his eyes as he looked over the fire. In that one glance he could see they were thinking the same thing: that only one thing could end this. The end of the Sorceror.

The Jotun Torsun next to him seemed to allow himself a moment of mirth. "To imagine you two floating down from that tower, like a leaf from a tree!" He laught jovially. "There is some irony there, too. As the sorceror flew on cloth wings as well, last I saw of him." He straightened his face, though Sosir shared the laught with his old friend. "I tied to motivate Standir to travel, let him see the world like you have. He has the heart of a sentinel though. He loves Vafburg, and only his instinctive hatred for Grendels urges him out of it."

"Thats allright, Torsun. It should have come from his own wanderlust, else it wouldnt have helped anyhow. He did turn out well." He glanced back at the youth giving out orders to veteran Nornir. "I am proud, and grateful to you."

That was that. Torsun knew his friend well enough to know this was one of the greatest honors he could have recieved. To his own surprise he had no answer, or words at all.

Standir had seen enough of the world. He knew of Sosir though stories. The stoic wanderer who had made vafborg what it was, and had been his predecessor as warchief. The Norn that could not stay. He could not understand such restlessness. When this was over he would return to Vafburg and protect those closer to home and hearth. He could, however, imagine there were more creatures than those he had met so far. Some Nornir knew only their own tribe, and knew not of even the Ettins. He had however grown up with a Jotunn, fought a wide array of Grendels, met the lanky Sorceror who certainly was of different kind, and he had met plenty of Ettins. The Gestr that old Sosir described were outlandish, but he could imagine them to be real. He was uncertain if he would join the greying ombre wanderer in his hunt for these Gestr worldeaters, but he was absolutely certain he would prefer to only ever see Nornir.

His ruminations were broken when Sosir came up to him. "Your speech started well, Standir. But I feel it lacked an ending." Standir noticed he looked up to the graying wanderer. "It does, Sosir. There isn't one yet, though. The only ending comes with the end of the Sorceror, but the real question is how to get there." Sosir nodded in agreement. "The portals have been closed, but we cannot say for how long. The movements of the grendels has been chaotic and erratic, so he has not been leading them either." Standir answered:"nor has he hunted us actively and personally." "No, he has not. Either his plans are more complex, have a longer timeframe, or he is afraid of our own meek and little magician." Sosir glanced at Tarsi as he spoke, who in turn looked back with unease. Sosir said: "Only in the latter case do we have any control, should we take our chance with that?"

Sosir threw a stick onto the little fire with some disregard. Standir did the same, but with a snort of agreement. The choice had been made. Tarsi could see from across the fire that a choice had been made. Their telling glances toward told him more than he wanted to know; he was certainly involved in the plans, and his role would not be an enviable one. With a sigh he rose to his feet and walked around the fire to meet his comrade. Neither of the Nornir had easy to read faces yet he could tell they were already sorry for him. "So your magic lets you read minds now, Tarsi?" Sosir said, half joking but wary. "I still only read faces, Sosir, but your faces predict a dour chore for me." Standir scratched behind his ears. "We will be laying sorceror traps, good Ettin. For that we need bait, so I fear you read our faces true." 

The Ettin did not flinch, but his face in turn showed held back fear. "Right then." He stammered. He gripped the grendel's tooth at his side tighter. "I hear traps rather than trap, yet there is only one of me?" Standir:"We would use the suggestion of you as a perhaps weaker bait in one of the traps. Spread the rumor somehow that you gave me and Torsun some item of power." "My basement. A closed off section of the tunnels below the city. It has somehow become possessed rather than my refuge, but it could be a lure now." Standir and Sosir seemed content. Sosir:"that leaves us, Tarsi. How about the most simple route we can take, straight for the belltower? Leave him second-guessing and overthinking until the last." 

Standir:"That should settle things for us, at least. I'll instruct my fighters to spread over the forbidden city, to secure remnant Ettins and to spread the rumors among the Grendels before returning to Vafburg. Me and our Jotun friend will set out to Tarsi's old sanctuary!"

For a moment Tarsi felt torn between his fear and hesitation, and his obligation. Resolutely he shook off the burden of uncertainty:"Lets do what must be done."

Tarsi and Sosir climbed out of the back of the housing block. The main entrance was a wild ruckus of clashing creatures, an intentional conflict to offer the sneaking adventurers safe egress. The waning cover of gloom held them safely as they ran a crouched gait through the ruined town. By the guidance of Tarse the duo made towards the tower, evading the mobs of marauding Grendels that ran in the opposite direction towards the noise at the fortified housing block. Past two more corners, the tower suddenly rose into full view. As square and structured as it looked, so chaotic and confusing it was on the inside. No guard was stationed at the gates, though they made sure to avoid the great main entrance. Dark stairs upwards followed the small door and they climbed it in silence. Until they could go no further. The doorway at the top had been bricked shut, and some floors behind them a gate was thrown shut and locked. Perhaps their ruse had been overly simple.

Start trap pandemonium

Standir had fought alongside his tribemembers in the stand at the housing complex they had called home for near a week. The enthousiasm of the grendels weakened as his force stood their ground, and the ground became soiled and slippery with gore. He and Torsun slipped away as the waves of grendels and brutality subsided, certain his fighters would taunt the grendels, and make sure the savages would understand he and torsun would be out to find magic to fight their master. The dark streets flew past them as they ran according to Tarsi's instructions. The landmarks were clear enough, despite the labyrinthine design of the city. Torsuns bulk and Standirs swiftness kept them safe against isolated grendels. The warren of hovels and huts seemed an unnavigatable mess, but a short search rewarded them with a more soundly build domicile, a hut whose entryway was decorated with all kinds of colors, bells and glass trinkets. No words were needed, for even the blind would have been able to see the aura of tacky conjuration and pauper's magic about it.

Beyond a small living quarters was a staircase downwards. The structural soundness of the home was made apparent now: it had been an ancient entrance to the endless tunnels that wove through the world like ants in the forest floor. The darkness below was sooty and thick, and the greasy candle they found and lit did little to improve that. As their eyes adjusted to the dank cellar, their noses struggled with the smells. The walls that separated the cellar from the rest of the tunnel were rickety and moldy, and the stink could have come from a seprechulre so bad was it. A great, predatory grendel skull was the only decoration that eminated some sort of awe, where all else was again useless trinkets. Skull in hand, Standir and Torsun started their way up the stairs.

Bending, creaking and cracking at the far wall halted them. Their candle dimly lit the wall as they locked back into the cellar, and an upright figure, slow but unstoppable, pushed through the boards and bricks of the improvised wall. Stunned by the bizzare sight the two adventurers merely stared. The light from the stairs was blocked by two solid shadows, and with a burst and explosion of rotten splinters and dissolved mortar the lanky figure of the Sorceror stepped though the wall. The smoking candle barely showed his pale, combed back hair, pointed ears, empty eyes and fleshy crown. His evil smile in his violet, scaled face was however clear as if it had been a sunny midday.

Sosir had climbed out of the tiny window. It had been little more than a hole in the thick wall, high above the staircase. Bird droppings made it obvious it had not recently been used by sentient creatures. Climbing up had been a test, creeping through all the same, but the way down was painfully taxing. Though some of the mortal had been chipped out, the tower as a whole had been plastered, and Sosir found grievously few handholds. It took more time and efford than he had hoped. He cursed twice as he licked his cut fingers and torn nails when he finally made it to the ground, but wasted no time in opening the door for meek Tashi. No response when he shouted into the interior. A quick sprint in and out confirmed the surprise: Tashi was gone.  Bitterly angry at himself, he had no time for those emotions. Tashi was their semi-secret weapon and without him, he needed to regroup and find a new angle of attack.

Conj shows up for pandemonium

Sosir had ran through the ruined city, already understanding more of its structure and logica than he cared for. The waypoints flew past him as he sprinted, the grendels looked tired and frustrated but the long and tumultuous night left them in a state uninterested in fighting yet another Norn. Following the same landmarks Standir and Torsun had done before him, he found the hovel Tashi had described. The entryway and living quarters had been trashed, and no less could be said of the cellar below. Gaping into the reeking open hole of the tunnels, what remained had been scattered. A great stain of raw-smelling, dark red and viscous liquid foully covered the floor. It trailed back into the tunnels, footsteps of a fight that was imprinted in the foul stain. A deep sigh, he felt another wave of anger at himself. Another failure. Sosir gripped a crystal shard that had been tossed carelessly among the other trinkets and gripped it with determined intent as he marched into the darkness.

The stink of forgotten sewage assailed him, though his time in the flooding flats had accustomed him to worse, and the rank stink of the blackish visceral trail was still clear to him. The damp tunnels were of a part infrequently maintained, strangely. It was the ettins that cleaned and maintained the tunnels, so as to why one directly beneath the city of Ettins themselves would be so foul and downthrodden he could not imagine. The vaulted ceiling of concrete and ettistone echoed the patters of his feet on the muck. Ever so often, his echoes seemed to double. Doubting his senses, Sosir stepped out of his cadence, confirming the echoes and his suspicion: he was not alone.

Slivers of light peeked through the cracked and ancient vaults, but the structure was the least of his worries. The footfalls of his persuer increased in frequency, splashing up filth quite close behind him. A look back showed flashes of pale and flabby flesh, groteskly swollen like a well fed graveworm. Had Sosir been of a fearful kind he would have panicked, but he was not. Thoughts and predictions ran through his skull. He could not quite dare to outrun the thing in the inky depths, nor could he hope its intentions would be harmless. He suddenly interrupted his rapt stride as the strange thing was almost upon him, he flexed his back, locked his knee and threw his shoulder right back in the strangers gut. It merely bounced. A more solid creature would have doubled over in pain. He took two steps back in anticipation as it bellowed a terrible howl. A sole sunray shone through the cracks of the vaulted roof and by pure chance hit the gemstone shard he had taken from Tashis burrow. The broken light filled the tunnel with a golden hue, showing what foulness had eluded his eyes before.

It slinked away from the dim light the crystal reflected, but the well adjusted eyes of Sosir saw enough. The changeling had patches of fur like a norn, the small drame and roundness of an Ettin and the teeth and claws of a Grendel. It was the ultimate symbol of failure, of never committing. For a moment they both held still, disgusting hot breath tainted the air as they stood there, then suddenly it must have taken Sosirs grey hairs as the weakness of old age. It snarled, leaped and in a flash of the gemstone shard it was all over.

Sosir retched, spat and turned. He felt immense pity for the absolute wretch that one heartbeat before had sprang at his throat. To live in such squalor, with none to live for. He continued his tracking.

The gore trail was no more than mere trops every few steps, but even in the dark and stench, the viscous, sticky fluid was easily tracked by scent for a Norn that lived his life outside of society. It was only a short while later that he found himself climbing up a wellshaft. The tracks had gone through a solid but closed door, but he had been following them upwards, and so continued to do so. The shaft had clearly been used for a garbage disposal pit for a long time, but the climb was made easy by its rough walls. Tired from the day's troubles and exertions, however, the easy climb was still a hurdle. He suspected he still had a long way to go. The various shafts, climbs, stair and tunnels he still had ahead of him promised to be full of little slips.

The conjured stood tall and proud at his dais in the belltower. Standir and Torsun had been brought to their knees and each bound with thick rope. A solid oak beam had been laid across their schoulders, hindering their mobility almost absolutely. Standig had fought their captors, and was bruised to a point of pity. The great Boney Grendel skull that he had wielded in his defence now lied at their feet. It missed one of its canines, and glowed with a very dim red glow in the gloom of falling dusk. The robe on the conjurer was stained and ragged with a very dark blood, but the flesh beneath unmarred. Some strange device had reknit the skin and tissue, and had done the same with his grendel henchmen. Torsun wondered how high the price for such speedy recovery would be.

"You two. The hellhound and the wiseman. Perhaps you overestimated yourself. Now I have your tracks and scents laid out you may feed the destruction of this skull." Through swollen lips Standir spat. "No" fell from his mouth. The lanky sorceror payed him no heed as he touched the skull that had wounded him so before. It reacted evilly, red mist permeated from it as a angry howl eminated from it, growing louder and louder. Fairline cracks appear on its surface, the bone slowly melts. Standir and Torsun visibly suffer pain and anguish as their life is drained to fuel this ritual. 

Sosir hunched at the doorway, witnessing the evil ritual from the shadow. He panted with fatigue, sucking air into his lungs as quietly and speedily as his elder body could safely manage.

His improvised gemstone dagger, still crusted with black petrichor, was at the ready. He froze again as something changed about the skull. The howling lessened, the cracks faded again as the bone appeared to melt and the Magician looked confused and frustrated. The two captives seemed less pained now as the skull changed again. The molten bone reformed, molded into a timid, bipedal form. Evil lights show as the conjurer takes a few steps back, unwholesome sigils form and seethe around the changing thing. With a sigh all was over. The thing had become the tired and trembling form of poor, meek Tashi. His eyes stood wide open, gazing at the beyond as if he had seen more than he could digest. More pale than usual, fur matted with black ooze and ritual markings painted all over his body. Eyes adapted to the depth of darkness and clasped in his little hands the jagged and sharp fang that once belonged to a grendel.

Recognising his greatest threat and its weakened state the conjurer takes out a small handheld device, which he aims at Tashi like a powerfull wand or conduct. Flashes and a high pitched hum show a great wounding spell was being prepared. 

The slapping of feet on the ground, a halting shout and a flash of the gemstone blade revealed Sosir, storming at the Banshee antagonist. The Sorceror whips around, again shocked and confused, and released the spell.

Sosir was hit square in the chest. The explosion filled the hall with the smell of burnt fur, and flung the wanderer across the room and out of the window into the dusk sky.

Standir nor Torsun had no words. The situation was unreal, the events alien. Only Tashi said something:"your creations remember you." He released the jagged Grendel fang, and it slowly floated towards Mouth-of-the-shee. It glowed softly, but more obvious in the gloom were the shades of dark grendels, crowned with five horns each. These etherial shades seemed to fill the chamber despite not being there, and the lanky Banshee sorcerer lost all control as they closed in on him.

They faded out into the cool air, along with the conjurer. After a moment the great belltower was mostly empty again. Tashi released the Norn and the Jotunn, and together they stared down the window Sosir had been thrown through. A clean drop yawned before them, with only the streets deep below to catch a fall. Together they sighed a pained moan. 

As stoic and distant Sosir could be; they all knew they had lost a friend.

A search was set out for Sosir. Expectations were low, yet even then they failed to find any remains. Standir and Torsun both believed some predatory grendels might have dragged him away, the imaginitive Tashi made up a fantastic story, how Sosirs achievements had been rewarded, his sacrifice not in vain as feathered creatures would have caught him halfway, dragging him to some afterlife where adventure would never end, and boredom never set.

The ancient forbidden city was a ruined husk. What had stood for aons since the Shee had left the ring had been razed and defiled in a set of nights. The hordes of Grendels plundered its stocks and burned for simple, careless pleasure magnificent architectural edifices. Tashi would end up gathering the remaining golden Ettins, guiding them beyond the jagged crag mountains and the savannah after that. His experience alone in the wild, and his lessons from Sosir were a great boon that allowed them to settle again in the forested mountains, living a more primitive life there, but finding such a life could be most rewarding.

Standir and Torsun returned home. They found Vafburg once again under siege, beset by the roaming grendels the sorceror had released into the forbidden city. The safety of the bamboo vales was again insecure, and Standir would spend a lifetime trying to regain it. The fortresses he would built to do so ironically repeated the past and his ancestry.

Sosir did fall for a long time. The wind had been knocked out of his chest and he barely saw the tower speed past him as he teetered on the edge of consiousness. With a sudden burst the pale blue twisting and swirling of the warp enveloped him, and reality fast became a shrinking dot in the distance as he fell through the blue light. Quickly he drifted to a dreamless darkness as the warp bore him weightlessly. He did feel at ease, in that moment, feeling at home in the twisted strangeness that, by now, he had spend most of his life in.

THE END