It was a while ago I stopped telling stories about my life, since this place became too tedious that nothing new ever happened. That was until a few days ago…
Some adventurous types arrived at the farm searching for a boat, but carrying a fallen comrade with them. Being the only man with any priestly skills hereabouts it was my duty to give their friend the proper rights. His name was Gadd and he had died fighting a band of Merfolk – a good death by all accounts, but he looked awful frail to be swinging much of a weapon. His friends placed him in my hands, and while I was preparing him to the next journey I found that he too had been prone to make a tale of his thoughts and views on the day that has just been. In order to better know this man, I had them recount his last campfire story.
The warrior woman Nothgyth and I were charged by Arkenbright to seek out a Hactess, a witchwoman of Wennish beliefs, a Swedish favourite. Apparently she was not yet captured and a summoning had happened. Arkenbright was keen for us to find her and bring back any lore she might have for he and I to share, anything esle we could keep. The witch was named Saegygh. Nothgyth, by the gods is she ugly, but useful in a fight, offered to join us, her spear and light shield would certainly be needed as I looked at my other companions. The hunter, Herewulf, a fresh face but amiable. Lyttleman the axeman, I fought beside before and Caenwulf who seemed bereft of much of value apart from his humour and scramasax, though he refused my offer of some armour, I know not why. And yet another called Wulf idly swinging his sling, all eager to make a name and maybe some coin for themselves as indeed I was.
Nothgyth leads us west for she knows the way, to a farm owned by a man called Colbrand, with many armed men nearby. Obviously something had happened here and we are directed to a young boy who was witness to the events. His family had a small boat, and being scarce, they figured that these marauders would be looking to take that and go, leaving them safe locked up inside their hut. I talked to him, he was only 10 or so, but he witnessed the horror of his family being butchered before his eyes – sacrificed no less – throats cut, staked out.
He told me he was tending the pigs when the 3 men showed up with a woman. He described how she gestured twards the lake and used the sacrifice of his family to summon a Merling from it, they all got in to the boat and left, he was able to show us where they went from his vantage point over the headland. Though he is young, he was determined to avenge his family, he wanted their heads. I vowed him that I would do this for him or die trying.
There were few boats to be had with all the fleeing, but I managed to gift my 2 armrings for one that would suffice us.
And there it ended, no more words would come from his mouth now. I felt the need to finish his deed, to celebrate his death that night as told to me by his companions. A number of Merfolk did indeed attack that night, maybe numbering 7 or 8, they used darts to sting from a distance then rushed in and the one called Wulf fell but not before taking the legs out of his adversary. Nothgyth and Lyttleman fought valiantly, and this frail Gadd seemed to be outnumbered and was unable to protect himself by godly or majikal means and was speared several times before dying an honourable death.
His words stirred something in me, adventure, escape from the drudgery of this farm, maybe if he could not fulfill his vow to that young boy then perhaps I might? I was with this thought that I sent him onwards that night, and the tale of his travels made me rethink my own life. Perhaps my tale would get re-told, might live on if I tell them well and become someone of note and reknown?
With this in my mind, I joined the small group and left my life at the farm. We talked to the men who keep watch hre, the sheepheards, and they confirmed a sighting of a boat with some 20 men in perhaps, which the four that we sought boarded. The farmer’s wife also knew of a woman matching the name we sought, Saegygh, up to a path northwards, up a long defile. It was slow going even travelling above the narrow gorge for fear of ambush. As we camped last night on the curve of the small river, a band of pookling attacked us. They were not hard to dispatch though the leader, a larger one with speed aplenty bounded away from us as he tried to escape across the river, but we managed to down him eventually and have just settled after tending our wounds for the lost sleep which we badly need.