Cold comfort

[TheBrogueadier]

Eira shivered at the foot of Cold Climb, the icy air bit sharply at her skin despite her magical protection. This was her third attempt to reach to snows, the first was thwarted by bandits on the pass, her second attempt abandoned due to the bitter cold; her time away from the snows and a lack of warm furs had left her shivering and suffering. Now she was here, although to what end she didn’t know.

She closed her eyes, letting the cold and silence of the snows envelop her; a peace she hadn’t felt in many months washed over her.

A growl snapped her back from her reverie, a giant figure hulked out of the snow, covered in rotting skins and rags it loomed towards her growling gutturally as it came. Dazed and unsure of what to do Eira stepped backwards, preparing to flee back to the pass if need be. The figure stopped, it’s face masked by a hood, challenging her in deep guttural tones.

“What brings you to the cold of the mountain”

Eira baulked, unsure of what to do, she’d heard the rumours of a fearsome hag that haunted the snowbound landscape, she hadn’t expected to encounter her here and in the pressure of the moment words failed her. She stammered the simple truth of her journey.

“I missed the snow”

The creature nodded and told her to follow to a nearby fire.

They sat opposite at the fire, Eira’s heart pounded in her chest, part fear and part exhilaration. The creature had introduced herself as Braghuru and removed her hood, what was revealed caused Eira to blink, but otherwise she remained visibly unmoved.

The half orc Braghuru’s face was badly disfigured, covered with open sores her skin blasted black by frostbite and exposure. Her teeth jutted as huge fangs from her lower jaw, bulging out her lips and giving her a cruel and bestial countenance.

She was clothed in a patchwork of animal skins, untanned they rotted upon her, cloaking her in a stench almost as brutal as the cold that whipped the air.

A few days before and at a different fire, she'd sat and talked with Cirion, a paladin of Sune who had challenged Eira on her faith, daring to claim that Auril cared for no one. He’d spouted pandering untruths and claimed the icemother was incapable of love. She’d retorted that love was for fools, nothing more than the simpering insecurity of two simpletons to broken to work on their own and desperate for the validation of another; Love was a lie.

She had been wrong.

The figure that sat before her was proof of this; each mark of frostbite, each sore and each piece of blackened skin was a mark of love.

Her eyes welled as she gazed upon the ice hag, her beauty was divine; so strong had this half orcs faith been, so devout in her worship that Auril had clutched the hag to her breast and pressed loving kisses across her skin. It must of hurt Auril to do so, to know the damage that each kiss would bring, but the motherly love of the ice goddess for her daughter must have been too much.

Eira felt her pulse rise again, she longed to touch that blessed face, to feel the textures of the goddesses loving kiss, to tell the hulking orc how beautiful she was, how she shone with such divine light.

With an icon such as this, this walking holy relic, as wild as the storm in her rage and as savagely beautiful as a blizzard the endless winter of Auril was assured.

[TheBrogueadier]

Eira stood at the fireside and stared off into the shades of white and blue that covered the mountain side..

The snows were deep and lush, beautiful yet deadly. To get lost in a storm up here would mean death, a cold but peaceful death. Better the embrace of the snows than being skewered by a beast or man.

Things had started to go wrong; since she’d arrived in these lands she’d lost part of herself, her sisters had been her guides and mentors, they had helped her grow strong, to become a weapon, to be part of Aurils will.

Her sisters and the white mask.

She shook her head and sighed. Behind those white masks her sisters and her became something else, not human but divine, singing the songs of the winds and blizzard, striking at encampments and those who dared defile Aurils realm without fear or mercy; leading the foolish and cocksure into the snows on the promise of warmth and love. Behind those masks they killed with pleasure; their victims unknown and unloved, a nothing on the face of the planet and who’s demise was the only purpose they’d ever know..

But without it…

She had been weak off the ship, her guard had slipped and her armour faulty. It hadn’t been weapons that had struck her, but words. The people she’d met here had warmth; a warmth that threatened to melt the ice around her heart. Even Hano, the paladin of the same great house of the three that had shattered the bond with her sisters had spoken words that had cut the threads of her anger.

She felt she was walking a tight rope, and that no matter which way she fell or turned the outcome was unclear. The only one she thought could have shown her the way was dead, the hags skull crushed by some shapeshifter, now she felt doomed to slip from that rope, and to fall from the grace of Auril.

She needed her mask, to turn off these stupid petty faults and humbling emotions, to stop being a mere flawed girl and to become what she was before; a joyous vessel for anger and fury.

[TheBrogueadier]

The tribe had ceased to roam long before Eira’s birth.


Now it lay shackled to one place, a small mining town that clung to the edges of the frozen wastes like some foul smelling tick, sucking everything it could from the bones of the land. The tribesfolk worked for what they could in the town, some little more than pack mules, others never leaving the dulling warmth of a bottle of liquor.


Her grandmother had sat Eira by the fire one evening, her wrinkled skin like some badly cured animal pelt to Eira’s young eyes, then taken a seat herself opposite, a half empty bottle of what she called her medicine sat by her side. Normally her grandmothers tales were of the past glory of the tribe, tales of bravery and daring, how its warriors were unmatched by man or beast. She’d told Eira of how the bears of the snow had fled in fear or become as tame as kittens in reverence to the warriors. How each warrior could, if they felt so inclined, sneak up on the alertest of snow leopards and steal its whiskers. The tales had always been of hero’s victorious and foes vanquished.


“It wasn’t always this way child” Her grandmothers voice sounded heavy and tired, not the entertainingly wicked voice she normally told tales in “Once we were mighty, feared and respected. But one year our elders were weak, and the Southlanders saw this.”


She told Eira of the fall of the tribe, how the once mighty group struck a bargain with the miners, how they sold their spirits in return for liquor, baubles and gold. They acted first as guardians to the miners; protecting their wagons and helping them scout the rocks for ore, providing food and bounty without which the settling miners would have perished.


Slowly, the balance shifted. The miners town had flourished under the tribes protection while the tribe faltered, it’s finest warriors tempted from the caravans to serve in private armies or to take up adventuring, even more succumbed to other temptations, the decadence and wealth the miners brought pulled many in, drugs, alcohol and gambling took the weak of mind while a wave of sickness and illness brought up from the south took the weak of body. The respect the miners had shown for the power of the tribe faded, they became mocked, perceived as feral savages, to soft to return to the wandering life and to uncivilised to fit where they were.


“This is when the gods deserted us. We had fallen to far from grace to ever be recovered.” Her grandmother looked older for telling the tale, more world worn “We had become nothing. The spirits no longer came to the tribe; no gods blessed or cursed us. We no longer had a name.”


The bottle of medicine was almost gone now, a few dark amber dregs swilled around the bottom.


“When you are of age child, leave this land. Our people are deader than any corpse could wish for. Find yourself away from this hell.”


The old woman sagged.


“Keep the wind to your back child and hope the gods guide you.”

[TheBrogueadier]

Time had changed the world of the tribe once more, and despite her grandmothers long-said words there was at least one god watching the tribe.

The years had changed Eira, her grandmother had become her guide, helping to shape her petulant childhood tempers into a force she could unleash at will, the act of keeping it in check helped reinforce its ferocity when unleashed. When released her fury was astonishing, even at a young age she could loose herself to the fury, striking with surprising strength against any that made the mistake of crossing her with little or no regard for herself. Her grandmother taught her the ways of the wilds; how to track and hunt animals, how to use a bow and spear and to swing an axe. Eira paid careful attention to the tales of the dangers of drink and drugs, how a girl such as herself might be led astray and become little more than a vessel to a man's seed.

The tales were still told, tales of grand deeds, heroes, gods and monsters. Eira remembered once, she must have been nine or ten, vowing to follow the tales, to battle savage monsters and bring the gods back to the tribe whether they wanted to come or not. Her grandmother had simply chuckled, patting the young girl on the head.

“Maybe you will girl, maybe you will.”

Eira had slept well for weeks following this, dreaming of bringing the gods home.

..

Puberty lent an extra edge to Eira’s rages, no longer focused tantrums they became wild, a tempestuous mix of wild hormones and teenage frustration, her body changed, growing fuller and adult, her childhood cuteness metamorphosing into a teenage beauty, easily one of the most beautiful girls in the tribe. This presented its own problems, men began to view her as something of a prize, something to be taken, had and discarded. She learnt to read the approaches, the gruff belligerent manner of some who seemed to think that a cock-sure attitude and monotonous persistence would somehow divest her of her senses and swing her into their beds. Others tried gifts or kind words to lure her. She quickly found how to set the would be suitors against each other, taking a bitter amusement in how some fought or cowed for what they perceived to be a chance with her.

The spring of her eighteen year, warmer days had become the standard now and in the lusher gardens of the town flowers and buds of fruit had begun to emerge promising a bounty of food for the coming year. The town and the tribe however were not faring so well, the ore that had been the cause of richness and poverty for so many had begun to dry up, work was starting to become scarcer and harder as people competed for wages. A few of the richer families of the town had already moved on, leaving a small, younger presence to watch over the remaining affairs. Amongst the tribe a hard winter had taken its toll with many of the tribe’s elders succumbing. The new generation that had taken over was fierce and zealous using re-imagined doctrine and traditions to ensure their power amongst the tribe was unequalled and unquestionable.

The changes of puberty hadn’t just changed her body, she saw the world through fresher, less naïve eyes, she’d come to realise a lot about herself and her parents. She still enjoyed the power he beauty gave her, it ensured she rarely needed to pay for her own spirits at the bar and could count on managing to source any item she needed simply by flirting outrageously.

The cool of the slopes of the mountains near the time played host to her a lot more, another of her realisations had been about her parents; her father loved both her and her mother in his way but the frustrations of his job were often enhanced by his love of strong liquor, often spilling over into violence. His outbursts were terrifying to be near as he lashed out, threw objects or furniture and yelled blue murder, one more than one occasion he’d beaten Eira and her mother leaving vicious bruises that lasted for a week. Her mother had become meek in the face of this, keeping a mouse like countenance that seemed to far from placate her father.

The mountains offered solace, a chance to escape the pestering advances or threats of violence, when not in the high air of the mountains she stayed with her grandmother, though even that was not without problems. Her grandmother had started to suffer some strange disease of the mind, her memory began to slip and fail, her stories pattered off half finished or the story switched half way through. The stories that she did remember seemed no longer to be valiant ones, more the real observations and disjointed memories of someone unable to live in the present.

..

The first heavy snows of autumn had begun, occasional driving winds whipped across the land bringing bitter cold with them, the occasional bright warm day seemed to mock the summer just past and promise a bitter time ahead.

Eira’s grandmother had died a month before, the disease of the mind had tortured her to the last, she forgot names and faces, spoke to strangers like they were long known friends or lovers and grew scared and confused when the strangers baulked or misplayed the imagined roles. Many normal tasks slipped from her grasp, the strength of her hands consumed by and endless shaking that made even eating and drinking a messy and unpleasant affair. Eira spent more and more time with her, tending to her needs, cooking and helping her wash.

As bad as the illness was it was the moments of reprieve from it that were most damning. In these interludes of lucidity her grandmother would sit and sob, crying over what she had become and the cruel injustices of age. She begged Eira to end it, but there was nothing she could do.

Then one day she was gone.

Her body was found by a tracking party early the next morning, sprawled out in a rough sheep meadow in the footings of the mountain, the fields grass turned white as snow by a bitter and unseasonal hoarfrost.

[TheBrogueadier]

The heavy snowfalls of winter cosseted the town in a thick blanket of white, one quickly rendered patchwork by the roads churned to mud by the passage of carts and by the vast black shadows of soot that belched from the chimneys of the ore refineries.

In the richer households of the town the windows were kept covered with thick luxurious drapes, the hearths kept well stocked with wood to keep the creeping tendrils of winter at bay, in the houses of the tribes thick furs and pelts, a well stocked fire and cheap spirits served just as well.

Eira rarely spent time at home now, her fathers violent moods had increased dramatically; a close friend of his had been crushed by a runaway dray cart, a cart that had slipped from her fathers grasp. He blamed himself and drank to take the pain of it away, his frustration quickly soured with the drink and turned to violence. The slightest infraction, be it real or perceived could end painfully.

She’d made her mind up to leave the town come spring, she’d work as a cook or hunter on a caravan heading south, find a city and see what work she could do. For now though she was content enough, as long as she could avoid any more broken ribs and keep herself entertained she’d be fine.

Following the death of her grandmother Eira had let herself go, with no real place to call home she drifted from tavern to tavern and into the various drug pits that dotted the town, loosing her mind to dream and imagination, finding a world where broken bones didn’t bother her and the numbness of everyday life went away.

She’d fallen in with a young man called Tearl, a cocksure young man from one of the richer mining families, he’d been slumming through bars on the lookout for cheap entertainment when they’d met. His attitude had been gruff and arrogant at first, trying to show off about his strength and money in order to gain her favour. Like so many others she’d flirted with him, flattered him into buying drinks for the night then left with the others of her tribe laughing at his forlorn look.

They’d met several times after that and she’d slowly warmed to him, his gruff attitude faded to be replaced by an entertaining cynicism, his unbridled attempts to woo her wore off, eventually becoming little more than a ritualistic greeting between the two; he’d ask, she’d refuse, the little show done they could chat and dance like the soul mates. They’d taken to hiking and hunting in the foothills and fells at the foot of the mountains, the jokes and jibes helped to pass the time and stave off the cold.

..

They stood together looking over the town, its myriad of lights flickering in the winds of a gathering storm. The bright ever-present glow of the enchanted lights of the ore refineries case stark shadows on parts of the town, they yellow gleam of tallow and oil lights filtered from a few windows, gradually snuffing out as storm shutters were closed, the large braziers in the town square guttered and flickered in the wind.

They’d been out hunting deer together, a hunt they had to call short due to the dark clouds and winds signalling an approaching blizzard, they’d had to jog much of the way back to avoid getting caught far from the town. They’d paused here for a few moments to take in the view of the town below.

“So” Tearl’s voice cut through the silence. “When’re you going to let me lie with you?”

Eira chuckled “When the hells are as cold as this”

She shook her head and smiled, turning to face Tearl. The look on his face surprised her, his brow was knitted in anger, he looked into her eyes.

“Come on. We may as well be fucking. We act like we are anyway.”

“Tearl, don’t be stupid, I’ve always told you nothing was going to happen”

Tearl simply smiled cruelly

“Oh, something’s going to happen. Everyday I’ve asked you and every day you give me the same shit, you’ve mocked me, laughed and teased”

He clenched and unclenched his fists in anger as he spoke

“You’ve happily taken my drinks, money and time. I’ve done everything for you and you’ve given me nothing”

Eira sighed and glanced back at the clouds of the storm, it’s leading edge only a mile or so away.

“Look, Tearl, I’m sorry. We can talk about thi…”

Her words were cut off as Tearl’s punch landed square in her face, sending her sprawling back into the snows. She scrambled backwards in a panic, her hands sinking deep into the snow.

“You fucking prick!” she screamed the words at him as her jaw clicked and stung “We’ll both freeze up here because of your cock!”

“Oh don’t you worry about that” He grinned as he leant toward herm his hunting knife in one hand “There are ways of keeping warm”

She lashed out blindly, a dull and sickening crack reverberated up her arm as the rock clutched in one hand made contact with Tearl’s head, he screeched wildly and collapsed past her.

She struggled to her feet and gazed down at Tearl’s fallen form, her blow had been a lucky one, catching him near the left temple. His legs twitched and spasmed uncontrollably like some great landed fish, his mouth worked wordlessly, flecks of foam already freckled his lips. One eye had rolled up into his head, the other was fixed on her, darting from the rock she still clutched in her hand to her face, the eyes pin tight pupil seemed to radiate fear and dread but also begged ‘Why?’
She felt numb, her heart pounded and thoughts raced through her head; he’d been a friend, had she really been so cruel. She’d done those things, but in jest, she’d never meant to hurt him.

She looked into that pin pupiled eye, a great spreading halo of crimson stood in start contrast to the white of the snows and she felt her face lift into a sneer.

This was his fault. She’d had a laugh and a joke and she’d always been there as a friend. This idiot just couldn’t see past his own trousers, obsessed with nothing but himself he’d forced her to do this. He’d been the one with no sense of humour. His fault. Not hers. He deserved this.

She raised the rock again ready to pound the stupid idiots face to mush, to give him a real respect for people.

A shout from behind snapped her to attention, two others also returning from a trip were running along the ridge towards her, two of Tearl’s friends.

She swore, leant close to down close to Tearl and fished his axe from it’s belt loop and her spear from the floor. She kissed him goodbye tenderly on the forehead and ran.


Within minutes the storm swallowed her.

[TheBrogueadier]

The White Mask

Eira Lay crouched in the snow, a cluster of small rocks and a few skeletons of trees lay around her, masking her presence. She retightened the mask that sat on her face and stared down the short incline to the rough road that snaked between her position and a small cluster of fir trees some ten meters away. She had maybe an hour, maybe more, maybe less. Time enough to enjoy the contrasts of the cold under her and the warmth of the sun on her back.

…

The blizzard howled around her, furs had been meant for hunting in reasonable conditions, not to face winds like this. She wasn’t sure how long she’d been in the blizzard, struggling driving winds and snows had robbed her of both sense of direction and of time.

She’d cried for a while, the snows seeming to mock her for her tears with visions of shelter and comfort, visions of Tearl’s face and that rolled back fluttering eye.

She collapsed to her knee’s struggling to get to her feet again, her hands and feet so numb with cold she feared she might break them and not even notice.

She summoned what rage she could, forcing herself back to her feet and screaming a challenge into the winds. She vowed vengeance against those that had let this happen; her parents for their drunken stupidity, her grandmother for dying and leaving her alone, the miners for robbing the tribe of a dignity that should have been hers and Tearl. She hoped he lived; that the blow she’d struck left him damaged for good so he could better appreciate what he’d done to her.

She thought, cursed and swore, pushing on into the cutting wind that seemed to strip away everything from her save a burning desire to see those who’d reduced her to die in these snows punished.

The ground around her gave way, she barely had time to cry out before she was swallowed, the world span as she fell briefly before exploding into pain and darkness as her head struck something.

…

She supposed she must seem invisible to the careless viewer. Her finely weaved cloak was a mixture of white and grey threads, topped with a mixture of feathers from snow owls and other such birds which served to mottle it further, allowing her to all but disappear into the snows. The white mask was the same, simple and functional, a small piece of white stained leather and cloth, dotted with a few feathers to break its outline.

She’d never been sure if it was enchanted or not, it had been a gift from her sisters in the snows; the fearsome two girls she now lay waiting for. Regardless of enchantment it gave Eira power, the mask was a message, it hid her identity, gave her focus. It was like being an actor in a way: Once you put on the mask or stepped into the part the world changed, you were no longer who you were but what people saw you as. The role of the mask was to turn off the mind, to become one with a divine purpose, to act, dance and sing as furiously as a blizzard. The mask was the role of winter, to accept the part was to abandon emotion, to loose the confusion of everyday thought and to replace it with a cold and driving fury, as wild as the wind, as cold as the ice and as deadly as an avalanche.

A movement amongst the trees caught her attention; a young lady with striking red hair sauntered amongst them, collecting wood and piling it to start a fire. Eira watched her work and smiled. Lilith. Not long now.

…

Eira awoke slowly, her head was throbbing with pain, gingerly she touched at it, feeling slightly nauseous when her fingers came away red with blood. She looked around, the world shaded strange tones of blue and white, a thin glowing slit of white was a few feet above her, to her left was darkness stretching away between cold blue grey walls of ice. She’d fallen into a crevasse, luckily landing on a small ledge rather than falling all the way to who knows where. She smiled. It couldn’t have been luck, the gods themselves must have done this, granting her the shelter from the storm, a chance for her to have revenge. She used her axe to hack handholds into the ice; grunting and steaming with sweat emerged from the thin covering of snow before sprawling out like a strange child born from an icy womb.

…

She shifted slowly on the matt of furs that shielded her from the worse of the snows cold, magical protection and the warmth of her clothes and cloak ensured that even lying prone for this long ran no risk of damage. She peered around tentatively as a small amount of snow shifted and fell from one of the trees near her, seeing nothing she turned her attention to Lilith who had finished setting the fire and now sat waiting by its side slowly roasting some meat.

Lilith and Solmøy. She’d met the two of them a week or so after climbing from the crevasse, both were maidens of Auril, they’d helped Eira, trained her, shown her how to gather her strengths and to focus the will of the Ice Maiden. Together they were sisters, all daughters and weapons of Auril. They’d been the ones who gave her the white mask, with them she’d revelled in the storms. Lilith could command the storms and animals of the snows and mountains, turning the elements against travellers or settlements that dared stand in some way defiant against Auril; those who lacked faith or reverence. They’d toured the mountains and snowbound plains; behind the masks they sung the songs of the storm, danced like snow on the wind and killed without thought or care.

A wolf came loping up the road, stopping calmly at Lilith and nuzzling at leg, the redhead bent to speak to it before standing and nodding slightly in Eira’s direction. Eira smiled, her grip tightening on her spear and the axe and shield.

Moment’s later four riders came into view, their voices carrying over the snow, the sound of laughter and amusement buzzed, not yet distinguishable as words. One rider had the lead, by the looks of him a youngish man, he cast his eye about warily while his two companions laughed and joked with Solmøy. Solmøy was perfect for this role, while not as classically beautiful as Eira she had a certain curvaceousness, easy laugh and flirty manner that ensured she was never short of attention. This particular ploy had been Lilith’s idea. It was simple, Solmøy would go to a town, find some people who didn’t think to much, seduce them with promises of friends and warmth and bring them out here to the snows. Culling the slow thinking from the herd Lilith had said.

Eira tensed as the riders drew level, the chuckling and laughter of the two riders with Solmøy still drifting over her as they dismounted, the lead rider remained on his horse looking around the landscape with a look of confusion on his face, Eira’s brow knotted as she gathered to move, as her legs pushed her up into a dash towards the riders she realised with horror that she’d only heard the men laughing, never Solmøy. The lead riders gaze fell on her as she moved.

“Take them alive!”

The ground to Eira’s left exploded as she began to dash forward, another figure erupting up from the snow, she barely had time to move, pure reaction raised her shield slightly turning the blow from her neck but into her face, its edge scored up her cheek and temple, slicing her mask away. She reeled back, her spear dropping from her hand as she struggled to switch to the axe under her shield. Another blow came, but this time she was prepared, she parried the blow away, pushing forwards as she did sending her attacker a step back, she brought her axe around over her head, striking as a farmer driving fence posts might, the axes head smacked into the mans shoulder, cleaving through his collar bone into his chest. He staggered away, pulling the haft of the weapon out of her hands as he did so, it’s head wedged.

The shouts from the trees snapper her attention to the plight of her sisters, most of what had occurred was obscured to her, but from the shouts they weren’t fairing well.
Lilith sprinted from between two of the horses, her white shift sliced open and stained as red as her hair with blood.

“Run siste…”

Her words were cut short as the mounted man reached her, striking down hard with the pommel of his sword he sent her crumpling into the snow; he pushed his horse on aiming for Eira. She ducked down grabbing her spear and readying herself, diving to the riders shield arm as the horse thundered past, driving her spear up into the beasts hind quarters, the spears effects were almost instantaneous, a one use weapon prepared by Lilith. The horse’s thigh turned to ice, shattering under the impact of its next hoof-fall, the animal screeched and ploughed into the ground hurling the rider to the floor. She pulled herself to her feet and glanced back to the trees, Lilith lay prone on the floor and past the horses she could see the crumpled figure of Solmøy, the two other riders were running towards her.

She turned and ran, cursing the fact she’s been unable to at least finish the lead rider off, her comfort in the snow and turn of speed gave her the distance, leaving her pursuers to the two prizes they had.
She felt her face as she ran, the numbness of the cut her attacker had inflicted, the absence of the mask. She vowed as she ran, to get away and gather her strength then return to find these people, not just to kill but to destroy them utterly, to find her sisters, to reclaim her mask.





(((sorry, this backstory thing kind of ran away.. Last one for a while)))

[TheBrogueadier]

Eira smiled, it seemed like forever since she’d seen Lilith, she hadn’t changed…

Her hair was still a crown of fire around her head, red as sin, her lips so bright and full against her pale skin. Her body wrapped in the white furs and shift she always seemed to wear.

She couldn’t seem to remember how she got here, the white blurry landscape of home surrounded them but she couldn’t seem to remember how she’d got there. She didn’t care, she couldn’t take her eyes off of Lilith, those deep lips moved closer, parting gently.

“Lilith”

They brushed her face, Eira moaned gently, it felt like years since she’d felt them; hot kisses in cold snow. Liliths nose brushed past hers and Eira quivered, moving an arm to pull her lover closer, to embrace her as tightly as she could, to let her lover nuzzle and nibble at the nape of her neck.


The world swam, snatching Lilith away as it did so, a fleeting memory of seeing her beaten low by a band of knights scored across her mind, as her body grew giant under the power of a spell. The figure she’d been about to let kiss her shoved her aside with inhuman strength, a vampire.

The creature tormented the group, Galiana and Katie first, then threatening the rest with death. She tried to put it all back in order, the assault on the goblin hordes, battling above and below ground with the Exigo forces, a ghoulish ambush in the chieftain’s lair, then the vampire.

She’d been the only one to step up to the line it had drawn, although her reasons were far from the bravado she’d been showing.

This was the vampire that had seen Cirion beaten down for sport, and here they were, Cirion’s lovers, a prize the vampire might pay well for. She’d stood on the line and watched it come closer, biding her time till she could tell it her plans. But those eyes had captured her; her own memories of Lilith had saved her companions but almost doomed her.

Irony had stepped in, Kathy had cast an enlargement spell on her, breaking the vampires gaze. The person she’d been about to sell out had saved her life.

The vampire had fled, assumingly bored of the games it had been playing and the group left the darkness of the cave.

Eira knew her dreams would be haunted by images of red eyes and red hair for some time to come.

[TheBrogueadier]

The sky was almost cloudless, a million stars scattered across the heavens like salt split on a black cloth. It was, she considered, one of the finest things she'd seen.

A great winter wolf towered above her, it's breath, as icy as the northern winds, washed over her. The great beast simply watched her, occasional spots of drool dropped from it's maw to land with burning coldness on Eira's naked form.

What was left of her clothes lay torn and scattered around her, ripped away from her by wolf. At first the cold had bitten hard at her, wracked her with shivering and chattering teeth, she'd longed to struggle to her feet, to find the clothes that could have saved her from suffering the cold, she was sure however the wolf would have taken objection to such a move.

It had been a numb warmth that had spread through her, the shivering had subsided to be replaced by the feeling of an inner glow, a tired, numb warmth that made her feel if she could just get to her feet then she could walk naked for hours.

The wolf tilted it's head as she tried to lift her arm, it seemed sluggish and heavy, almost as if it was someone else's arm she was trying to lift, as she raised her hand towards her face she was surprised to see how pale her skin was, almost blue under her fingernails. She let the arm drop back to her side, staring again at the stars, the rise and fall of her chest matching the slow rhythm of the wolfs breath.

She just needed to sleep, just for a moment, then she would be fine. Once she'd slept for a moment she'd be able to move back down the valley to the fireside. Just a few minutes.

She smiled kindly at at the wolf, before turning to gaze at the brilliant pin points of light she let her eyelids flutter, succumbing to the need to sleep with a deep sigh.


After a few minutes the wolf tilted it's head and regarded the naked form. It had breathed many times, but since the girls sigh her chest had not risen once.

[TheBrogueadier]

A single snowflake fell towards the mountain path known as Cold Climb, it twisted and danced, buffeted by the warmer air of the valley below.

It’s haphazard path took it towards two shapes in the snow, one, a large winter wolf stood watching the second, a naked girl, her body white from the cold, already partly covered in snow that had been shifted by the winds, her slightly parted lips blue. The snowflake passed over her face, but no breath came to disturb its tumble.


…



The whiteness that had surrounded Eira changed and shifted, moving from a single glowing white to other shades, a tinge of blue and green in different places and more shades of white than Eira had considered possible.

It was still the Cold Climb she realised, but the snow was deeper and the mountain no longer capped with snow but a vast castle of ice, its geometry seemed almost impossible, thin spires and turrets of blue glacieral ice, sheet walls of an ice that sparkled as clear and as bright as diamond. It’s base was set with an ice as green as a frozen ocean.

The wind shifted, pulling the snow from the floor into a swirling humanoid shape

“Welcome, daughter”

The snow moved, flurrying past her eyes before receding, no longer at the base of that great ice palace she looked around.

Exigo, or what was left of it.

The trees stood like frozen skeletons cloaked in snow, the giant rock she had rested against so many times had deep banks of white driven against it, a small lump marked the place where the long extinguished fire was buried. Around this the remains of the stalls and vendors stuck up from the white snows like the tattered remains of some long dead beasts.

She walked through the land, still as naked as she had been on the slopes of the mountain, the vague snowy shape walked with her, whispering of the fall of Sundren, of the coming of ice, winter and destruction.

She padded softly through the city of Sundren, the city was half ruined, frozen bodies lay half submerged in drifts of snow or huddled frozen together as they had died.

The temple of the Triumvirate. The sight of it took her breath away, its doors shattered open, roof all but torn away and open to the snows. Eira picked her way past fallen roof joists, upturned statues and the bodies of the devout.

In the main temple the bodies of a great crowd were packed in, all turned to face the now ruined statue of Torm, at it’s base, locked an a frozen embrace were two figures.

The figure of snow remained silent as Eira moved to the two figures, watching as she dusted the fallen snow from the armour, running a finger over the mithril wings that jutted from the back of one. She squatted and ran her fingers through the hair of one of the bodies before unbuckling its breastplate. Even in its owners death it still glowed brightly in the dim of the ruined temple, it’s silver patternated by the frost but the markings of Torm still visible. She looked back at the body, Hano’s body and suddenly felt acutely aware of her nakedness.

“Daughter?”

The snow figure was by her side again, it’s voice questioning. She let the breastplate drop from her figures to land with a muffled ringing on the temples snowbound stone.

“Is this what you desire?”

Eira looked around, taking in the frozen bodies, the eternal embrace of Tamryn and Hano, the shattered roof and all the death and destruction she had seen journeying here. She smiled.

“With all my heart.”


…


The snowflake twisted in its path, landing softly on Eira’s breast.

Eira spasmed, arching her back and sucking in a great lungful of air, the snowflakes touch landing like a hammer blow, driving a nail of frost deep into her heart.

Her hands dug into the snow as pain coursed through her body, her heart restarting, pumping the half frozen slush of her blood with renewed fury.

Slowly she relaxed, the pain subsiding as her body adapted to the new change, her blood felt cold in her veins but eh cold of the mountain no longer ate at her, not the numbing warmth of hypothermia but the acceptance of the cold that was now a part of her heart.

She pushed herself up to her feet, running a hand across the wolf’s great muzzle as she turned to stare back down into the valley and lands below.





Winter was coming to Sundren.

[TheBrogueadier]

Eira stood on Cold Climb, her axe head tapping gently against her leg, each touch sending a tingling charge coursing over her limb.

She'd stood there since before daybreak, having snuck away from the room she shared with Katie at the Thayan Enclave, leaving the beautiful sleeping redhead to her dreams, a simple tender kiss on her forehead meant to offer protection for the coming day.

It was early morning now, the mists of the night hours had turned to frosts just before the dawn, gathering on the plates of her dull red armour in a filigree of white.

Redemption.

Hano had told her to seek it, ask forgiveness, to beg for his mercy and the mercy of Torm.

She sneered at the thought, she had nothing to beg for. Every action she'd taken had been her choice. You asked forgiveness if you were stupid enough to make mistakes, nothing she'd done had been a mistake. It seemed Hano pitied her for choosing her life, but she knew better. Pity was a weakness, a flaw. People who were weak were undeserving of pity, as was anyone who crossed her. Pity was as empty as what most people called love.

She was favoured, a chosen spirit. Blessed to be an extension of the will of the Ice Maiden. A holy weapon to be wielded by the Mothers hand, to split and crush her enemies and exult in the glory of her vision. She had seen the pure beauty of the Mothers plan, a peaceful, unified future.

She would not, could not, bend. Did Hano ask her to become like Cirion, fall from the grace and blessings of her god and loose sight of who she was? To become a pathetic shadow of what she was now, to end up mumming like a pantomime bard. What belief could others ever have in you if they knew you'd failed to believe in yourself.

She'd meant what she'd told him, she wasn't willing to die for her cause, to waste her life needlessly. She'd live, with total unerring conviction for her beliefs, there would be no remorse for the actions she'd need to take, no pity for those who were mere stones to pave the path she was set upon. With every fibre of her being she'd survive, push on, cut the path.

She would do what it took, butcher villages, tear open cities if that was where the path took her. If Hano chose to stand against her then he would fall. A quick death as a concession to the friendship they had.

If it came to it she'd slaughter every man woman and child in the valley. For peace. For Auril. For Katie.

[TheBrogueadier]

“Eira, there have been told some things spoken about you regarding ill acts of the past.”

The bards voice was kept low amongst the hustle and bustle of the Exigo trading post, his words meant for Eira’s ears alone.

“That you have had involvement with a group of Auril-bowers responsible for the deaths of many.”

Eira sighed and turned to face the bard.

“Osclow, have you not slain many of the Cartel, of the Veritas? They’re people.”

“Indeed...” the bard answered, seeming to be curious of the connection she wished to make.

Eira shook her head and turned to face the flames of the camp fire momentarily, the trust she’d placed in a friend long since dead in any way that mattered had been betrayed. No doubt by the broken thing that carried his name. Lying would be pointless.

“They killed mine Osclow. Tore out my heart.” She turned to face the man, her eyes narrowing “Would you not seek revenge for such a thing?”

The bard furrowed his brow opening his mouth to give an answer before closing it again. Eira watched him closely, memories of long past events running through her mind as she waited for his reply.

“ I have heard it was an act of self-defense." the bard finally responded. "For the attacking and killing travellers." There was no conviction in his tone. Most likely, he merely wished for the truth.

“They Hung Lilith” Her voice was quiet and cold, her eyes seeking his “They made me watch. Can you imagine what it’s like to watch someone you love dance, twist and turn blue on the end of a rope while a crowd laughs and cheers?"

She leant forward, her voice a bitter hiss

“Do you know how long it takes?”


....

Eira shoved her way though the crowd, past people chatting excitedly, hot nut vendors and other tradesmen. Her bright blonde hair freed from the normal braiding hung around her head in ringlets, her normal fur and chain armour replaced by clothes more suited to the urban environment she was now in.

It had been a just less than a week since that fight in the snows, now she was here. She sought the crude stage erected at one end of the town’s square, and the source of the day’s entertainment.

A fat man stood at the front of the stage shouting out over the crowd, his words washed past her unheeded. Behind him stood what she sought. Lilith.

Solmøy was dead, shot down in the attack and left buried under a crude cairn, crushed by stones and denied even the final embrace of the snows, of the sky above. Eira had dug her free and left her how it should be. And Lilith? Once so proud and beautiful, an aspect of divinity had been beaten down by these people, her hair matted and lank from her imprisonment, her body battered and bruised by the method of her capture and abduction. On the stage she stood, hands bound behind her back, a gag stuffed into her mouth, a rope around her neck.

The three had been perfect, a triangle of divinity. Beautiful, dedicated and devout. The work they had sought to do now shattered by ignorance.

“…And now that reign is over!” The mans words made her pay him some attention “I’m sure you all remember some of the fallen, Aelfard, a brave and noble young man, kind hearted and true. And what did he get for this? Lured into the snows, away from the warmth of his friends, companions and fire. By this… This Thing!”

The man waved a hand at Liliths form, the crowd answered his description with a ragged cheer. Despite the bruising she still stood proud, chin high and gazing out over the crowd.

“So we do what is right! The brave knight Alwyn and his band have brought this creature to justice, to face the law for what she has done! She has shown no repentance! Gloried in the actions she took! For murder most foul she will hang!”

Lilith’s gaze met Eira’s for a moment, but it was enough. While Eira would have thrown her life away for a chance at Lilith’s escape a simple, minute, shake of the head told her no. In that look was everything, the passion and devotion the three had had, the glory of the work they had done. Someone would need to ensure it continued, to work to bring a great peace to the world. Eira Skald, Snow Song.

The masked man behind Lilith moved, knocking away the stool on which she stood, she dropped a fraction of an inch, no long drop to break the neck, no dignity. Just a choking slow dancing death that would shatter her beauty, eventually bulging her eyes, purpling her flesh and swelling her tongue, leaving her in death as some gross parody of a deep sea fish.

Eira remained emotionless as the crowd cheered her gaze locked onto Liliths face. She remembered Aelfard, his clumsy offers of drink when she had wandered to his caravans fireside, flirting shamelessly it didn’t take long for her to encourage him away. His so called goodness, to offer travellers the warmth of a fire and drink so he could bed them?

She’d toyed with him, light kisses and strokes designed to inflame his passion, he followed as she teased, the promise of seclusion and sex robbing his mind of the little intelligence she supposed he had. By the time the snows had cooled his amour he was far from the fire, from his friends. He demanded to be taken back, shivering pathetically in the biting cold while she comforted him, Lilith’s enchantments keeping her from suffering the same fate.

At first he had been angry, shouting threats and screaming for help, but as the truth of the cold was revealed he calmed, his words slurring his body becoming warm to him. Slowly he failed, the inner warmth and numbness turning to a need to sleep, she squatted by him, stroking his hair and whispering words of comfort, of the beauty of what he was about to achieve. As his breath slowed and his eyelids began to flutter she padded away softly, the true revelation of the warmth in the cold was a personal affair, while his body would die his soul would know the truth of things.

To him and so many others they’d granted such peace. In that final moment of serenity they could catch a glimpse of the true beauty of Auril, the truth of the warmth in the snows.

But what in return? For the peaceful, dignified and quite deaths they had bestowed upon these people they were repaid with this, a glorified and public death, a torture made entertainment for the masses. The beauty they had given was met with the swinging dance of ugliness. For those who had brought it to this there would be a reckoning, they had spurned the quiet peace of Auril and in doing so would learn of the fury she held in her heart.

She would do as they had done to her; make them watch as everything they held dear died in agony before them.

But she was not all cruelty, where they were lacking she was merciful. She would spare them the burden she would now carry for many years. She would show them the pain they had caused her, show them what they had done, make them understand. Once they did, out of love, she would grant them the release of death.


...


“No… I do not...”

The bards voice pulled her away from her thoughts.

“Near twenty minutes” She turned away and watched the fire, her voice flat “Twenty minutes, although I’ve had weeks go past quicker.”

“The past is the past Osclow, there is nothing we can do to change it. It would be pointless to regret it. Sundren has a bright future; it is that we must work towards”

The bard nodded along side her.

“There is much I still question. Hoewver your loyalty to Lady Kathryn and the joy you bring her makes it difficult not at least give you the benefit of the doubt. Besides...” He smiled and started to fiddle with his chain shirt “I can understand what it means to be something many could assume the worst from.”

He pulled his shirt open, a scarred mark of bane sat burned into his flesh.

“You are what you are. The history woven into your flesh is irrelevant in the end.”

Eira regarded the mark and smiled at Osclows words, she would never have guessed he was marked so. She felt that for him to show her was a degree of trust, although as the questions had shown her, having trust in another was a dangerous thing.






(((Huge thanks to Silas North, both for the conversation IG that lead to this, I'd been looking for a reason to post more of Eira's back story for a while and for going over the two parts of the conversation to make sure they all matched Osclow.. Ta!)))

[TheBrogueadier]

Eira watched the sun rise, not a flaming sphere cresting the horizon like some tawdry orange painting, but as it should be, a bright diffuse glow through icy mists that hung and shifted in the air of cold climb. The lies of the fire didn't penetrate here.

She rarely slept at the Enclave now, the softness and comfort had always been alien to her, she had tolerated it for her dedication to Katie, but with her gone on business there was no need keep up the facade.

She divided her time between Cold Climb and Exigo, between the peace and the noise. She simply waited and thought, listening to the petty squabbles, bickering and tawdry goings-on of many there. Occasionally it became to much and she lashed out, picking a weakness to poke and pry at with barbed words.

It was the fire.

People fell for the fire due to the lies it told, allowing it's warmth to coddle and comfort them, growing soft and fat in its flickering glow. But behind the lies of comfort it was foul, all consuming, it lulled people in with warmth before igniting them with a torturous and agonising death as it used their very bodies to fuel its own greedy nature.

But people feared the honesty of the cold. It made you lean, a survivor. You dealt with it's touch and either thrived or died. It truth was abrupt; move, stay active, live hard or die. But unlike fire the cold was not brutal, in death if gave peace, a numbing cold would turn to inner warmth and a deep sleep that faded to a quiet, dignified death.

Times were coming, she could feel it in her bones, a tension across the land. A quiet before the storm. So she waited, both on the mountain slopes and watching from her place by the Exigo camp rock, the chill of the mountain air that permanently encircled her slowly killing the grass around her.

Soon it would be time to spare the people of the wet valley the lies of the fire, and bring them the truth of the cold.

[TheBrogueadier]

Eira gazed out through the broken window, looking over the dying fire outside the building, tendrils of smoke wound in though the shattered panes, carrying the nauseating stench of cooked flesh and burnt hair.

She turned away from the scene, the fuel of the fire nearly spent, dark ember flecked forms popped and crackled in the in the dying heat. The inside of the cottage was a mess, barely more than three pieces of furniture remained intact, the owners property smashed and strewn across the room, every window put through, the doors all hanging or beaten from broken hinges, rafters hacked through with an axe to cause vast sections of the thatch to crumple and collapse into the ruined room.

She turned to the man bound to the chair, tied in a position that had forced him to watch the fire while it raged, unable to even turn his gaze away or to raise his hands to his ears to block out the noise. She cut the rope that tied his head back, it lolled forwards like that of a rag doll, his body to spent to hold it up unaided. She squatted before him, taking his chin in one hand and moving his head so his eyes met hers.

“Do you see now?”

She spoke softly, the words of a kind teacher to a tired child, with her free hand she touched the mans face, wiping the grime of the smoke and dirt of the day from a cheek streaked with the trails of tears. A smile sat on her lips as she regarded the man with nothing but care in her heart.

“Do you see what you did? How it felt?”

The broken man heaved slightly, the sobs and tears of earlier had run dry long before, he cried now dry and tearless, simple pained spasms were all that he had left. Between his wracked sobs he whispered hoarsely.

“Yes”

Eira smiled and nodded, running a thumb over the mans cheek with tender affection.

“Everything you have lost, the suffering you have seen. It is a fraction of what you took from me.” Her cold blue white eyes remained locked on the mans, her words softly spoken, but spoken with the conviction of her heart “Lilith was worth a hundred, a thousand of all your souls combined. You suffer only a speck of the pain you have placed in my heart.”

She stood slowly, tussling the mans hair as she moved behind him, bending forwards kiss the man gently on the crown.

“But you have understood a fraction, and that is all I could ever have expected from you”

He knife moved quickly, slitting the mans throat. She stood back as he gargled and strained briefly at his bonds before going slack.

He was the second of them, with three more left to go. She had a lead on the third although the Paladin Alwyen and the man who had struck the mask from her face were more difficult to find. It seemed both travelled often.

She smiled and picked her axe from the table, dropping into the loop at her waist. She placed one hand on the mans shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze as she looked out of the window once more, following the mans dead gaze.

In the dark of the night beyond the window the fire had died down to a steady orange glow, the blackened and charred remains of the mans family twisted together, still constrained by their wire bonds, at the heart of the heat. His wife, two daughters and a son, alive and conscious when Eira had set the fire as the bound man watched and listened.

She had given him the chance at understanding, and clemency for achieving it. For she was a generous soul.

[TheBrogueadier]

The halls of Geimhreadh were slow to catch the unimportant rumour; survival in the frigid tundra was more important than gossip. Besides, the sordid carryings on of the valley’s inhabitants had done little enough to interest her before she had left. Seeing Annie and her stupefying grin as she cooed and awed over her mewling brats had been the last straw.

Geimhreadh had offered peace.

But the story had reached her at last, and it had broken her peace.

For the first time in many months, she tugged on her arming jacket, tying the plates in place with movements so well practised they were almost automatic.

She bid her companions good health, left tribute for the Frostmaiden and walked out into the burning cold of the Tundra.

Two paladins of the Triumvirate were dead or worse. She needed names.