VALKOS' KEEP: Annals of Yri

Chapter One

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As many stories often begin, it was a dark and stormy night. 

Mayhaps it was chance, mayhaps it was Baleiveira's rainy season. 

Mayhaps it was the god Iapos and Ela, lifting the gale and sweeping the torrential rain over the town of Dunnport in order to keep one lone Norrstadi inside the tavern where mercenaries and other rather unsavory folk were lounging and cavorting about in a lively and raucous manner.

 Yri Fidmundottir hunkered over her flagon of ale in dimmest of dimly lit corners of the Blue Pony. A silent shadow, not even her drink made a sound when she rested it on the rickety table placed in front of her. Dwarfing the average-sized table, many a wary eye rested on her form for a more cautious moment than necessary.

Most, however, focused on their drinks and their revelry, celebrating the rain come to saturate their fields.

Yri scanned the room, chestnut eyes wary and sharp.

The innkeeper, Master Hardy, bantering with friendly patrons, laughing and clutching his belly.

Her companions for the moment, a poorly outfitted mercenary group, drinking and wailing away at an old Chamvarrian drinking song.

An old woman, bent and wobbly with age, nestled near the fire, her rags in danger of catching spark, huddling against the cold damp wind whenever the door flung open to welcome new customers.

Her eyes flew to the door. Three men, all in homespun cloth. A little threadbare, but not enough to warrant worry for risky pickpocketing behavior. A prickle of awareness lifted the hair on the back of her neck. Her eyes flicked back to the fireplace. And met the periwinkle blue eyes of the old woman staring at her.

Her eyes narrowed. The old woman's grew hazy and dreamlike.

Uncomfortable, and not wanting to encourage any strange behavior, Yri looked back at the crowd inside the tavern. It was busy enough that she could likely leave without being noticed.

Tired of the noise, Yri stood to her full height of twenty-one hands and stepped out from behind her table. Dropping three glinting cor's onto the table for her meal and her drink, she ducked below the low-hanging support beam and stepped further into the room, closer to her exit.

A few of the newcomers, not far enough into their cups to not notice, gawked at her, mouths dropping open and a few pints spilling out of fingers and onto tables and legs. A yelp of frustration, and they were distracted with dashing to find rags. Oddly quick for a human her size, Yri made it to the door, ducked underneath the frame, and was outside before any comments could be made on her presence. 

The pouring rain prompted Yri to pull the water-spelled hood of her cloak over her head. Lightning crashed not far away, and it illuminated Yri's stony, scarred face in an eerie light. Thunder cracked a few seconds later. 

Steeling herself with a deep breath against the chilly storm, she stepped out into the storm, heading towards her lodgings for the night.

"Wait, please!" A feeble voice cried.

Yri ignored it, her steps unfaltering.

"Please, wait! I have-I have a message!" The voice wheezed, breath rattling.

Still not responding, Yri continued to step forward.

"Please, please, I need to--"

"YRI FRIDMUNDOTTIR. HEED MY SERVANT'S CALL."

A cold, commanding, alien voice spoke sharply from behind. Yri froze.

Turning on one heel, hand on her short sword, Yri swung her gaze to the lone figure standing straight and regal in the center of the packed dirt street, in the middle of a torrential downpour.