Whatever valor or desperation compelled them to venture to the foot of the manor, you recognize only fearful resignation in their frozen faces.
There's little you can offer them in the way of grave goods, and the mounting snow will bury them until summer.
The most you can do is bear witness.
There are three bodies that still haven't been consumed by the snow.
You would be remiss to return home empty handed. But the dead are not to be trifled with.
A red deer hart lies half exposed. Its antlers drip icicles, though not nearly enough to form rivers as the stories would have you believe.
A frost-bitten woman, ill-prepared for the season embraces a tree. You notice a torc of twisted brass around her neck. What comfort it gave her in life, you hope carried over in death.
A warrior dressed in chainmail and wool desperately holds a horn in his leather grip. Even mead couldn't keep his cheeks blush this winter.
1. Leave them be.
2. You decide to take the torc.
3. You decide to take the horn.
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House of Loki
Short StoryWhen fate comes knocking with a hammer and sword, will you be able to break the chains of destiny? This is a tale of family and prophecy inspired by the Edda's of Norse Mythology. This is not a retelling, but an exploration of what is unsaid, guided...
