An Angel Called Eternity

To Bet on Losing Dogs - Kætil I: Jotun and Man, Mortal Both

Kætil I: Jotun and Man, Mortal Both

The Sixth Day of the Third Moon, 873 AD.
Dyfed's Warcamp, Hoarsoil Valleys, Scelopyrea.

The world north of the Einar was broken.

Some called statements like that defeatist or pessimistic. Kætil knew it as the truth. Winters were growing longer, summers were growing shorter, and the nights ever colder. Something was coming. The druids said as much when he'd asked them, but none of the stuffy old bastards would elaborate about anything, which was infuriating. Didn't they know he was the son of Dyfed Ostæinson himself? The Great Jaerl of all Scelopyrea, opposed only by the Valkyrie-Queen in the east? Of course they did, for despite all their blustering he was their favoured warrior amongst his father's court, but he digressed. Something was coming. The sun's eye blinked shut longer and longer with each passing year, with each moon, and all knew it would soon fall to sleep once more as it had so long ago. Lakes and rivers were beginning to freeze over, and the land was almost constantly covered in permafrost.

He clinched his helmet a little and secured his belt above his chausses, making sure each piece of equipment was tight enough to be secure, but loose enough so as not to be noticeably uncomfortable. Father had spoken about the prospects of peace with the Valkyrie-Queen again last night, but Kætil had made sure to convince him not to throw away his credibility so soon. The druids claimed that the encroaching darkness could only be staved off by a sufficient offering of blood to Krakevasil, the Raven God, and where else was father to find a tide of blood to eagerly spill if not in the veins of his last and greatest foe? Father loved him dearly, but Kætil made a note to keep himself quiet for a few days. The man had come close to a rage at his harsh words last night before he'd set out, and he didn't want to risk usurping father's authority in front of the assembled men of power so brazenly.

The hauberk slipped over his head, coif and mitons following soon after. A surcoat found its way over the armour, though without any of the pomp of the arrogant southerners; a plain dark grey cloth, only a little darker than his mail itself, covered his chest and back. He checked himself over once to make sure he hadn't forgotten anything. He'd forgotten his chausses once and had taken a pretty nasty blow to the leg later that same day. He was in no hurry to repeat that particular folly, for one long scar on his thigh was enough thank you very much. There were a few other bits and pieces to equip on his person as befitted his status, but they were trivial things that he wasn't likely to forget anytime soon, and took but a moment to gather and put on.

When all was said and done he was fully armed and armoured with a few spare weapons on his back and an expression of what he hoped was professionalism across his face. He gripped his helmet in his hands, aventail dangling beneath his arm as the cheek and face guards swayed ever so slightly while he stalked through the twisting paths of the war-camp. He was leading a score of mounted huscarls north towards a convoy of druids that had gone missing a few days ago, and given what the druids had said coupled with the reports of bellowed roars and men as tall as trees, Kætil had no questions as to what had caused the disappearance of the convoy. Jotun. Lesser Jotun hopefully, but even so, Jotun. Well, he said hopefully, but he knew for a fact that it would definitely be a Lesser Jotun or two. After all, if one of their Greater cousins had finally come down from their mountains then there would have been a great deal more commotion than there had been already; a Lesser Jotun might grow in size to the height of half a dozen men, but a Greater Jotun could dwarf even the mightiest of pines or larches.

"The men are ready, Chieftain. We await your command."

Kætil looked over at the voice and smiled, moving forwards to clasp his friend's arm in a soldier's greeting.
"I am glad to hear it, Syren. Mount up; we're setting out immediately."