An Angel Called Eternity

To Bet on Losing Dogs - Kætil II: See My Renown

Kætil II: See My Renown

River Isanar, The Frozen Trails, Scelopyrea.
The First Day of the Forth Moon, 873 AD.

They'd gotten very unlucky. What should have been a short ride back to the camp lasting no longer than a night for their small band at the most had turned into a multi-week affair. Why?

Because it seemed as though a freak landslide had knocked out only bridge across the river Isanar that was still usable, so they'd had to travel two-hundred fucking miles upstream to find a ford that they, their horses, and their wounded could cross without being swept away by the greatest of the river Aenir's tributaries.

The journey had been disheartening, to say the least. The spirits of even the most cheerful amongst his retinue had fallen far this last week, and just about the only man amongst his companions to still be smiling was Krai, because of course he was. The man was as mad as a march hare, had only one eye, and seemed to have broken nearly every rib he had before taking an axe to the chest, and yet somehow he seemed to be the only one amongst them all to be completely unaffected by the arduous journey they'd all needed to make.

Kætil tapped the amber pendant around his neck. It was a treasured thing, one of his most important possessions, and he guarded it jealously. Never did it leave his neck, not with how rare things like it were. It was an expertly carved thing, as thick as his thumb and half as wide as his palm, and upon it were etched runes that called upon the one worthy god for courage, to bolster his morale whenever it may flag and he feared his own mind would fail him. 'Spirit', he'd been told the rune meant when the druids had given it to him, and though some called it superstition he was certain it worked. Yes, there were those that claimed even the druids could not truly give out boons from the Lord of Slaughter, but then Kætil had never run from a fight so it had to be doing something.

"What are you thinking about over there?" A voice called from behind him, and so he turned to face it.

"I'm thinking It'll be nice to be back at the warcamp. It'll be good to see my father and tell him of our victories."

Svaltha nodded at him, though the action seemed rather absentminded and he was uncertain as to whether or not she'd actually listened to him. He shrugged to himself and decided it didn't really matter, so he turned back in his saddle and concentrated once more on the trail in front of him, not to mention the woods on either side.

He had no intention of getting ambushed again after all.

Even with his sullen mood, there was no doubting that it was nice to get to know the druid with him. If he didn't know any better he'd say she was planted for him to find, so well did they get on! Besides, they were less than a day from the camp now and rapidly approaching from the north. They were hungry, tired, and carrying wounded, but they were alive and heading for hearth and home! It had been a hell of an adventure, but Kætil was proud to say that they'd done it; their mission had been a success, and he'd rescued a druid before fending off an ambush and leading his men back to safety despite the adversity they'd all encountered.

They just needed to ride a little further.

Krakevasil, but he was tired. Not as tired as Krai, that poor bastard, but at least his friend could look forwards to spending some time in the healer's tents instead of giving a report to the Great Jaerl himself.

Kætil thought for a little bit on the state of the healer's tents and how... unsympathetic the healers themselves could be, and then shuddered. Scratch what he'd said about Krai being able to look towards rest, he genuinely wasn't sure if Krai would rather have died on the road.