The Saga of Alfdan

The First Foray

Chapter 1

"It is said that your first journey will not be as memorable as your final one. One way or another, no one thinks the first steps are important. I disagree. I think our skalds would be out of work if they chose to forget the unremarkable."

- A senior Ursani hunter imparting the finer points of looking at the big picture

The waiting was always the worst part. Alfdan watched an endless stream of customers amble their way into and out of the Tyr's Hand bar. He struggled to stay alert and tried to blink away the many sleepless nights he and Frigga had endured on the cramped commercial hauler.

He glanced at Frigga. His Pact-Sister drew many stares, but few of those stares lingered long. It was just as well, as many tales of the Ursani were cautionary in nature. At nearly three meters tall, covered in pale fur, she cleared a wide berth in the dingy establishment.

With surprising delicacy, Frigga handed him a mug of something vaguely resembling ale. "They do not serve mead here." she said as she took a sip. Her face contorted in a bear's equivalent of a grimace; the back of her lips pulled back to reveal massive molars and fangs. Alfdan chuckled. There was something comical about a gigantic bear paw clutching a tiny drink.

Alfdan wondered if mead actually existed outside of the tightly-controlled borders of Ursani-realm. "I think mead is the least of their concerns. Look, are you certain he's going to be here?"

Frigga shook her head. "Your origin-kin," she said as she gestured with her paw towards the nightclub's customers (and therefore to human beings as whole), "they do not promise with blood as we do. The only certainty I have is the desperation that the smuggler displayed."

She grinned at him, a predator's smile. "Fear is universal, and not limited by technology."

Alfdan did not fear her; he knew from long experience that Frigga was, to use the phrase, taking him for a ride.

It was getting late. Alfdan was growing restless. He never was good at battering down his impatience. An Ursani saying came unbidden to his mind: "The cub that tries to grow up too fast is the cub that dies too early."

He was reaching for a second mug when Frigga nudged him. "I see the smuggler. Tall, for a human. Dark of skin, bright of eyes."

Alfdan turned his head slowly, trying to look like a lowlife having a casual drink. Ah, there he was. A slender man who stood a head above the other patrons ambled towards him. There was no mistaking the wide-eyed fearful stare that he tried to conceal when he drew up beside Frigga.

The smuggler – if this really was him – gestured towards the bartender with a peculiar hand-sign. A cocktail was served, but not before the bartender sprinkled a fine dust into the drink.

Frigga growled. "If this deal was made under the influence of narcotics, then there shall be no deal."

The smuggler took a sip from the cocktail. He looked askance at her. "Look, I could have skipped town any number of rotations ago, alright?" He slipped out a parcel the size of a human palm. "Here. I haven't taken a look and I frankly don't care. Come on, cough up."

Frigga took the parcel, a leathery thing tied together with cord, and placed it gingerly into her pack.

Frigga put a fur-covered paw on Alfdan's shoulder. It was a clear a sign as any that she, an elder Pact-Sister of Ursani blood, gave her approval and therefore her fate to the deed that Alfdan was about to do.

He handed over to the smuggler what seemed to be a roughly-hewn stone totem. It was brown as mud, with the features of a bear. If one were take a closer look, as the smuggler now expertly does, one would see a small glint of azure light poking out from a crack in the stone.