The Righteous and Free: Say little and carry a big stick (Drumm)

The dark, dank, and rather unclean dungeon rarely received visitors, especially ones that carried light. The turnkeys didn’t even carry torches, or any other form of vision aid, for they were creatures of night, or some other form of beast, accustomed to the dark, thriving in it where no others could. They shrunk away from this new source of contest, this blazing torch, this beacon amidst the impervious darkness that made up this world. Gadrin could see the light growing nearer and nearer through the small window of his cell door. The altercation that had landed him in this cell had been a bit of a misunderstanding. A very loud and aggressive hunter had been harassing a mute that he had seen in town more than once, and when Gadrin had gotten involved, the hunter ended up in a tree, and Gadrin was hauled off to a very dark corner of the town’s jail. The jail had been there before the town, and many of the local folk avoided the place as best they could. The keepers of the jail did just that, taking care of the prisoners and upkeep, with the constable needing to do little but provide new prisoners, which the frontier town was never short of. The torch finally stopped just in front of Gadrin’s cell, and the door opened. The mute stood in front of his door, and he quietly wondered if she was here to thank him or to help him, or do anything at all.

Tracking a man was not much different than tracking a beast. Nala had learned that lesson well chasing down fugitives alongside the city watch in the years before the war. Whereas animals left footprints and broken twigs, men left a trail of whispers that was just as easy for a skilled hunter to follow. News of the disturbance in the market square spread through the small town like a wildfire. Nala had no trouble tracing the string of whispers to the old jail house.

She never agreed to be burdened by the debt of a favor. Even as a child asking for help was something the dripped of taboo. Had it not been for racket caused on her behalf earlier in the day, she would have already set up camp miles away by now.

She had stopped in the frontier town a few days ago to trade for supplies and shake of the loneliness of her travels. While even the smaller towns were too loud for her liking, the isolation of the wilds was often too quiet, or rather, the wilds lacked the certain type of noise that kept her mind at ease.

It had been her intention to leave early that morning, but fate would have it that a caravan of merchants had stopped in the town the night before on their way between cities and were peddling their wares in the street.  She had heard the children giggling as they ran through the streets from the lodgings, she had secured at the cost of two water fowls. They scurried by her taking delight at the sounds they made by blowing handheld animal sculptures as she walked through the bustling street that had been nearly barren just a day before. The square had transformed into a bazaar with a host of traders standing between their wagons and the makeshift stalls they spread their wares upon.  Merchants selling all kinds of goods, foods, fabrics, jewelry, weapons, and art balked at the passersby, each trying to wrestle the crowd’s attention away from their competitors. Through the noise of the crowd she was able to trace the source of the children’s joyous laughter to a stall selling clay whistles alongside dolls and other toys. The fact that merchants still dealt such frivolous goods in times as trying as these filled her with hope. The warmth and softness found here made her think for a moment that perhaps home wasn’t as far away as she had though. The one she had picked up was carved in the shape of a bear.  She turned in over in her hands, running a thumb over the carved lines representing tufts of fur. As she inspected the whistle, she periodically raised it closer to her lips, passing the merchant a quizzical look. She was waiting for an invitation to test the sound it made prior to spending what little coin she had.

It was during this exchange the hunter had interrupted. She had noticed the man observing her from a distance on a few occasions before, but had paid him little mind.  As a stranger who carried a sword, few people bothered, or even approached Nala, but occasionally that was not enough to deter attention. Hunting and fighting came naturally to her. Social interactions on the other hand, were much harder to navigate, especially when dealing with unwanted advances. Her go to defense for such situations had been to ignore the problem and hope it went away. She kept her eyes focused on the ground in front of her to avoid eye contact. She crossed her arms in front on her chest and rolled her shoulders forward, trying to make herself look small. She knew a physical altercation would end quickly in her favor, but she would hate for things to escalate that far and would avoid it at all cost.

Unfortunately, the hunter took her continued silence as personal insult. He began cursing at her, calling her all sorts of horrible names that caused heads in the crowd to turn. Spit flung from his mouth onto her cheeks as emphasized each syllable. Her muscled tensed as she fought the call to action. Then he proceeded to grab her by the shoulder a tug her back. She watched him reach for ax at his side, her hand was nearly forced.

That was the moment the stranger intervened. The man called the wind and the wind answered, throwing the hunter who had been hassling her into the branches of a nearby tree. Then, just as the wind had lifted the hunter away, the constable and his men whisked the stranger away as she watched idly.

It was dusk when Nala approached the jailhouse. She had waited until the markets closed and the townsfolk had barred their doors for the night. What needed to be done next would be easier without witnesses. Kindness towards outsiders was an alien concept in childhood home, but she had spent the last ten years of her life as an outsider and had been saved by the kindness of strangers many times. Her time in the city watch had taught her that loyalty extended beyond familial bonds, and that acts of valor were to always to be paid in kind.

She approached the isolated log building that acted as the town’s law office a different woman than she had been in the market square earlier that day. Clarity of purpose had given her strength. She stood tall. Her steps were quick and decisive. The plan was simple, find the stranger who had acted on her behalf and escort him to freedom, carving a path of blood on the way if needed. It was foolish and motivated by an antiquated sense of honor, but who was he to judge.

The door to the law office was unlocked and the room was empty. As the whispers had said, the log building was built around an old stone stair well, far more ancient than anyone living in the city. The stairs spiraled deep into the ground. The lamps of the office above penetrating only a fraction of the way to the next level. She borrowed a torch from the wall and proceeded down the steps. The darkness of the hall seemed unnatural. It smothered the light of her torch so she could only see a few feet ahead. Though she couldn’t see should could hear movement beneath her.  There several floors below the cell lined hall at the end of the first staircase. The tunnels below were teeming with life. She couldn’t make out the exact number, or even an estimate, but it was evident that those living below vastly outnumbered those in the town above. They also knew she was there. When she stepped off the final stair leading the dungeon all motion on the level below stopped for brief pause before continuing on with little regard for her.

She listened cautiously as she walked by the cells. The prisoners paid her no mind, apparently having given up on any hope of release long ago. She listened intently for signs of keepers of the jail moving towards her or banding together to prepare a concentrated assault. Perplexingly they seemed to be doing just the opposite. Those in the levels below were scurrying in now discernible pattern, and those that were on the same level as her were actively avoiding her. Even more perplexingly, as she approached the corner of the floor, she heard one of the door tumblers unlock a few cells ahead of her.
She peered into the unlocked sell through a barred window. Even in the flickering shadows she positively identified the man who had intervened at the market stand earlier today by his peculiar dress.

She lurched the door open slowly, not wanting to cause alarm. Afterwards she began walking toward the exit, pausing after a few steps. She half turned to face the man, extending her free hand back as an invitation for him to follow.

Gadrin silently followed his rescuer up the stairs of the jail, wondering if she was deaf or just mute. He racked his brain to remember anything about her he could, but very little was known of her, even if she frequented the town more than most of the other seasonal travellers. He tapped along the walls until he emerged in the log cabin that served as the law office. Perplexingly, the constable was nowhere to be found, probably out on some patrol. Gadrin felt a bit better as he collected his things from the lock up, breaking a heavy looking padlock with an even heavier looking brick. He collected his cloak, pack, hat and large walking stick, even going so far as helping himself to a worn looking short sword that lay forgotten in a far off corner, slipping it onto his back with his pack. He followed Nala out of the office and out of town, where he began whistling a jolly sounding tune. He noticed that the huntress looked back towards him every once in awhile, presumably to make sure he was still following her. As they got further and further out of town, he began to wonder where in fact they were headed. Before they got too far, he approached her and chirped up, saying, "thank you very much for the rescue! The stone of that place talked much of sadness and quiet, loneliness and despair. Crawling whispers, much unlike the stones here," he motioned to a few rocks just beyond them on the road.

"I need a few things, things that would hate to be left behind. I don't know where you wish to go, but it seems I must leave for a bit, sad a prospect as that is," with these words, Gadrin ducked into a game trail, barely perceivable in the trees.

The game trail took them deeper and deeper into the woods. He greeted each tree as they passed, complimenting their leaves and branches. He hollered at the babbling brook they passed, telling the water to keep it down, and shouting for the fish to visit more often than once a year. The woods soon parted to a grove, with a small stream running through and a rough wooden bridge spanning the length. A large log cabin was visible just a ways away. Gadrin slipped over the bridge humming a jolly tune, happy to be home. He knocked twice on the door before entering the unassuming log cabin.

Once inside, Gadrin inhaled loudly, taking in the scent of his home. This place had stood before he had found it, and he had been very happy when he was given permission to reside here. The place had an unexplainable sense of safety and hospitality, and there was no other place someone could feel so at home. He had done much to make it his own. Fur laid across the floor, covering wooden floor and keeping the cold out in the winter months. He quietly asked for fire to reside itself in the fireplace, bringing heat to the large room as the night drew near and the temperature fell. His kitchen was bare, with a dutch oven readily available to cook three square, and cupboards that were overly bare except for a few preserves and jerky, as his original purpose in town was for some provisions. Bookshelves and cases lined the wall across from the doorway, odds and ends filling them as well as books and old journals. His bed was shoved into the far corner, three bags set on the ground neatly beside it. Boxes and bins fill another corner, novelties and artifacts collected via forays into the forest and the ancient ruins that fill it. "Help yourself to any of my things," Gadrin said to Nala, motioning to the odds and ends, books, or whatever she may wish.

"Many things to be found in the woods now that the Wild Elves disappeared. I talked to a few as they moved on. I guess they're people are gathering in the north to wait out the end times, if such a thing is possible. The town has gotten bigger as refugees flow in. Soon conflict will find us," Gadrin said to Nala, whether she could hear him or not. He approached his bed and quietly placed his bag on the ground, before picking up another, larger one and packing what was left of his preserves into it. He slipped a few randoms from his shelf into it, as well as a book and quill from the bag he had been wearing.

"A sad day when elves leave their woods. I hope orcs do not move in too quickly, but Chaos seems to spread quickly in the wilds when no one is here to stop them. I have heard reports from the scouts of goblins and orcs in the woods, but I have been too busy mediating between the trees to find truth myself. The bears are restless this fall, and I've had to speak a few down from praying on wandering children. Now then, where are we going?" Gadrin asked, standing near the door, waiting for Nala to finish her preparations and lead him off again, not sure if he should expect an answer to his question or not.

It panged at Nala’s heart to abandon to trail of her quarry. The creaks of the wagon wheels rolling away from them called her from the distance. She had vanished from the town square during the commotion off the arrest, and consequently was unable to complete her transaction with the toy salesman. She played with her hands absentmindedly as he followed Gadrin down the moonlit, keying the air holes of an imaginary whistle. She tried easier her mind by contemplating the reality of the situation. While the caravan would have a several hour head start by time she was back on track, they would be slowed by weight of their wares and their older travelers. As young and driven as she was, she’d have no problems catching up with them within a day. She was reassured part way through their journey when they turning of feels came to stop and was replaced by the crackle of a camp fire. The delay would be worth it for a travelling companion. Even if he couldn’t lighten her load, Gadrin would certainly stave of the quiet. Indeed, he had only stopped talking to breathe since he had introduced himself. She found it odd the way he spoke to trees, but supposed she might talk to them as well if she were one to talk at all.

The cabin felt oddly welcoming, more like home than the farmhouse she spent her first two years among the Outlanders, or the barracks where she had spent many more. The bareness of the kitchen was contrasted by the clutter of the rest of the house. She eagerly parsed through his collection, eyeing each piece carefully. Hoping to gain some insight into the strange man who resided here. While she couldn’t make out the titles of the books and journals, but they supported her theory that he was a wizard. She suspected that many of the strange relics accompanying the texts were magical artifacts of some sort as well. She was no stranger to magic, but the kind she practiced was more subtle and intuitive than the arcane tradition of the mad mages. She was curious about the study, but treated it with caution reverence.

She graciously accepted his offer not just to touch, but to actually keep some of his belongings as a gift. With his blessing she began picking items of the shelf for closer inspection. She limited herself to the more familiar looking items at first. She started with a small stone knife. It was carved in similar manner to the tools she had grown up with, but wood from the handle was different than anything that grew near her mountain home. Her curiosity outgrew her cautiousness as she moved from one object to the next. After handling a series of small carvings, gems, and ancient coins, she flipped through the pages of a random book lying on a shelf. The words meant nothing to her, but she had hoped she might chance across drawings or symbols that carried some significance.

She was soon distracted from her disappointment by Gadrin’s voice, although she still wasn’t certain if he was actually talking to her, or just talking in front of her. Her edges of her mouth twisted up in a slight smile at the mention of conflict. “Slass” She whispered to herself, so quietly that she questions if she had said it aloud at all. Life in the mountains was a constant struggle for survival. As such battle was embedded into every aspect of her childhood life, securing resources, religious ceremonies, and even play. Where she found strife, she claimed a connection to home, if only for a little while.


She listened as Gadrin prattled on, but didn’t let it detract from her exploring. She felt for those who lost their home, though she questioned if they were really lost at all. As a nomad she knew that home was more than a place on a map.

She did wish to let Gadrin’s offer go to waste. She wanted something to remember this place by. Even if Gadrin had, perhaps unknowingly, planted the idea of returning to this place in her mind, she wanted memento for when those plans went awry. The problem she faced was that while each and every item was wondrous and charming in its own way, she couldn’t visualize herself with any of them. That was until she came across a silver bracelet.

Based on Gadrin’s account of recent, she assumed it belonged to the elves. Whoever the craftsman, they must have been of peerless skill, the detail of the carving being finer than she had ever known. It appeared to be a mural of some sort, telling a fantastic tale of horrific beasts and heroes of old. She had fancied silver since she first laid eyes on the metal in the markets of the great city, but fine jewelry was something out of her price range so she long ago conceded to a policy of “look but don’t touch”.

The metal was lighter than expected and felt cold against her skin. It fit snugly across her wrist. She had never met an elf herself, but recalling the tales of the lithe people made her wonder if perhaps it was intended to be worn as an arm band. She turned around to admire the newest addition to her collection in the light of the hearth when she noticed something sitting on a shelf across the room. Something that had most certainly not belonged to the elves.

It was a piece of malachite no bigger than her thumb, carved into the shape of a howling wolf. The swirls of light and dark green seemed misplaced among the other relics In all her travels, she had never before seen carvings using that material outside of her homeland, and the craftsmanship was unmistakable. She double checked her own belongings. Perhaps, she had dropped it and Gadrin considered leaving it on a shelf for her would be a playful trick. Miraculously, hers was still in her pouch. The similarity between the two was remarkable. Every detail of the statuettes, the accentuated fur, the shape of the mouth, the angle of the ears, and even the swirl of the tail mirrored each other perfectly.

Even among her people these totems were a rarity, given only as special gifts by their spiritual leaders and passed down through generations. Nala was confounded to find an explanation as to how a piece such as this ended up in the hands of an Outlander. Gadrin had spoken of rummaging through abandoned settlements in the woods, but something such as this was too important to tossed aside or forgotten. But then again, wasn’t a fellow kinsman? And had she not been left behind? Not just left behind, but deliberately abandoned?

The wolf totem was lost and alone. Surrounded on all sides but categorically different from everything that lied beside it, just as she had been, just as she still was. In a strange way she sympathized with the stone animal. She grabbed it off the shelf. She squeezed it tight in hand, affirming that it would never be alone again before joining Gadrin at the door.

She answered him by pointing south through the woods. It would be faster than doubling back the way they came, and would allow them to circumnavigate the town they had recently fled. Eventually, their path would cross with the main road, which they could then follow the rest of the way to the caravan.

Many years ago, in the Sky Reach Mountains

The howling winds of the storm outside masked the grunts and screams inside the temporary settlement. A coating of fresh snow clung to Nymeria’s mammoth fur cloak from the short trek across tundra camp. One of her many duties as the Wolf Mother was to welcome new children into the clan, and bestow the blessings of the ancients upon them. A pair of wolves followed her in. Though they lived alongside the wolves, the highlanders did not domesticate the beasts like the outlanders. Wolves were full and equal members of the tribe, and the alpha pair held a position of power and reverence. They laid down at the entrance of the igloo, their eyes fixed on the pile of hides that had been thrown together as a makeshift bed. While the Wolf Mother the tribe came to deliver her blessing, the wolves came to pass judgment.

The mother she was visiting this night was an old friend of hers. Potema had fought alongside Nymeria in many fierce battles and shared songs of glory over many great feasts. This was not Potema’s first time with child. Nymeria had blessed the birth of three of her sons in years prior, all of whom had grown to be fine hunters and warriors. The tribe had high hopes for the first female born to the line. The time was coming for Nymeria to begin training a successor to replace her as the group’s spiritual leader. It was merely a matter of finding a child the wolves deemed worthy.

Potema did not have such high hopes however. Her cheeks were flushed and the sweat gleamed on her face in the light of the fire. Strands of hair clung to her face. This birth was proving to be harder than even her first, but this came as no surprise to her. The ancients had begun consulting with her through her dream’s weeks ago. They showed her many things, much of which she did not comprehend, which were beyond mortal comprehension. All she knew for certain was that this child was special and in great danger. The wolves that had long been faithful companions now seemed menacing as the lied near her feet.
Potema grasped Nymera’s hand in hers. She squeezed as tight as she could and pulled down until she had the Wolf Mother’s full attention. She spoke in the tongue of their ancestors, pleading desperately between panting gasps. “Promise me. Promise me you will protect her with all your might.”

The fear in Potema’s eyes was uncharacteristic of the barbarian warrior. Furthermore, her request confounded Nymeria. For it was something that went without saying.  “I am sworn to protect all members of the tribe.”

“This is different. This child is different. There is something special about her that I don’t understand. I need you to swear. Even if the world is against her, even if the tribe is against her. I need you to swear to make her enemies your own.”

Nymeria hesitated. She had loved Potema like a sister, but she was asking for too much. “You know I can’t do that.”

That was the answer Potema had expected, but not one she could accept. With her free hand she removed the small green wolf statuette that was tied around her neck, and deposited in the palm of the Wolf Mother. She had inherited the stone from her father, who had inherited it from his father. Beyond the primal magic infused within, the spirit totems were prized for what they symbolized. They could be earned only through a great feat of heroism, and represented a great debt owed by the giver. A debt that could be called upon at any time, and must be fulfilled by tribe’s current leader.

The laws that had been passed down by their ancestors were clear. Nymeria had no choice but to accept and honor the vow, though she feared how such a vow may come to odds with other laws and traditions she was sworn too. After she dedicated her oath to the unborn child the room fell silent except for the grunts and screams of labor.

Hours later, the child was born as the mother passed. At first, Nymeria thought the child a still born. The child made no sound. The only sign of life was the slow rhythmic rise and wall of its chest. The Wolf Mother learned of true weight of her decision shortly after the delivery, when the wolves behind her rose to their feet and began to growl.