Dark Age Of Camelot: Gray Fortune

Chapter 11: Gray Fortune, Part 1

I was out hunting in the deep of Myrkwood Forest. I had come to enjoy hunting here, skulking through the growth, noting the way the mists would cling to the ground and never seem to go away. I was also able to escape the gaze of people here, exchanging meaningful glances only with the beasts that roamed this area, whether I be observer or killer.

The events in Huginfell stilled weighed on me. Fulnia's death still weighed on me. Fulnia's last words weighed on me.

I had not yet been back to visit my trainer. I even feared going to the one in nearby Gna Faste, for though this place was far from the northern regions which housed the capital city, I would not doubt that word travelled fast, and they would already know of my murder of Fulnia. I knew it was self-defense, but would they?

I was still interested in finding Shai, but I was not sure what I hoped to accomplish by immersing myself in the languid days and creeping nights of Myrkwood Forest. I knew one thing, though, killing was becoming such second nature to me. It almost seemed I could go about my business of slaughter, learning more and more as I did so, but my mind would find a way to dwell on other things. I supposed my trainers would be proud.

I saw something, then, off a ways, and I knew it was no local beast.

I remained stealthed, something I generally engaged whenever not in a settlement or in battle. It was also becoming second nature to me, and I crept closer. It did not take me long to resolve the form of a troll also out here hunting. His armor was colored blue and silver and looked rather well kept. In all respects he seemed a refined troll, one with money. I did not chastise myself at the time, but I noticed these things with irony. I had known few trolls to this point of my life, though, and I must confess I held a similar prejudice as many of the Realm; namely, that trolls were unintelligent subhumanoids not much better than rocks with arms and legs.

This one was a Shaman. I discerned this from watching him for a while - the way he would move his hands in that particular way, and then a magick bolt would fly out and strike his intended prey from a comfortable distance, then he would cast such lethal spells upon them as would cause poison and disease. My own dark and lethal nature had led me to study Cave Magick, only one of the three lines of study available to such tribal healers, and though I could never have become a Shaman myself, I was lured with some envy toward such deadly practices.

He was hunting great tinglers and arachites, being respectively large spiders and humanoid creatures bearing of intelligence and their own unique blending of spider-like qualities. I knew from further exposure to and study of the werewolves in Midgard that the arachites comprised a faction that opposed them. I had since come to discern some truth to the rumors and legend surrounding the werewolves and their settlement of Askheim here in Myrkwood, and since I had engaged in direct combat with them, I had no reason to hunt and kill the arachites.

I also knew the werewolves had something to do with my continued interest in the Undead Albion Army and my personal quest to find Shai.

So I remained stealthed and watched this troll engage in battle with the arachnoid beasts. And then after a passage of some time, it happened.

I knew that there were arachite priests, and that these holy ones of the spider creatures held similar magicks as this shaman. I also knew that these priests oftentimes protected the great tinglers. I did not know if this was because of some reverend feeling the arachites had for the giant spiders or perhaps the tinglers were some domesticated stock for them, but it seemed inevitable that after some time of hunting tinglers in the same area, a priest was sure to emerge as though a shepard finally come to check on what was harassing his flock.

I suspected the Shaman knew this, too, but sometimes knowing of danger is not enough to stop it, and suddenly a simple fight of his against a single spider became something more as a nearby arachite priest began casting its own deadly magicks upon him, giving the spider new life and vigor in the process.

The Shaman turned, as though he would flee, but the priest cast a spell that caused vines to erupt out of the ground and hold him in place. They would not let this insolent one escape so easily. I watched as the spider came upon him, and the priest completed casting some other nasty spell only to break into a sprint upon his spiney legs in order to close the distance and finish off the wrongdoer.

I then did something altogether unusual for me. I still do not know to this day why I did it. I sensed that I was but a bit more experienced than this Shaman, and were I so inclined, these creatures he hunted would also suit me, so it is not as though I was not putting myself at some risk, but moving with that same sense of automation that seemed to always now claim me in fights, I shifted to engage the priest.

I came upon behind the arachite as it closed and began to thrust its claws at the poor troll. I saw a look of sadness take the Shaman, and I think he suspected that this hunting journey into Myrkwood was suddenly about to become his last. Perhaps he saw Ymir. I do not know, but I would not be surprised at all to see Loki, if I were near death, and I suspect he would be laughing.

I suddenly appeared behind the priest, laying my axes into its slender back. It was expectantly shocked, and I completed my attack, pulling my blades from its flesh and slicing down the critical veins of its legs. It had some life left, and it turned to me, but I suspect it was confused. I took advantage of this, dodging its feeble attack, and I finished it off.

The tingler was not going to turn from the Shaman, though, and I sensed that I may be too late, so I erupted into a ferocity suitable perhaps for a Berserker. I attacked the thing from the side, executing a pincer move that would open its flank and cause it great pain. The simple-minded thing perhaps had not even registered that its protector was no longer there, and it did turn, then, maybe even thinking its own herder was suddenly attacking it.

Much like the priest, it tried to recover, angling its many teeth at me, but it was already wounded and weakened from the Shaman's magicks. My swift blades found their mark, and soon it lie dead. I took a seat upon the forest floor next to the wounded Shaman.

Both of us breathed heavily, and he sat there, a huge bulk of a creature, staring at me. He must know that I was not Ymir, that I was a mortal Shadowblade and an unlikely savior. I waited to see what he would do - attack me, run, heal himself. Instead he stood and bowed to me.

"Thank you, mi'Lady," came his words, and though they emerged deep and rolling, they were not the least bit unintelligent sounding; in fact, he spoke in the common dialect rather than trollspeak, and I detected little to no accent.

I rose long enough to curtsey to him and reply: "Versago," I said, using the older norse word for 'you are welcome'.

He nodded, seeming to understand this, and we both continued to sit there, regaining our breath and strength.

"Will you not heal yourself?" I asked of him.

He looked over at me, seeming to only now notice how hurt he truly was.

"I have not the power to do so as yet," he informed, then looked at me again, "I had thought I was seeing my end. I truly expected to die there and then, and then you popped into view like some dark valkyrie. I thought perhaps you had come to finish them off, but then still escort me from this life. It took me a while to realize you were simply another hunter out here, but one possessed of nobility and selflessness enough to aid me when you did not have to."

"I am not noble," I said.

"Humility, too," he grinned.

"You are badly wounded," I said, standing and changing the subject, "Let us get you to Gna Faste."

Chapter 12: Gray Fortune, Part 2

I had not thought myself capable of supporting the weight of a troll, and in truth, he did most of the work himself, but I did aid the Shaman to get to Gna Faste. He went to see the healer, and I went to grab a tankard of ale to enjoy in the distant outskirts of the settlement before heading back into the forest, and I thought that was the last I would see of him.

"May I trouble you for a moment of your time?" I heard the voice near me, and I knew immediately who it was.

I looked up to see the Shaman standing there, and he looked much unlike someone who had nearly seen the end of this mortal thread. I nodded to his question, and he arranged his large body on the ground near mine, but not near enough as to seem imposing.

"Those of us who choose to pursue a life of adventure and exploration are often faced with danger and death," he began, and I continued to drink, but I watched and listened, "I have seen many fall even as I came up to attempt to heal them or offer some other form of aid. I have the gift to bring fallen comrades back from the brink of death, but I have all too often come upon them when so much life has left the fleshy shell that there was nothing I could do."

I nodded, for I had seen it, too, though most of the death I had seen had been in the corpses of my own victims.

"A life of danger and death leads many people to become self-absorbed and mercenary," he continued, and I thought it quite odd to be hearing such philosophical utterings coming from the troll, "and it is a rare and treasured moment indeed to not only suddenly find one's self escaping the clutches of death but also to meet a noble and worthy person in the process."

Is that was this was, then, I pondered to myself, more thanks from him? Eloquent it was, but he had thanked me, and I was ready to be done with it.

"I belong to a Guild," he continued, and I had heard of the many Guilds abounding in the land - formations of people who agreed to work together in some way, "We are not a prominent Guild; I doubt you would have heard of us; and we think of ourselves more as a family, really. We are small, and we rarely invite new members into our ranks."

I nodded, nearly finished with my brew.

"I would like to invite you to become a member of our Guild."

I sat there, somewhat shocked by the invitation, though I did not show it.

"What is the name of the Guild?" I asked.

"Varthmundr," he returned, "in the Old Tongue, it means 'to serve and protect'."

I nodded.

"And what is your name?" I asked.

"Ah," he veritably cringed, and he rose quite quickly from the ground, "Forgive me, mi'Lady, for my manners seem to have lapsed in the extremity of our meeting. I am Glumluk," he formally introduced himself, bowing again.

I rose, effecting another curtsey, and I told him my name.

"Do you consider yourself fortunate for having met me?" I asked him.

His face took on an open expression that seemed to say there could be no other answer but a positive one to this question, for he was alive and breathing and able to speak.

"Indeed I do, mi'Lady," he answered, "I know you are one of the shadows, and I know the stigma that surrounds such peoples. I confess, we have no one of your profession in our Guild ... but perhaps it is time we remedied that."

"You hardly know me. I may not be all you think I am."

"I understand what it takes to excel at your career, but I also know how you risked your own life to aid me, and you could have simply let me die."

I nodded, then standing. He also again rose up from the ground, and though he was too polite to pester me, I knew he was eager for an answer.

"Let me think on it," I said, and he nodded, completely understanding this.

I left him, then, heading back into the gloom and danger of the forest and wondered if perhaps this had happened for a reason, and it was time for me to abandon my lone ways.