Previously…
Sepp and the party find themselves in a proper Voerlund town, and after surviving an attack from thugs with the help of a Dunmarrow warrior, Sepp and Barosh found themselves some good Voerlund arms, and learned about the impending festival of Viner’s Night…
Chapter 9 can be read here
As Sepp and Barosh left the arcade for the main thoroughfare, their hands kept falling to their sides, checking the heft of their new axes. It was an odd sensation, neither of them having walked around armed before, but all the same, it was a boost to their confidence, like they were fitting in. Most people in this town alone had the same thing at their sides, after all. Some moments of aimless wandering later, Barosh turned to Sepp.
“Hey, how do you think that blacksmith knew we were refugees?”
“Probably because we look pretty bad, Barosh. No offense.”
“Could be that,” the farmhand laugh. “Well, that gets me thinking, my friend, we ought to stock up on something more than just the clothes on our backs. Still have a pretty decent stack of coin here.”
“S’eth, maybe even hunt down a bath and laundry afterwards, too,” Sepp mused to both himself and Barosh.
“Like you’re reading my mind.”
There was a clothiers not too far away. The door was open, and a guard idly glanced their way as they entered, they nodded to him. Three helpers were milling about the store, a two-tiered affair with a long desk near the back, sitting under the upper floor which was further back than lower. Tall windows let in much light here. There were countless examples of various articles of clothing about them, not all of which they knew the names of, as well as raw materials and tools for their mending and production. It seemed to them a fairly high end establishment.
“Starting to think we should have bought rucksacks or something, I don’t exactly have space in this pack,” muttered Sepp.
“We’ll be fine, we can always come back. Hello!” called Barosh as a young woman approached them, a shop hand. She had bright yellow hair, amber eyes, and a friendly smile.
“Silverden folk, right?” she said lightly and clearly, studying them quickly. They were getting used to sticking out like sore thumbs.
“Pretty easy to tell, isn’t it?” Sepp said quite naturally, to which the shop hand seemed somewhat impressed. “Seems like we’ll be in Voerlund for a while so we want to fit in a bit, you know?”
“Oh of course! But are you going to be on the road much, do you think? Or are you staying here in Saumark?” So that was the name of this town thought Sepp. She spoke with a clearer, ever so slightly slower intonation for Barosh’s sake, who had been quiet.
“We’ll be here for a short while, I think. At least for Viner’s Night, then probably onwards.”
“Ah! We will find you two some good winter clothes then!” she said as she bid them follow her.
The shop girl took them to the bottom right corner of the store where pre-made and ready to go specimens of travelling gear sat, and asked a colleague to help quickly with some rough measurements. Was better to have approximations and go just a little larger, she explained, especially if folk will be on the road and might not have time, or money. Some good belts and bracers can always help tighten up the waist and sleeves, even legs if needs be. Voerlund clothing was, they learned, in general thicker due to the common colder weather, while thinner and looser materials prevailed down south. But they were surprised at the level of decoration they’d seen, and only began to take it in as they saw it all up close. Their notions of Voerlund had been coloured by the cold, the stoic greys of the fortresses, and harsh country. They had fully expected the people and their fashions to be just as hard and understated, but in truth, it was quite lively. Decoration was fairly minimal and uniform but ubiquitous, almost always serpentine designs around the neck, down the front, down the sides, or around cuffs, and the colours of the fabrics were vibrant, with deep greens, bright blues, and rich oranges dominating, and gold, white, and red accents on some pieces.
After some deliberating between each other, and much translation via Sepp, the two walked out of the shop with not only a fresh set of clothes each, but a basket to carry it all, as well as the address of a cobbler if needs be. Sepp had decided on a green tunic, Barosh a darker red one. The cuffs flared towards the end, breezy if so desired, or tightened up with short bracers on the forearms. Their new hosen were dark green. They’d fit right in, the shop girl had said with a laugh. Barosh had admitted defeat in trying to communicate, the Voerlund sounds catching in his throat, but did offer his best goodbye.
“Right,” he said looking about with intent outside, “I’d like to find a place to launder what we have and change, not wearing this new stuff not having washed for two days, Serpent’s Breath.”
The baths were on the other side of town, and luckily the thoroughfare wound right to it, splitting at a point to the north gate. Money was paid upfront, and they were introduced to the vagaries of Voerlund’s bathing culture. Communal bathing was common in Silverden, and not at all unusual to either of them. It was informal relaxation, and never were bathers completely nude—such had been the case maybe a thousand years ago, but it had become less and less acceptable. The mild intimacy of it was used to conduct everything from contracts and business affairs to bonding warriors in training. It was all entwined into the larger philosophy of the Veneracy. Baths were also usually natural springs, as per Silverden’s focus on nature worship.
Voerlund was completely different. It seemed to be an intensely private and solitary affair for the people of the kingdom, with blocked off tents and booths inside large bath-houses. Not too bad, supposed Sepp, but now he was alone again, and able to think. Quite suddenly did feelings begin rushing in, and that vile sensation of memory slowly grew in his chest. He slunk down into his bath, and gave a frustrated sigh. He couldn’t live like this, worried to be alone at every moment, pushing back thoughts and feelings only normal to feel. It made him angrier than it did sadden him.
“I have to deal with this,” he said to himself. “Just look at it. See it all together.”
Sepp ran through his mind until he felt he was cooking in that bath, snapping him to. What upset him most, he was surprised to learn, was the thought that he might never get to go home again. But, he had to admit, the conflict between the two cantons was likely to erupt as other cantons moved in to quell it. Half the Veneracy at war. That’s no place to call home, that’s an historic event no one wants to be present for. But what it had done to him, his father, he felt powerless. But he wasn’t powerless, not really. He was relying on others as much as they relied on him, and what his father had left behind.
But what scared him the most and what stung him the most were different, and there was very little he felt he could do to counter the awful thought of “What if I had stayed behind, for even just a minute more? Would he still be alive?” If Búcher had been in the position to do so, he would have told Sepp to run, there was no denying that. What would have been worse to leave the pack behind to be trampled to bits by Minosmirii horses. For people to see what was in it. For the lingering memory of Búcher to be a bad one in those who were left to remember. “You saved what you could, Sepp,” he thought to himself, “keep it at your side and use it for good. Make him proud.” It didn’t mitigate that gnawing question, but it balanced it with something else at least. That was a start. There was a very small feeling amidst the maelstrom in his chest, and though small, it was firm. He held onto that as he wordlessly thought it all out, and released it with a much calmer sigh.
The wonders a good wash could have on the mind were, perhaps, divine. As if a moment’s cleansing peace removed some of the mark of what had happened two days ago. And as for a set of new clothes, even more so. Sepp emerged from the small, quiet bath stall a little more human than he’d felt before, the ragged edges smoothed out. He gave a little thanks to the World Serpent, for he understood the baths to source their water directly from aquifers deep beneath the town, and having grown up in Silverden, he knew the Serpent was in that water, in the heat, in the quiet. Even if he was in Voerlund where it was all different. He had no doubt the force of that god had righted something, however small, within him.
Barosh seemed a new man, too, though he’d been pretty chipper before. A plan was set forth when they met up and collected their very well laundered clothes: learn about Viner’s Night. Silverden had its little treasure hunts, but that didn’t really have a name, they were just called treasure hunts, or sweetgathers, or any number of simple regional designations. This had a name, so there was something behind it, and something to it they were intensely interested in.
The day was wearing on a bit now, and shadows were beginning to gather, the light go soft, and the business of the town lighten somewhat. It would be time to meet back up with Skivor and Seva soon, it was likely they were waiting already. But the lads had a mission. They passed down the main thoroughfare again and slowly made their way through several stalls, chatting up merchants, and buying small useless trinkets and snacks to make it worth everyone’s time. They didn’t hide that they were foreigners, the townsfolk seemed only too happy to relate a little bits of local lore. It was history, after all, and they were in Voerlund. What they gathered was mostly elucidation on what they knew already, that it was a winter feast that set a precedent for the season ahead, much like the symbolic uncovering of goods down south. Meet this sparse and sometimes brutal month with vigor. Of new things, they learned that it was supposedly the time that the landwights—the local tutelary earth spirits—began to slumber, or maybe grow weak, and so the spirits of the people had to be bolstered through food, drink, and dancing into the night. It also, some older folk said, drove away malicious spirits with merriment.
The name also had nothing to do with wine, apparently, for although there was much drinking amidst the revelry, the name Viner came from a corruption of an Old Voerlic word for “winter”. In times past, one enthusiastic shopkeeper said, it would be called by the name Vinarsleth, for it “led to winter”, which some fanciful writers still used. The still common Viner’s Night greeting was “Vinner’s Mechar!”, which, the merchant was about to explain at length had it not been for Barosh’s interception, showed the clear evolution of the Old Voerlic name into a simpler but more vague form.
What they also noticed was that a great many decorations had appeared while they were away. The majority of then were paper and glass lanterns with striking colours and designs on the windows. When lit on the first winter night, or thereabouts, they would cast all kinds of curious shapes and shades on the streets. The rest were, naturally, serpentine banners and long hanging coils. The lanterns, they were told, were to create light, fire, warmth, colour, and life to meet the winter. The banners and coils represented the World Serpent’s presence and protection. Although most lanterns would be taken down a day or so after Viner’s Night, some would remain throughout the winter as a buffer against the dark.
As stalls and stores began to close up for the day, Sepp and Barosh made their way back to the Axe and Mug Inn. They had to spend some time retracing their steps, and stopped more than once to glean directions from passers-by. They didn’t relish the idea of taking shortcuts, armed or not. They didn’t exactly want to start fights in a country they’d just passed into. But they made it back to the inn safely, if not a little late. Skivor and Seva were sitting at one of the little tables outside, chatting quietly over small bottles of table beer.
“Vinner’s Mechar!” said Barosh as they sat down and exchanged greetings.
“Ah, so you’ve heard, too!” said Seva, who seemed quite excited.
“Couldn’t help it, have you not seen the lanterns everywhere?”
“Oh, they look beautiful! Can’t wait to see them lit.”
“So we’ll be here for Viner’s Night, then?” asked Sepp, mildly hesitant and hopeful.
“Of course we will! Can’t pass up a big free meal before we head back out on the road.”
“What’s with the weapons?” asked Skivor, downing his drink and eyeing the axes.
“Well, we had a bit of an adventure today,” said Barosh, “we got cornered in an alleyway by a gang of thugs!” Seva shot a look of mild shock to Skivor who inhaled deeply, and glanced to Sepp, a clear worry in his eyes of what the lad might have done.
“Where? What happened?” asked Seva, clearly able to see they were fine, but still.
“As Barosh said, we were passing through an alleyway when a bunch of thugs cornered us. Would have been skewered had not a great big Dunmarrow warrior appeared,” Sepp said.
Skivor blinked slowly with something like relief. “Funny you should mention them, because we have news,” he said.
“Good news,” added Seva.
“We’ve booked passage on a Dunmarrow caravan heading to Farhaven. Told them we had a healer who could render service, hope you don’t mind, lad,” said Skivor.
“Not at all,” Sepp replied.
“We have a contact with the Dunmarrow, I think he’s their captain or leader or whatever they have, fellow named Karel. We’ll meet with him on Viner’s Night, together, to hear their plans for moving out. So if there’s anything you want to see or do here, take it that you have tomorrow to do it.”
“By the way,” Seva said with a side-eye at Skivor, “glad to hear you’re both alright.”
His return look said “What’s the problem? They’re fine.”
Tomorrow came, and was mostly a day of listless waiting and wandering around. After a decent night’s rest, Sepp and Barosh took the other two on their tour of the town, as far as they’d seen it. Skivor was left with the still very talkative blacksmith to fix some split in his axe, which would either end in unthinkable bloodshed or a grumpier than usual woodsman they said to each other. Seva left with a handy short axe with a slightly curving, bell-shaped head. They then returned to the clothiers on the thoroughfare and spent some time choosing good travelling clothes. Seva didn’t really savour a dress for wilderness travel, that was home wear to her. They left with a set of clothing for Skivor, too, a gift so that he’d have to lighten up a little. Many stalls were browsed, little bought save for a constant intake of small snacks during their frequent rest periods. There was a noticeable shortening in the light that day. The sun was off elsewhere, it seemed. After a small meal together during which Skivor quite honestly thanked them for the clothes, they retired somewhat early, a sense of anticipation beginning to fill the town.
Tomorrow would be Viner’s Night, the start of winter, the time of thresholds.
I can't wait until the next chapter comes out!
The story is set! I am excited to see where the story goes.