Standing upon a pier, a battle-maiden dressed in heavy furs and a helmet resembling that of a Viking, with two tusks atop, waits for them.
Only her cold blue eyes and thin lips, pursed from the cold, are visible. She looked to be in at least her thirties. Not an ounce of fat, and in some ways more masculine than some of the fur-covered villagers standing behind her.
She stands firm with a glaive-style weapon, but its blade appeared to be made of bone rather than metal, with blue trinkets hanging off of it and a thick, leather-strapped pole.
Bjerg, turning around to secure the sail, mutters, "Don't speak."
Turning abruptly again, he bellows out in a merry tone, "Warmother Kalkai! I've returned to Winter's Claw safe!"
"You return early," Kalkai said. "Who is this?"
She points her weapon at Wulf.
"A lone wanderer, like myself in my youth, Warmother," Bjerg says respectfully, bowing his head.
"And why do you bring him instead of your oathsworn?"
"We discovered ancient creatures hibernating in the frozen tundras above the Ursine Lands. Forced to flee, the oathsworn broke their oaths and tried to sacrifice me to save their dishonorable lives."
Motioning at Wulf, he continued, "Wulf, the lone wanderer, crashed his boat when the creatures disturbed the waters. Ice shattered his boat. I will repay him."
"Where are you from?" Kalkai demanded.
"I cannot recall where or why I was there," Wulf replied.
"He fell into the waters. The cold addled his mind," Bjerg jumped in.
"Those furs bear our markings. Are those the oathsworn's furs?" Kalkai asks.
"The dead oathbreakers don't need clothes. Their names are dishonored."
Silence fell, with murmurs circulating among the villagers in the background.
"So you will feed this man like a toddler?" a voice broke through the crowd as a young lady with blonde hair stepped forward. She bore a striking resemblance in size to the Warmother, with sharp features and cold blue, glaring eyes focused on Wulf.
"Sejuani," Bjerg nodded his head respectfully again.
"Storyteller Bjerg, leave him here and travel home safely. Let Serylda's winter test him. I would hate to see an accident befall you, taking care of this weakling."
"Weaklings don't wander alone, daughter of Kalkai," Bjerg said. "And his lost mind is because of my mistakes. I must care for him for my actions."
Strange.
Wulf stared at her figure. She had curves, but she had size too that wasn't a distortion from the layers of clothing. Bones were intertwined with her hair, which he could only assume were hair ornaments. Or perhaps, in the north, battle trophies.
Her fur coat, surrounding her brown tunic, was white and fluffy. A large scar crossed her face from cheekbone to cheekbone over her nose.
'If she wasn't arguing for my death right now, I'd say she is attractive,' Wulf thought.
And much like her mother's weapon, she wielded a glaive in the same style, except the bone blade was shaped more like an "F" with its protrusions.
Her eyes narrow at Wulf. "His mind doesn't seem very addled."
"Enough, Sejuani," Kalkai warns. "Bjerg, take this stranger with you if you must. But be warned, Wulf the lone wanderer, should you harm Bjerg of Ebrataal, you will be sacrificed to the Old Gods."
Wulf nods and remains silent as she holds his gaze with silent judgment. He was half the build of Bjerg, so she probably thinks the only way Wulf could harm him is through some treachery or backstabbing.
"Thank you, Warmother Kalkai. The unused stock shall be returned to storage. We will depart for Ebrataal after a night's rest."
With that, the two of them begin unloading the seats. Wulf walks alongside Bjerg as Sejuani glares at him distrustfully. With enough distance from her and the others, Wulf whispers the questions that burned in his mind.
"Hey, what's with that story?" Wulf asked, alarmed. "Damned straight you know none of that was true!"
"If I told them the truth, you would've been delivered to the Frost Priests. Trust me, boy, that isn't a fate you want."
"That still doesn't explain why you're deceiving them! If you're caught-"
"Iceborn, and any who display signs of magic or blessings, are kept close to Warmothers," Bjerg cuts him off sharply. "You show those signs. But with your origins, you would be caught in a feud between the Warmother and Frost Priests. And that never ends well."
"When winter comes, the raids will begin. Outlying villages, like mine, will be left to fend for themselves. We must pray every night to Avarosa that we will not be attacked. But with you…"
Grinning, Bjerg looks at him with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. "Well, you can be our hidden troll. A fair exchange for teaching you to survive, aye?"
"Troll? I don't have any powers. You were even mocking my fighting."
"Aye, your fighting style is too clean and soft, and strange- mittens? But your strength- no boy could throw a man my size like you did. And surviving that creature? Aye, you'd be our troll. Or maybe a yeti?"
"Wha- I'm not a fuckin'-"
Bjerg laughs loudly as Wulf fumbles for words.
"By the way, you call 'By Avarosa,' and Sejuani mentioned Serylda. What's the difference?"
"Simple words. Avarosa's soft. Serylda's harsh. That's all you need to know for now. Let's save the talking until we finish and eat a warm meal."
After a few roundabout trips and curious stares at the newcomer Wulf, they finish unloading the boat. Bjerg leads him to the tavern.
All of the buildings resemble Viking structures or longhouses. Sturdy wooden support beams hold up the roofs, which are made of thatch or timber. Some walls are made of solid timber, most of wattle and daub.
"Each year, they salvage their boats and use them to settle down in the spring. And during the fall, the tribe rebuilds their boats and departs. Kalkai, for the first time in my lifetime, hasn't moved the tribe for multiple winters," Bjerg said. "That is why they have more sturdy buildings made of timber than in the past."
"Why did she break the tradition?"
"That is a topic for after we leave," Bjerg said mildly.
The tavern, much like he just mentioned, was one of the few large buildings with stone and timber walls. And when the doors opened, warmth flowed out alongside welcoming lantern light.
A hefty man greeted them with a bellow, his stomach shaped like a barrel. And in the background, Sejuani sat on a stool, glaring outward at them with a pint in hand.
"Welcome to the Tipsy Owl!"