Private Crule

[Venla Thiel]

"Crule (crew-ell): to shiver with cold"



​

The ground curled and cracked, ridden by the tjäle like a mare. The snow melted, and where it didn't melt away completely, the crust became hard. Hard enough to walk on and not leave any footprints behind. The icicles grew longer and longer under the longing spring sun. But the lake lay like a cracked, dull silver mirror in the middle of the forest. Frosty and slippery in this time, a frozen lake whipped fine and shiny by the cold North wind. The ice was still so thick that not even the village's longest ice saw or drill was enough to cut a hole through it.

The temperature was much harsher at the lake, and it seemed to be dropping quickly. So quickly that the thick ice cracked and sang. As Venla knelt on the ice and tried to see through the dark blue, almost black ice, she could hear the ice song. Sometimes the ice's rumbled like thunder beneath her, sometimes it bellowed, but mostly it rang otherworldly. The world around her dripped with spring’s thaw, but the lake remained sealed in winter’s grip.

Venla leaned closer, her breath curling over the ice. The warmth of her breath clung for a heartbeat before surrendering to the cold. Beneath the frozen surface, dark shapes like ink-strokes. Fish, frozen in mid-swim. If the ice reached the bottom, the lake was dead. No life beneath. The cold from the ice pressed up through the thick weave of her wool skirts. It clung to her knees first with a sharp bite. The ice grew and shifted and cracked beneath the weight of seasons at war. And it sang long, aching notes. Its voice rolling through the frozen depths. The song rose and fell, shifting between mourning and warning.

And the fish... Venla could not stop staring at them. The old stories warned of lakes that refused to thaw...

@Vaaga

 

[Vaaga]

The practise was as old as Weaving.
It involved the very basics of attunement with the Shroud. That it is exhausted with use, a careless Weaver might make a spot barren or summon the raging earth to spew vile gases. Those who master the Weave, those of prodigious skill and keen intellect, the greatest of them cultivated it so as to not wither the worlds natural supplies.

He had fought the coming of Spring for seven days without rest. Under ordinary conditions that would be impossible but through careful channelling Vaaga had preserved himself and the resources of the world. Drawing upon his own reserves to compensate and carefully taking only what he needed to maintain his body as he sat under the snow for a whole week.

Now his eyes opened to the thaw and the horrid betrayal of nature that it was. The chaos of bloom was soon to come and to his mind, consumed with the distant howl of the North Wind itself, he could not abide it. Gently he roused himself from his sit and set out stretching his aching limbs as the cold beneath him kept him inches from the ground. Walking on water.

From the snow before him he willed into being a bird of purest ice crystals which soared about the trees as he made his way to the only landmark he could recal in this place, a lake frozen almost so completely as to kill all within, he wished to see its progress in the art of silent death.
Nature had a will all its own and it had decided to destroy those living things within.
The crystal bird landed upon his shoulder it had the visage of a hawk and its movements mimicked one perfectly.

Without fear of slipping at all he strode the ice and made his way to the centre, there in the quiet of the coldest point he made ready to finish the work that the lake began that it might defy the wretched warmth of Spring a while yet.
That was when the crystal hawk took flight from his shoulder and with all the ease of a real bird glided to the woman, set down a few feet away from her and observed in that curious way that birds do, jerking its head to look upon her with one eye, then the other. It watched her with interest as she listened to the song of the ice.

Casting his own eye upon her Vaaga saw her prostrate before the chill and thought that was a good way to live. Fire faded, suns set and when all the lies of hearth and home were forgotten only the cold and dark remained so why not embrace it?
His voice was too low to reach her so he abandoned his focal point and began to walk towards her. Clad in his thick blue robes and wielding his fishing spear like a staff he pulled down his great hood and showed his glass eye and tattooed face.
It would be a moment before he was close enough to speak.

@Venla Thiel

 

[Venla Thiel]

Venla stayed on her knees, the cold sinking into her bones like a thing with teeth. The lake was dead beneath her. Her hands pressed lightly to the frozen surface. When the bird landed near her in a hush of frost, she finally lifted her head. Venla's gaze settled on the bird, a perfect thing of ice.

Venla had seen birds all her life. The fat chickens of the village, black crows that perched on thatched roofs, eagles circling the fields, owls that turned their heads too far, and the little brown sparrows that sat on the bare branches in winter. But she had never seen a bird like this.

It was not flesh, not feather, not anything that had ever hatched from an egg. It moved like a bird, yes. Her fingers curled in the big mittens, stiff from the cold, but she did not move. Venla stared. The thing stared back. This was a thing made, not born. It had never hatched, never eaten, never called for its mother.

Slowly, she pulled off her mitten. The cold air bit her bare fingers like red needles into the skin. She reached out and her fingers hovered near the bird. Before she could touch the ice hawk something made her pull back. Perhaps it was instinct? She had knelt too long on the ice. Her body ached as she slowly shifted, pressing her hands to her thighs before rising.

When she finally looked up, her gaze flicking over lake and she saw the man in his heavy blue robes. At first, Venla thought him just another fisher. The man’s footsteps were too steady. No careful testing of the ice, no stumble or hesitation. The frost clung to him as if the cold belonged to him instead of the world. This man was not a fisher. Her lips parted. There was something unnerving about him, how the cold seemed to bend around him. The tales she’d grown up with, the whispers of beings who sometimes walked in human skin, told her that not all were to be feared. Trolls could be tricksters, yes, but they were also creatures of power.

Trolls could be kind, clever, and greedy, but they were dangerous. Venla had heard the tales, had been told of their love for riddles, their hatred of iron, and their quick tempers when insulted. They were creatures of the cold, born of stone and the darkest parts of the forest. When he was near enough, she lifted her chin slightly, offering a warm smile. “Well met, stranger.” she greeted him, this strange person who had made his way across the frozen lake. His pale skin was the color of a picked clean bone, and his false eye was black as a raven's wing. The symbols marked on his skine were strange and unsettling to her.

“If you’ve come for fishing,” she said, “I’m afraid you’ve come for naught. The ice… it’s impossible to break." She gestured to the lake, her hand moving slowly. "This lake... it is frozen to the bottom." she murmured. The wind tugged at her clothes.

@Vaaga

 

[Vaaga]

There were greetings, manners to be observed. His mind struggled for their importance but he knew they were there. Knew that they mattered.

"Hail you."
It was an archaic greeting, like something from the old empire before common usage moulded it into a new form.
The voice that came from him was a thin stretched sound like a distant wind.

Fishing was far from his thoughts but he could not blame her for thinking it, he carried the tool. It was not such a leap to think he was some lone lake fisher hoping for an early thaw.
Nothing was further from the truth.
Oh but if only the winter never ended.
Lazily his eye went to the ice below and as if to test the truth of her words he tapped the butt of his spear against the ice. The sound was sharp and absorbed quickly.
"I'm not here to fish. I am training in the use of magic."
Sometimes his voice sounded like it was hard for him to breath, the cold made it more so today.
With a wink of his false eye the bird that was not a bird at all took wing again and circled a wide arc before coming to land beside the woman once more and pecked at the lakes hard surface. He had commanded it to return.
There the hawk golem fussed its crystal clear feathers and settled. Sometimes it acted on its own but mostly it obeyed only what he willed it to do. He had always attributed its behaviour to the mysteries of the Shroud but this was the first time it ever openly defied him.
"Hmmm, my little friend seems to like you."
It is not supposed to like anything.
"How strange."
How infuriating, magic that could not be controlled was weakness manifest.

"You don't have any of the Art do you?"
Calling it the Art was a scholarly tradition, Magic was the peasants word, weaving was the term used by most practitioners but when calling it the Art one betrayed a position of great power and ability.
Status by terminology.
The obvious stuck him like a snowball to the back of the head.
She was standing on the ice, cold. It occurred to him that perhaps she did not know or could not find the way home, more than one person found their death by wandering far in the snow.
"Are you lost?"
His words formed vapour in the air.

@Venla Thiel

 

[Venla Thiel]

He wasn’t just any man. Trollkarl. The thought of him being one of them, men with the power to weave the shroud, made her pulse quicken slightly. He was clearly no one to be trifled with. Magic could tear apart the very fabric of nature itself. “You train magic?!” she said slowly with unmistakable awe. She took a step toward him. Her lips curling into a faint smile as she glanced down at the ice.

“None around here practice such... It’s rare, truly rare." Eyes with the same color as green sea glass flicked up to his face. Did all magic users have tattoos and fake eyes? The ginger smiled, her gaze flicking from the crystal hawk back to him. Venla’s curiosity bloomed, tempered by a quiet unease that sat like a stone in her chest. The world she knew was one of soil, hearth, and simple rituals, not one of magic. “Is it you who made the bird, then?”

"It does?" she asked. It liked her? Venla bit her lip, watching the bird fuss with its feathers. It was endearing. It seemed both powerful but also fragile. "May I touch it?" she asked. Venla was itching to reach out toward the delicate creature. "Such bird, it’s... beautiful. Never seen anything like it."

Venla tilted her head, her gaze flicking from the bird creature to the strange, imposing man before her. Her brow furrowing slightly in thought. The faintest chuckle escaped her lips, a low and amused sound. “The Art, you say? I assume you mean magic, then.” she said, her voice calm. "Sounds nice, The Art," she said with a quiet admiration. "Not everyone has that talent, it seems." She gave a small, respectful smile. "I do not have it myself. I am but a woman of the land, no magic to my name." she said simply. Could a woman like her have magic? Could it be something that pulsed within her, waiting for the right moment to break free? However not all women needed to weave the shroud to make the world bend to their will. Some had a certain power simply by existing, who could weave the fabric of desire with a glance or a touch, enchanting without casting a single spell.

"I was just here to see if the lake had thawed. Instead, I found it dead."

@Vaaga

 

[Vaaga]

"Yes! I train."
He flexed his hand and a small windy swish circled them.
"You have to train to be as good as I am."
It was nice to be impressive to someone, it felt right.

"Yes, I made the bird."
Again he called it back to him but it resisted. He had a mind to dismantle it however watching it act was interesting all its own. Giving life, honest life to a thing of the Shroud was the stuff of legend. Not even his hubris would dare assume he had achieved it but this was certainly, something.
The bird, clear and cold, allowed itself to be reached for and even touched.

"Hmmm. Have you ever been tested?"
No Weavers here then. That was good, no rivals to destroy. No upstart bumpkin mages to humble. Perhaps he could conquer this place, set up a base of operations and assemble forces.
"Yes, dead as night. Thaw will rot the fish and spoil the lake."
Another question hit him and he asked, plans already forming in his dark and cold mind.

"No mages, then who protects you?"
She might be a simple earth worker but for all he knew her people were warriors born.
Warriors could be made to serve.

@Venla Thiel

 

[Venla Thiel]

Venla watched, her eyes wide with admiration as the wind swirled around. Obeying his very command. Her gaze climbed over the tattoos running from his jaw, the strange symbols etched across his face. They marked someone who had walked a different path of life, who had seen the world in ways she could only begin to imagine.

“The bird, well, it seems fond of me, doesn’t it?” Her hand to brushed its clear surface, and she marveled at the smoothness of its form, the coolness of the crystal. “Does that mean you do as well?” Her voice was soft, teasing almost.

When he spoke again, the words were more ominous than the rest. "No mages, then who protects you?" "Never been in need of mages protection." she said. They protected themselves. There was a slight pause before she added, with a smile that almost seemed playful. She took another step forward, her body language open. "Though, if you’re offering protection, I wouldn’t say no." Venla’s fingers played absently with a strand of her red hair.

@Vaaga

 

[Vaaga]

Why should he like her?
She was without magic and without power. What was there to like?
Still the Hawk he constructed seemed interested in her. Perhaps she was not without merit entirely.

"The construct is acting on its own. Which it should not be capable of."
He took another step closer to her and eyes the crystal bird.
"Are you certain that you have no ability?"
Late blooming to the Shroud was not unheard of and often yielded strange results. New ways of Weaving in exceptional cases.

"How blessed you are to need no protection."
The words gritted from his teeth, these people were easy targets. He was willing to wager they did not even have walls. Without thinking his hand reached for his false eye but did not make it all the way before he stopped himself.
"Not all are so lucky as you."
Her offer though, perhaps he could gain from it.
"If you need no protection what would you have me do? I am no farmer or woodsman."

It slithered up the back of his skull and into his brain, the need to conquer, the anger at having to play down that he could simply take whatever he wanted and the knowledge that no man, no matter how powerful, was an island.

@Venla Thiel

 

[Venla Thiel]

Venla raised her brows just slightly at the question, then let out a soft, amused breath through her nose. “I’m certain.” she said softly. Trollkarlar might master the winds and the veil, but they still couldn’t read the simplest of woman’s glances. “No strange signs, no glowing hands...” She gave a slight shrug, still touching the hawk. Venla gave the hawk gentle strokes with her fingers over its glass-like feathers. The bird tilted its head at her, and for a moment she felt... seen. Not in the way people noticed her as a passerby on the road, but deeper, more deliberate. The kind of gaze that made her wonder if some part of her had always been waiting for it.

Then, slowly, so not to startle it, she slid her hands beneath its body and lifted the hawk. She cradled the hawk like one might a prized chicken, the way old aunties did when collecting eggs, with a softness and reverence that said bird, you matter. “Well, aren’t you just the strangest little thing,” she murmured, her voice affectionate to the construct.

She turned her gaze to the man once more, her arms gently curled around the shimmering creature. “You made this.” she said again. “You must be very good at what you do."

Not needing protection isn’t the same as being safe. Venla knew that. The first ones to starve, the first ones to die. “What would I have you do?” Her voice was light again, teasing. “I don’t know. Stay. Teach me something. Or show me something wondrous. Or nothing at all. Maybe I just liked the look of you? Or would you want to learn to tend the fields?” It was never too late to learn to pull one’s weight.

@Vaaga

 

[Vaaga]

"I am exceptional at what I do!"
Vaaga's pride corrected her before he began to think on her words.

"I could show you wonders I think. You may wish to hold on."
His false eye gleamed as he raised his hand into the sky and cried out in a voice that despite the hollow sound it usually made now boomed in chords that seemed to fill every free space about them.
"ZATH ARAGH NA RADAGH, HWORVOTH NEK LUS OVRIX!"

A sudden wind howled and below them the ice cracked in sudden violence, sending fissures of ice breaking and splintering into shards as both Vaaga and Venla were lifted into the are on a rushing bridge of solid ice that took them over the trees and away from the lake at speed.
Unbothered Vaaga smiled at Venla, confident that the he had indeed showed her a wonder. One that was sure to leave her frightened and rightly so.
"Where shall We go?" His quiet voice came miraculously clear through the rush of wind as they travelled.
Below them the world passed on great motions like waves at sea while above the great sky was still. It was always a sight he enjoyed. Many Weavers could fly, or perform some approximation of it but he found that being taken was a much preferred method.

@Venla Thiel

 

[Venla Thiel]

Her instincts kicked in, and before she could think, she reached out, hands landing firmly on Vaaga’s waist. The wind whipped around them, but she had no intention of being swept away. Her grip tightened, pulling herself closer to him as they soared through the air. She gripped his cloak desperately, her knuckles white. The world spinning too fast for her to keep up, and a stranger held all control.

"I... I don’t want to fall." she gasped, her voice barely reaching him over the howl of the wind. Her fingers dug into his sleeve, steadying herself as they hurtled through the sky. Her eyes darted to the man, he was smiling! He looked utterly unphased, almost as if this was all just a game to him.

The fear clawed at her insides, but she swallowed it down, forcing herself to speak “W-wow,” she managed. "That... is something. I didn’t think the world worked like this, like this at all." Her throat was dry, but she pushed the words out, desperate to keep him pleased. After all, she didn't want to fall to certain death. He could drop her in an instant, and she would have no way of stopping it.

Venla clung tightly to Vaaga’s cloak, willing herself not to look down again. "Unicorn Bay," she said quickly, the name tumbling from her lips like a prayer. "If you can take us that far. It's beautiful this time of year... they say."

 

[Vaaga]

A chuckle came from Vaaga's lips.
"Certainly!"

The platform of flying ice shifted direction and headed towards the sea.
Wind whipped at them both as they hurtled through the sky. Venla's fear was palpable. It was in how she gripped his robes, the wavering of her voice, the wideness of her eyes.

She had however, been a good sport so he did simply as he was asked and within minutes they had made the journey to Unicorn Bay. A glistening jewel on the coastline that shone all the brighter for the dark of the night on the sea.

They slowed as the great platform landed them down to the ground that they might descend.
"I have never been to Unicorn Bay before."
Vaaga admitted casually as he left the ice and stepped onto the snow dusted wood of the dock.
"It is not bad."
The lights that folk used gave it a rustic charm and the smell of the sea was pleasant. The town was currently asleep.

As if to spoil his mood a speck of something flew out of the air towards them.
"Dear gods!"
His exclamation was tired and hinting on annoyed as the hawk made of ice swooped down and once more landed close to Venla.
"It seems that you will not be rid of that thing until it is destroyed."
He stated, speaking as if Venla found it as irritating as he did.

@Venla Thiel

 

[Venla Thiel]

Venla practically stumbled off the ice as soon as it touched solid ground. She stood there a moment on the dock, rooted, her hands slack at her sides, chest rising with the sharp, grateful rhythm of someone who’d held her breath too long. She didn’t drop to her knees... but her knees wanted to buckle. She was on land again, blessed, solid land.

Instead, she straightened slowly, squinting up at the sleeping little town and the black, glittering sweep of sea beyond. She lifted her head when the familiar glint of the ice hawk flashed in the pale daylight. When Vaaga spoke of destroying it, her heart leapt into her throat. "No!" she blurted, more forceful than she meant. "Please" she added quickly. "It’s not a bother." she added.

Not everything strange has to be destroyed.

Without thinking, she stepped up to the trollkarl and seized his hand. “This way.” she said. “They name it Unicorn Bay not for beauty.” she added, leading him with a sure pace off the docks toward the shore. "They only appear after certain tides.. or storms. Long, spiraled things.. shells... pale as milkglass." She gestured to the beach. Ahead, the pale sand of Unicorn Bay gleamed in the moonlight, scattered with tide-worn stones and the gleam of shells.

"Some say they are truly from unicorns, ancient and half-forgotten, still dreaming somewhere in the deep.”

 

[Frankatron-X]

On Venla's request he stayed his hand, though now it seemed she was getting attached.

Now she was taking him somewhere and by his own hand no less and the hawk of ice followed.

How quaint.

"Unicorn shells?"
The idea was preposterous. Unicorns, as much as he understood of the seldom seen species, were amazingly rare and only appeared to those of great purity in spirit often at times of great significance. He simply could not bring himself to believe that they were dropping shells on beaches for peasants and yet.

They left prints in the beach as they went but did not take long to come about the sparkling jewel like shells. Their appearance was as described, transparent with a milky white sheen in spiral shapes, not unlike a unicorns horn.

"Hmm."
The sound was an admittance to himself and to his companion that indeed these shells were beautiful. He did not know what species left them or what they actually were but the name of the town made sense to him now.
The beach was littered with them, hundreds, maybe thousands of gleaming things. A natural wonder.
A bit away from them the ice hawk landed and pecked at one of the shells, perhaps it was linking into some scavenging instinct of local birds.

"I admit that I have not seen these shells before. Thank you."
He had no doubt that these were simply the cast offs of some sea creature that are brought in by the tides but that was no excuse to be ungrateful. She was trying to share something with him and few stuck with him long enough to do that.
It was novel, he did not smile but his eyebrows raised in what appreciation his face could muster.

@Venla Thiel

 

[Venla Thiel]

“You’ve shown me one wonder today. I want to return it.”

Venla had crouched beside the glimmering shells as he spoke, her hand trailing lightly over the tide-smoothed spirals. Then she glanced back at him, noticing the shift. Not quite a smile, but close. She picked up one of the shells and held it to the light. It caught the pale morning light and shimmered, like pearl and ice ... and something otherworldly. A long white spiral streaked with violet. "Not all of them are like this” she said “Most are just sea shells." She turned it in her fingers like a scholar studying a relic, then offered it up to him. The shell was hollow and sharp as guilt.

Venla stood up and brushed the sand from her skirts. "Maybe a unicorn drowned here long ago and the sea remembers?” The salty breeze teasing her hair across her cheek. He might expect the shell to be cold, lifeless, a pretty trinket and nothing more. But the shell pulsed once in his palm, like the faint echo of magic. The shell, light as glass, seemed heavier in his hand. Weighted with intention. With memory. With potential.