zambie logs

01[13:30] <@SpaceThor> 885: Løkken, Northern Jutland
01[13:32] <@SpaceThor> The last rays of summer are beginning to dim over these lands, the snows are soon to follow. With the end of the raiding season coming, the last ships should be arriving from Mercia. Those who remained, the young, the old, and those necessary to maintain order in these harsh lands are eagerly awaiting the sails and dragon-prows of ships coming home, with the loot and plunder necessary to survive the long winters.
[13:37] <Ashildr> And of those necessary to maintain order? Ashildr Asmundsdottr, wife to Jarl Kjeld and as such the effective chancellor of his hold and settlement in his absence. She awaits at the docks, expectant to see his return in triumph- or at least in some measure of success. Tall, red-haired like many of her kin and kith, her green dress and fur cloak wrap about her in defiance of the cutting
[13:37] <Ashildr> wind.
01[13:42] <@SpaceThor> The sounds of the children playing, clashing sticks against each other as they scurry around is a pleasant enough distraction. An hour later, a cry goes up. "Sails! They return!"
06[13:49] * Ashildr is amused enough to keep an eye on things. Her vigil had been similar, day by day. She would rise, attend to what duties were needed- whether they be arbitrating disputes or making the small decisions that were needed- and then at least keep eyes on the harbour. Anything major could wait for her husband, after all. He should be here only soo- ah. Her reverie is broken as she
06[13:49] * Ashildr turns her gaze to the horizon, looking for that particular set of sails that belonged to Kjeld's ship.
01[13:50] <@SpaceThor> as they get closer, a murmur goes through the crowd. Two sets of sails. Just two. Four ships had departed those months ago, and now only two return. Kjeld's is not among them.
[13:54] <Ashildr> Sinkings were not unknown in the North Sea. Ashildr firms her jaw as she walks to the dock proper. "Make ready to unload!" A command, if just to remind her people that she is in control, not distraught. The worry gnaws at her nonetheless. Perhaps Kjeld's own sank and he was on another? She'd had him for only a few short months- she can't lose him now..
01[13:56] <@SpaceThor> The ships come in, and the excitement turns to distress. There aren't even enough men to fill up the two ships, and Kjeld isn't there either. Halfdan, one of the leaders, approaches you. "Shieldmaiden Ostergard. I have bad news."
[13:58] <Ashildr> She stands at the plank from which the men disembark, towering and distinctive with her blood-toned hair woven into intricate braids. She tenses her jaw further, enough to grind her teeth. "How many, Halfdan?"
01[13:58] <@SpaceThor> "We lost ten fighting the Mercians, but that paled in comparison to the storm we encountered returning home. Thor must have been displeased with us, though for what reason I could not say. We lost two ships to the waves and winds, Jarl Kjeld among them."
[14:02] <Ashildr> An ignoble death, one far from befitting a Jarl, nevermind her Kjeld. Ashildr makes the sign of Thor's hammer across her breast, praying that he was plucked from the depths for deliverance. But her duties now are to what of her people that remain. ".. I understand, Halfdan. The great-house awaits you and your men." She swallows her grief to swivel to the gawking crowd. "Empty the
[14:02] <Ashildr> ships and take them ashore! We've not long before winter!"
01[14:03] <@SpaceThor> That gets them moving, unloading the ships of what they have. Losing the two ships hurt, but you're pretty sure there's enough for winter there.
01[14:04] <@SpaceThor> Some hours later, you reconvene with the house-carls in the great-house. Halfdan and the other leaders are there, and Svend has also decided to show his face, for whatever reason.
[14:08] <Ashildr> All the more with some-score men less to feed. A bitter thought, but as head of the hold, she had to worry about her peoples' survival first. She had taken a moment to herself for private grief, and a moment further yet to compose herself before meeting the house-carls. And Svend. The mystic always put Ashildr's teeth on edge; brother-in-law or not, his manner never sat well with her,
[14:08] <Ashildr> and he smelled of strange unguents and foreign herbs. Nonetheless. Ashildr's fur mantle rests heavier on her shoulders as she stands at the head of the table, near where Kjeld once sat. "We've enough here for the wintering," she begins. "But this is a grave loss for all Thorshafn. Least of all for my Jarl's death."
01[14:09] <@SpaceThor> The housecarls nod. Halfdan finishes fidgeting with his ring, and stands. "My Shieldmaiden, we would like to settle the issue of succession, in the wake of the Jarl's untimely death."
[14:11] <Ashildr> The ring that represented the oaths, to and between, Halfdan and Kjeld. Ashildr stares at Halfdan a moment. "And thus why we've all gathered. Yes." She pushes her hands off the table to straighten to her full, impressive height. "Speak your mind, Halfdan."
01[14:12] <@SpaceThor> "The laws of our gods are clear, but I wish to lend my own voice to them. I swear my sword and my life to you, Ashildr Ostergard, as my Jarl!"
01[14:13] <@SpaceThor> The other housecarls stand, and begin their own pledges. "Jarl Ostergard!" "Jarl Ashildr!" "Jarl Shieldmaiden!" The dour mood that had consumed the hall moments before is shattered. Svend simply watches, that queer smile on his face.
[14:16] <Ashildr> Jarl Ashildr Ostergard. She smiles a thin-lipped smile, and once the chorus dies down, she speaks, voice raised to carry through the hall over the great fire warming the space. "Your loyalty does me proud. But to another account." Always swift to business, letting little linger. Ashildr was too hard a woman to give aught to ceremony. "Svend, son of Asger. What brings you back to the
[14:16] <Ashildr> hold?"
01[14:17] <@SpaceThor> "Can a man not come to mourn his brother?" He shakes his head. "My brother and I did not always get along, but we shared blood, and that is a bond that will never break."
[14:19] <Ashildr> "I understand." Ashildr raises her voice again, "Now! Tonight, we drink to Kjeld and his deeds, and we drink for our future!" She beckons one of the thralls to break out a keg.
01[14:20] <@SpaceThor> The mead begins to flow freely, and soon, another keg is broken out. And another. Such is your revelry that you do not even notice the sorceror having a thrall bring out a keg that's a little bit different from the others...
[14:21] <Ashildr> And indeed, Ashildr does not. She drinks copiously as she shares her wealth with her men, thinking little else on the mystic she distrusts. Even if he had not given oath.
01[14:24] <@SpaceThor> You awake the next morning in delirium, vomit drying near your face, your skin burning. You can vaguely hear voices in the distance, how distant you could not say. "Illness, at a time like this. The gods have surely shown their disfavor. Bring the Jarl to her own bed, and Halfdan to his. Give them this draught, to help them sleep, and may Odin grant them swift recovery."
01[14:25] <@SpaceThor> The sensation of being dragged fills your mind, but almost in the manner of viewing it happening to someone else. The bumps feel fake, pale imitations of the real thing, and soon the familiar warmth of the bearskin on your bed surrounds you. A warm liquid passes through your lips, and everything melts away into blackness...
[14:25] <Ashildr> Truly. Ashildr's not certain where she is, when she is- the pain of Kjeld's loss burns as much as her flesh, the triumph of her ascension dashed by the indignity. She reaches out, to what she cannot say, before she totters back, trying to wrestle some level of sense into her head. But at least she is warm, comfortable, and.. It is dark. At last.
01[14:26] <@SpaceThor> 1906, Malifaux City
01[14:27] <@SpaceThor> Your lungs burn. Your eyes burn. Your whole body burns in pain and discomfort. Trying to move is proved impossible. You seem to be trapped in some kind of box, dim memories of drowning taking you. Your axe is here, as are your gauntlets...were you buried? Did they bury you by mistake?
01[14:29] <@SpaceThor> Voices come from outside of your prison, in a strange tongue that you understand nonetheless. "Shipping manifest says....you're transporting WHAT?" "I told you, it's a mummy, found in Denmark, look, all my paperwork is in order, we're on a timetable to deliver it to the museum of histor-" "I don't care if you're delivering it to the Governor-General himself! Reggie, send word to the Death Marshals, I'm not taking any chances on this."
01[14:30] <@SpaceThor> "Hop off it, man, I go through all that work Earthside to get the permits and you clutch your pearls anyway. If the permits don't mean a damn, why did I have to pay fifty scrip for them?"
[14:31] <Ashildr> Why does it hurt so gravely? Why did- these memories make no sense. Drowning? But she had been taken to.. to bed. Hadn't she? Ashildr is confused. And when confused, she strains, she struggles. In the past she would fight back, and so despite the protests of her searing muscles, she tries to reach out, feel out the box before her. Denmark.. That is..? Governor-General? Death Marshals?
[14:31] <Ashildr> What /are/ these? But no. Nearby voices, /foreigners/ from sound and words. Earthside? None of this made sense. Ashildr tries to force her eyes open, take in air- but not give herself away in this compromised position. Perhaps this was a test by the gods, to prove her worth as Jarl?
01[14:32] <@SpaceThor> Your eyes open to blackness, you're inside something...but you can tell it's flimsy. A crate like this would never contain a shieldmaiden, much less Ashildr Ostergard.
01[14:33] <@SpaceThor> "Sir, just wait a moment, I'm just getting you an escort to the museum. Resurrectionist activity has been on the upswing, if the papers can be trusted. He'll see you to the museum, and then that will be that." "Well I hope your man Reggie hurries, the curator is not the patient type."
[14:35] <Ashildr> Thin wood. Mercian work, it had to be. Ashildr flexes protesting fingers on the studded, wrapped haft of her long-axe, trying to remember its contours, to be ready for the foes she is certain lay outside. Resurrectionist? What even is that? And the rune-scribed bands of leather and metal about her forearms at least remain familiar, bracing. She tries to stretch as much as possible
[14:35] <Ashildr> within the container. A moment more, and she would punch her way out to freedom and whatever measure these foreigners can prove.
01[14:36] <@SpaceThor> "Ah, there they are now. Get this crate and the ones with the armor and Runestone loaded and you can be on your way."
[14:40] <Ashildr> Her armour! Ah, that familiar suit, leather and Germanic mail and bands of steel fashioned together into a cuirass. It was heavier than most could manage, but never for one like Ashildr. And so tensed, so ready, it's time to act. Ashildr grits her teeth, ignoring the tension in her aching joints, and pushes one foot back against the rear of the crate as to slam her upper body and the
[14:40] <Ashildr> butt spike of her long-axe against the fore.
01[14:45] <@SpaceThor> It bursts in front of you, and your eyes are blinded, before taking in the surroundings. You're surrounded by tall buildings, taller than Yggdrasil, each one of them. A strange sky is above you, two moons looking down over the landscape. Three men stare in shock at you, while a fourth, a man in a heavy leather coat, draws a metal tube with one hand and a large coffin with the other, facing you.