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She allowed herself to slump to her knees, leaning against a rock, polished smooth by the centuries as the water of the river proved mightier then the earth itself. Her pounding heart began to settle, her breast still rising and falling with labored effort, straining against the restriction of her mail and leather coat. The battle had been brief, but every second was a great endeavor when a single wrong movement, a single moment of weakness could see your life spilled into the dirt as easily as it had her adversaries. The surge of adrenaline now gone, she was grateful for the moment of respite to catch her breath and let the fog of war clear.
Eabha put her back to the rock, holding her blood stained sword before her as she wiped away the gore with a discolored rag from her pack. The shining metal of the blade gleamed in the fading sunlight as the stains of war were removed from the venerated steel, the bluish metal denoting it as an example of pure Varg steel. Such weapons were exceedingly rare in this new world, most of the clan of Iron’s prized metalworks had been lost in the purge and the journey west. She turned the blade in her grasp, the leather wrapped hilt a perfect fit for her hand as it flared into a bronze pommel that offset the weight of the blade with staggering precision. The bronze of the crossguard bore some nicks and marring from the countless battles the sword had witnessed, but the blade was as pristine as the day it was forged.
She was called “Ragna”, and she had been her father’s council, just as she had been for the Varg kings of old. Eabha brushed her thumb over the runes adorning the spine of the ancient sword; “fridr - ófridr - fródr”. Peace, war, and the wisdom to know through which you should rule. She closed her eyes, Ragna still in hand, featherlight, an extension of her arm. For a moment she was back home, fallen Varg all around as fires lit up the dark of the moonless sky. Her father lay before her, his eyes closed and Ragna still clutched in his hand, his fur and clothes stained black with blood. What remained of his housecarls stood around him; hardened men of war whose eyes shimmered with tears they could not let fall. Eabha opened her eyes, blinking away tears.
She returned Ragna to her sheath and pushed herself to her feet, striding over to join the others. The motionless bodies of seven men lay scattered about the bank of the river. Blood stained the sand and flickering flames still clung to the lifeless forms of three of the humans. The distinctive stench of burnt hair still hung heavy in the air. Finn was crouched over one of the fallen soldiers and he glanced up in Eabha’s direction as she approached. She met his gaze, his eyes were grim, sunken. She looked down at the corpse before him. The man was short; at least in comparison to a Varg, though she estimated he was still a measure shorter than the men from across the sea to the east. He wore a breastplate of steel that had been painted black with matching gauntlets as well as a helm of a style she did not recognize, with a wide brim to turn away blows. His breastplate was embossed with the image of a fist wreathed in flame. His left arm lay at his side at an unnatural angle, held on by only a bit of sinew. The wound was almost certainly going to prove fatal. Eabha shuddered as she recalled how he had screamed in pain as Finn’s sword bit deep into his arm; and yet instead of surrender, the man had turned his own knife to his throat without hesitation.
He was the last to fall, and rather than risk capture, he had willingly hastened the end of his own life. She turned her gaze away from the broken corpse toward the bank of the river where Orlendr was standing. His eyes were downturned, staring at one of the fallen as their clothes still smoldered. She did not feel at ease with the towering wolf man around. There was something about the dispassionate way with which he had watched the soldiers burn as he turned his magic on them that betrayed something deeply broken within him. The wolf seldom spoke, though he did speak the Trade language, poorly. From what Eabha had surmised, he had not had much cause to speak it, or at all, for many years. He had come to their settlement some weeks ago, a ragged wound still leaking from his hip. He had conveyed, in his own way, the danger these men from beyond the mountains posed.
Eabha had been skeptical of the wolf man’s tale. A blazing passion raged behind his eyes; she was certain only that he loathed the men of which he spoke, with an intensity that deeply unsettled Eabha. Yet she had a duty to her people. She had brought them here, brought them across the sea to escape a life of pain and death. However much she may have doubted the innocence of the wolf man, if the Varg were to live in peace, the matter still had to be investigated. So she had agreed to follow Orlendr north; to seek out answers, as well as keep an ever watchful eye on the wolf man. This evening’s unprovoked violence had provided compelling evidence that Orlendr had spoken true about the threat the men from beyond the mountains posed.
Finn turned out the man’s pack, meager as the contents were. He carried a small handful of tools, a water skin, and a thin, leather bound journal. He flipped through the pages of the journal, the pages smeared with no end of dirt and grime and bore hastily scrawled characters of a language neither Finn nor Eabha recognized. Unsurprisingly, the language possessed by the men from beyond the mountains was one that shared little similarities to either the Trade language or Mál. She found herself fixating on the man’s mangled arm, his heavy gambeson torn leaving the bloody flesh below exposed. Something about the wound had drawn her eye, though nothing apparent stood out to her conscious mind. She knelt down and drew up the ragged sleeve, wiping away the blood from his skin with the remnants of his shirt. Only some of the gore would not be wiped away. A patch of leathery looking, bumpy skin, angry pink in color remained just below his shoulder. He had been badly burnt, not in the battle, but some time ago. The burn was nearly fully healed, though the edges of the mark still bore some evidence of peeling. She frowned as she turned the ruined arm; the scar had an unmistakable resemblance to a hand, as though the now deceased soldier had been grabbed by a burning hand.
Finn knelt beside her, the dirt and blood stained journal still in his hand. Without so much as a word, he handed her the bundle of leather bound paper. She accepted the journal, slotting her thumb in the opening to keep the indicated page. There was more of the indecipherable scrawling, the writing hurried and imprecise, but there was also a sketch of a river running through a landscape, the background dominated by large mountains. She looked up; the view was remarkably similar. She turned the page, more small sketches were scattered throughout the foreign characters, along with what appeared to be moon phases and constellations. A way to keep track of the days and their bearing perhaps? She kept flipping through the journal until she suddenly froze. Before her laid out in rough detail on the page was a sketch of a wolf man. Her eyes darted towards Orlendr, who was now sat in a low crouch staring out across the river at the mountains that towered overhead. She cursed the enigmatic writings, but what was clear was that the men from beyond the mountain has taken an interest in the wolf man. She turned to Finn and their eyes met; and the look in his eyes told her he had come to the same conclusion. She secured the journal in her own pack and her attention turned back to the wolf man. What had she gotten her people into…
Part 1
Part 2
Original Submission
Artist:
GRIMBLYCharacter:
Eabha
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Category Artwork (Digital) / Fantasy
Species Canine (Other)
Size 1607 x 1080px
File Size 916.8 kB
Listed in Folders
Today I couldn't be happier to read the exciting and dramatic continuation of Eabha's adventures, accompanied from Finn and the mysterious wolf man Orlendr, who travels with them across the mountains and vast sea. From the first to the last paragraph there is a wonderful wealth of content and narrative that makes the reader increasingly greedy to know in what had Eabha gotten her people into… If one day she can finally bring her people to safety in a place where peace reigns. Thanks again for writing this incredible part 3, dear friend. And a really beautiful illustration created from the talented dholeinone, who portrayed Eabha leaning against that smooth rock mentioned in the story so phenomenally. 😊✨
Thank you very much for the kind words and for taking the time to read it, Donny. As is probably pretty apparent, the picture was commissioned with absolutely nothing to do with this particular story, and I feel my connective tissue was pretty limited this time haha. But it is the story it made me think of nevertheless, even if 95% of the elements from the story are nowhere to be seen in the pic haha
Something about your stories is so interesting. I think it's not just the detailed and intricate lore, but the vivid descriptions that you give really bring the story to life and give a great visualization of the story.
Speaking of visuals, this artwork is absolutely spectacular! This is such an incredibly beautiful masterpiece from dholeinone. I'm definitely going to watch this artist now. :)
Speaking of visuals, this artwork is absolutely spectacular! This is such an incredibly beautiful masterpiece from dholeinone. I'm definitely going to watch this artist now. :)
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