Echoes of the Past

[Eldric]

His mount whinnied and balked, breath steaming in the frigid air. Eldric urged the gelding on with a flick of the reins, past the splintered palisades and into the courtyard of the home he'd left behind almost nine years ago. It was snowing steadily, settling in sheets of white across what remained of the stronghold. Shattered beams and blackened skeletons jutted from the snow like discarded kindling, and the charred ruins of the longhouse had been half-buried. Evergreens crowded close to witness the stronghold's collapse, their numbers stretching back endlessly.

He surveyed the scene in silence, his gray eyes mournful as he recalled the life and family he had abandoned. Absence and experience had turned him into a stranger, yet his heart ached at the carnage. The skulls of his clansmen watched him from frozen graves, their empty sockets accusing. This is your fault, they said. We needed you and you weren't here. He wondered bleakly if his sword really have made a difference, and decided that was a foolish, vain thought. The story of the battle was etched into every unarmored corpse and scattered sword. They had been taken by surprise and overrun.

"And had I been here I would've been cut down, too." he said loudly. The forest swallowed his voice, and suddenly the warrior felt absurd for having spoken. Like he'd disturbed the slumbering dead. The silence that followed was smothering and held an almost reverent quality. He'd gradually left behind the superstitions of his people as he traveled the world, yet the prospect of lingering spirits seemed entirely plausible.

He clicked his tongue and urged his horse forward again, toward the longhouse this time. There he dismounted and tied the reins to an isolated post that had once been part of the crumbling building. Pulling his furs tight, he ducked inside. His beard stiffened with frost as his breathing quickened. Inside were more skeletons and more skulls staring back at him. Eldric grimaced and knelt to pry the splintered shaft of an arrow from a baseboard. He lifted it to the light filtering in through the gouges in the ceiling.

"Orcs. Bah." the warrior spat at the sight of the barbed head, the crudely wrought iron. He tossed the arrow over his shoulder and began sifting through the snow, looking for more clues.

[Tobias Stalt]

Somber gray leaked through patches in the conifers that grew alongside the path. Light robbed from the sun and recycled through tufts of white helped little with the problem of visibility. Drifts of powder ever encroached as the firmament shattered ahead of him and the fragments struck Tobias in the face as snowflakes. "I hate the cold," he muttered, though no one could sympathize with him. Only Salvar heard him, now. Salvar cared little for his preferences.

The easternmost fringes of Skavia had been a fortnight's journey from Tirel, but on foot, Tobias would not have made it in this lifetime. Frosty breath from the mountains stole lives in the night and if the cold did not kill you, something else would. His time with the Traders had ended tragically. Though the wagon remained largely intact, no horses had survived to draw it on. He could still see the haunted faces etched in the frost, burned into his mind for eternity. Hoof prints leading south and west told Tobias the horses had fled and presumably escaped, but every other man in his party...

There are horrors in this wasteland that went undisturbed for hundreds of years. He swayed with the gait of a drunken fool, but the cold in his ears had set his forehead ablaze. A sneeze ripped through the wind's howl. "Fuck," he blurted, "I need shelter. And a fire."

His trudge through the Skavian wastes rewarded him only with more corpses. At the edge of the forest, where the trees subsided, Tobias swore he saw the outline of a building. He mustered what haste he could, but his success was limited by the squelch of damp leather.

What he found were a mockery of civilization, tattered towers and sundered stones that once housed life. "No-one has been alive here in many years," he hissed below his breath. "It may be that it will suffice until the storm passes, though."

Tobias wriggled through cracks in the broken foundation of anew abandoned watchtower. The door had caved and stone had collapsed on itself, but the structure was otherwise sound. He could see the gloomy sky through hole ridden rafters, but the wind was not so blistery inside.

Rubbing his hands against his chest greedily, the golden eyed youth surveyed the new area. Bones and scraps of metal littered the dirt floor, and small piles of snow amassed in dark corners. Creaking wooden steps spiraled up toward the tower's apex, but had rotted nearly halfway up. The cold did wood no favors. "Guess I'll be doing no looking out from here," he mused darkly.

Again the sky screamed, and a bitter blast of air crept over Tobias' flesh. He shivered violently. "I'll dig in for the night," he resolved, "but I'll need wood for a fire, first." He spared a look out through the makeshift door, whereupon he spied something strange.

Secured to one of the larger ruins, a horse sat solitary in the snow. "Huh," he blinked, "not so abandoned as I'd imagined." Tobias watched quietly for a few moments as he skimmed the area for any other life. Satisfied there were no watchers on high or low, he slipped out into the wild winter.

The horse bristled loudly as he grew closer, its dark eyes settling on his small frame. "Easy," he whispered, "let's you and me make nice, eh?" Tobias held out both hands to convey that the beast of burden could trust him, instead, it whinnied loudly. Tobias' face grew grim. "I fucking hate horses," he groaned.

[Eldric]

His search turned up little else of use in piecing together his clansmen's fate: another half-dozen scattered arrowheads of the same make as the first he'd found; an oaken shield that bore a great crack down its face. The sigil that had once adorned it was worn away and disfigured beyond recognition. Eldric cast it aside with a muttered oath. The weapons and fragments of armor he found that didn't belong to his clan were clearly of orcish design, but what he sought was a banner or a mark, something that told him which tribe was responsible for the attack.

Outside, his horse whinnied urgently. The warrior froze, ears straining, but heard nothing. Moving quietly, the Skavian eased his claymore from its scabbard and approached the door. He took a deep, steadying breath, flexed his fingers and wrapped them tighter around the hilt of his weapon, and then kicked the door open with a single, powerful kick. Eldric expected to see orc raiders, or perhaps scavengers from another clan come to pick the bones of this place clean. Either threat would be dealt with the same. A wound had torn open the Salvarian's heart. A wound that needed blood to be healed.

Instead he was confronted with a lone human, slender of frame and obviously suffering from the effects of Skavia's brutal cold. The big warrior halted just outside the longhouse's entrance, resting the flat of his greatsword's blade on one shoulder. The horse stamped a hoof impatiently and tossed his head, clearly demanding that Eldric do something. Dumbfounded, he looked from the shivering stranger, to his affronted horse, then back to the stranger before clearing his throat.

"I'd be stayin' clear o' Strider if I was you," Eldric scowled. "Bastard's liable to take a chunk out o' ya if ya get too close."

He tightened his grip on the claymore's hilt and looked the stranger up and down, gray eyes sharp with suspicion. The man had a youthful face, but wore an expression of such weariness that he looked much older. Eldric guessed he was in his early twenties, a short, thin man with chestnut hair and golden eyes that marked him as an outlander. Of his garb Eldric knew little and less; if it was part of a uniform, it was one he was unfamiliar with. A traveler, then...or an outlaw.

"You're no Salvarian. Just what the hell are ya doin' here?" he asked, nearly shouting to be heard over a sudden gale. The snow was coming down harder now, and the sun was falling rapidly. Soon the real cold would come, and then even he would be forced inside until the next light. Eldric stepped closer to the man, his face a grim mask. "Best tell it true, lad," he prompted. "Or I'll leave yer corpse here when I go."

[Tobias Stalt]

Tobias cautiously eyed the massive Gelding that had born an equally massive, barbaric man as he was warned against getting too close. "Lucky for me I didn't decide you were a pretty beasty," he reproached venomously, albeit beneath his breath. There had been only a trace of panic when the horse called out, because Tobias knew he would never escape to a place fit for proper hiding. Now, Stalt stood with a pallor to his gaze that echoed his exhaustion.

Wild wind raced through the burnt out village and tore into Tobias once more. "If it's all the same," he chattered as steam clung on every word, "do you think we could take this conversation inside?" An incredulous look danced across the Skavian's hardened features. His wrinkled expression fixed the outlander with careful consideration before he slowly spoke a response.

"You're a brave lad, making requests without offering answers." Eldric took two long strides to his left, then waved for Tobias to step past him. "Go on," he instructed, "you first. Try anythin' and yer dead." Tobias indulged the behemoth man, but not before he traded venomous glances with Strider. Eldric almost guffawed when the young man stuck out his tongue, and the horse snorted in return.

When he saw the building's interior, Tobias deflated. "Oh look," he muttered, "more bones."

"My people," the Skavian corrected icily. "These were my people." Gold eyes trailed over to the barbarian. The word 'ah' danced across his lips, but he kept it to himself. Behind them, the wooden door slammed. Creaks caused by the wind played a score to accompany their talk. "Now," Eldric repeated, "what business 'ave you here?"

"Business hell," Stalt spat. "Frostbite and sickness have ripped at me for days. My shoes are wet and my cloak offers no sanctuary from the elements. My caravan was sundered nearly a moon past by gods only know what, and I only stopped running when my joints felt too frozen to continue." Tobias took a breath, coughed, then sniffled. "I haven't the first clue what direction I've been going it. When I left Tirel, we were headed west."

"Tirel?" Eldric echoed. "You've come a long way for a man on foot," he commented appreciatively. "And you've survived better than most men would have. Tell me stranger, what name did your father give a boy who defies death?"

Tobias coughed up a wad of greenish yellow and spat it on the ashen floorboards. "Tobias," he replied unceremoniously, "Tobias Stalt."

"Well, Tobias Stalt, you've come far north'n off yer intended path. The west is still many thousands of miles west." The groan that escaped Tobias forced a hearty laugh from Eldric. Tobias wavered, then stumbled and braced himself against the wall. "Easy, lad," Eldric took a step forward and placed a mighty hand on Stalt's shoulder. "Best be gettin' you some proper clothes and a good fire."

[Eldric]

Venturing back out into the blizzard in search of fire wood was out of the question, so Eldric began sifting through the rubble piled where the roof had collapsed. Beneath a layer of cold ash were more bones, black and brittle. He recoiled when his fingertips brushed the dome of a half-buried skull, his face a mask of grief.

Behind him, Tobias spoke through chattering teeth. "If you intend to share a fire with me, perhaps our introductions should not be left unfinished."

There was a long pause as the Skavian tugged at the remains of a wooden chair, the corded muscles of his arms straining as he freed it from the rest of the ash-stained wreckage. Finally he turned to fix Tobias with a wary stare. "My name is Eldric Thormund, outlander. I was born and raised in this stronghold. Left ta make my fortune or my mark on the world, somethin' to that effect," he scoffed, shaking his head.

That day was a crisp memory that had been playing through his mind since his arrival. His guilt seemed to magnify every detail, from the weight of his pack to the hollow stares of his kin as he rode off. He even remembered the contemptuous smirk he'd worn as he turned his back on them, and in a way that was the worst part. He'd been a brash, arrogant youth...and yet his abandonment was unforgivable.

"Seemed terribly important at the time." he remarked bitterly, just before bringing a booted foot down savagely on the chair. It splintered into kindling beneath his weight. He grunted his satisfaction and stooped to gather the fragments.

The longhouse's firepit had weathered the years much better than the building that housed it. Its stone perimeter bore a few cracks along its length, but otherwise seemed sound. Eldric kicked at it experimentally, then shrugged and dumped the wood into its center. As he fiddled with his flint his gaze found its way back to Tobias.

"And yerself?" he asked quizzically. "What sort o' caravan were ye signed on with?"

[Tobias Stalt]

Tobias stared intently at the fireplace as Eldric loaded it and began to fiddle with flint and tender from his rucksack. Sparks kissed the weak wood. Small cinders teased the two men as the cold threatened to worsen. "My caravan," the former soldier mused quietly as he reached into the folds of his frozen cloak and produced a long pipe and cleaned out the residue. "They were a band of traders, headed west for Stokes and riches. They were convinced Salvar had a wealth of vast riches waiting to be plucked."

"Not entirely wrong," the massive man grunted. "There are things in th' cold that 'ave not been seen in a lifetime or two. I imagine there's gold to be had in tha'." Through his words, Eldric continued to labor until flames finally licked his fingers. He withdrew both leathery hands, content. "If," he smirked, "yer prepared for th' dangers."

Eldric watched the look on Tobias' face turn sour. "Aye," he muttered, "there's that."

Silence fell like the snow over them, cold and unwelcome. The fire was a welcome departure from the deathly freeze that eternally fell over Skavia. Tobias reached his hands greedily toward the open flame and snorted back a gob of mucous. "You were not close with them?"

"No," Tobias replied, "I've not been incredibly close to many folk for too long a time, I fear." The robes on his back had begun to dampen, so he drew them off and spread them out next to the fire, ignorant of the ashes scattered about the floor. "I had a deathmark that was only recently lifted," he explained.

"A deathmark?" Eldric let out a ripple of laughter, but contained it to a chuckle. "What sort of trouble did you do what earned you a kill command, outlander?"

"Ah," the Tactician held up a warding finger, "but I'm afraid I'm at a disadvantage; you know something of me, and I know nothing of you." Eldric scowled. "Let's even the score a bit. What sort of mark have you made, so beset with returning home as you seem?" Tobias could see the agony in the man's eyes, hidden behind the wild, untamed, and brilliant slate color they held. It was something Eldric, could not hide even if he'd tried to. Stalt knew better than to turn any gaze on an apparent weakness; men like Eldric were fierce and proud, and very often dangerous when cornered.

Tobias placed his pipe between his lips and took thoughtful, tiny puffs until the flame took. Twisting tendrils of gray roiled to the ceiling and crept outward like a mist. The heat seared at snow and a droplet of water plopped on Tobias' forehead. He shivered violently at the touch, like Winter itself had molested him. "Do you smoke?" he asked, not unkindly.

Tobias offered the pipe for his newfound friend to partake.

Eldric took it as a gesture of goodwill. "When first I lef' the walls," the Skavian began, then stopped midway for a pull of the pipe. The noxious smog entered his lungs like venom, and he could feel the dulling effect twist at his thoughts. Tobias had been a man with worldly problems, and this sensation confirmed all Eldric needed to know. There were many, many problems. "I 'ad no plan. I made my way from Salvar t' Raiaera."

Tobias took back his pipe when it was shoved in his direction. "You're a careful man, Tobias Stalt. Bartering in information and offering min' dullin' herb." The former Crimson Hand grimaced, then smirked.

"In dangerous businesses, you learn to watch things, " he admitted, "a lesson you've taken to heart, it would seem." The bristle of Eldric's horse almost made Tobias feel bad for the beast of burden, but he remembered that Salvic steeds were bred for harsh conditions. It would take some time to compromise Strider in just wind and snow. "So," he tapped his pipe against his knee and renewed their conversation. "Raiaera."

Eldric frowned. "Later,"he inisted, "rest now. There may not be another opportunity on the march west." Tobias furrowed his brow. Without a glance at Tobias' expression, the barbarian smirked. "You were 'eaded west," Eldric shrugged, "so it happens, I've business to th' west. The Church is makin' an investigation in th' wilds. As payment for saving yer life..."

Tobias frowned. "Nothing comes free."

[Eldric]

Nothing," he agreed solemnly.

Eldric had considered the decision of bringing Tobias along carefully, weighing the man's every word and gesture as he completed the fire and shared his pipe. He trusted his assessment, hasty as it was. Life as a mercenary either killed you or sharpened your instincts to a razor's edge; you either learned to read the people around you or you died. The man was cautious, giving just enough of the truth to avoid telling all of it, and too clever by half. Yet weariness is the death of artifice and deception, and even with his wits presumably dulled and his defenses down- or as close to down as they would perhaps ever get- Eldric could sense no malice in him.

Perhaps this Tobias Stalt had a past, but at his core he seemed an honorable enough sort. Gods know I've no right to judge, he thought, his heart heavy.

The fire licked at the air and cast dancing shadows across the rude walls of the longhouse, and the barbarian found himself staring into its depths, lost in thought. Tobias watched him in silent expectation for a time, his golden eyes glinting in the firelight. Then he sighed and stretched out on his cloak in front of the fire, and Eldric was left alone save the howling wind and the crackling of the pit.

His thoughts turned back to his people, and the life he left behind so long ago. His heart ached with grief at their passing, and rage at the ones who had done this to his home, but these were dulled by a lifetime of separation. Eldric could remember growing up within these walls, learning to hunt and fight and honor the gods alongside his kinsman, but it was like viewing the memories of another. He felt no connection to the life he'd left behind.

And yet it was the guilt that cut sharply. I rode away with a smile on my face... he thought with a sneer of self-disgust.

"Aye, and dwelling will change nothin'," he told the fire matter-of-factly. He laid his bedroll out a respectable difference from Stalt- and at an angle where he could still watch the man, in case his new companion had fooled him after all- and lay staring at the remains of the roof until he drifted off, a hand on his knife.

Dawn's pale light shining on his face through the shattered rafters woke him the next morning. The big Skavian lumbered to his feet, shivering, and crossed the room to stir the ashes of last night's fire. A dusty table half-buried in the rubble filling the longhouse fed the dying embers. In a matter of minutes the fire was roaring once more, chasing the early-morning's chill from the hall.

Eldric crossed to where Tobias lay bundled in his cloak and knelt to shake him. The moment his hand touched Stalt's shoulder the younger man's eyes snapped open, as if he had simply been waiting. "It's mornin', lad, and we've a long road. Heave and ho." the Skavian chuckled as he stood back up.

Trusting Stalt not to need a second urging, Eldric trudged out into the snow to confront an unamused Strider. The gelding snapped his teeth when he caught sight of his master, then tossed his head. Bellowing with laughter, Eldric patted the beast's neck. "None o' that, now. Where are yer manners? After all I've brought you a gift-" Strider snatched the apple from his hand before he could finish, scowling at his master as he ate it, but afterward nuzzled against the barbarian's hand. "Tha's better."

He was rummaging through his saddlebags when Tobias appeared in the doorway, disheveled and yawning. He pulled their breakfast from its place near the bottom and set to fixing Strider's feedbag in place. "I see you opted not to flee," he said, his tone conversational as he fiddled with the straps.

[Tobias Stalt]

"Fleein's for folk who know where they're going," Tobias answered honestly, "and for now, you're my ticket to surviving this frosty hell." He roused from the furs that had formed his resting place, and his face scrunched at the smell of ash and dried blood. With a callous toss, Tobias sent the makeshift mattress into Eldric's waiting hands. "About this job," he frowned, reminded of the grim inquisition that had met him beyond the tomb of Nander-Thay. Imagesof a broken friend tore through his mind, and his jaw set rigidly. "We'll be working for the Sway?"

"Aye," Eldric confirmed. "They're not so bad," he snorted, "long as you're not a wizard."

"They don't give a fuck what you are," Tobias spat, "all the same, I don't have much choice. This is your job, and if I plan on tagging along, I'm going to stifle my vomit about it."

The Skav watched his new companion with an unreadable expression. "I've not heard of them killing anyone who wasn't breaking their laws." His frown grew. "But that's irrelevant, I suppose."

The Northern Giant swayed with each step as he barreled out the door and into the gray day. "Ah," he stretched out and gave a yawn, "it's a beautiful morning."

Tobias stepped out into the snow behind Eldric and sneezed obnoxiously. Eldric blinked, then turned and stared at the smaller man blankly. "I'll never, ever enjoy this weather," Stalt groaned as he drew his cloak tight. The sun leaked through fractures in the opaque skyline and cascaded them with white light that offered no warmth. "What's the job?"

"Typical hunt," the Barbarian grunted. "Scouring the northern wastes for hedge witches, various daemons, and fell beasts." Eldric shrugged. "The usual."

"The usual," Tobias echoed. Oh, he remembered the usual. "Fine. Lead on."

Eldric stepped up and mounted Strider. "I'll ride slow," he smirked, "try to keep up."

Tobias made a universally obscene gesture as the beast rounded. "Keep up with this," he sneered. Tobias walked several paces behind the horse. Eldric glanced back periodically and noted the youth's perpetual scowl. "If that four-legged fuck farts in my face, I'm carving out its colon."

"He'll kick yer face off first," Thormund smirked. "Why so glum, Tobias Stalt?"

"It's my default setting," the rogue quipped, "not warm enough for you? Want me to wear rouge and wank you like a gimp?" Tobias disliked that he still knew very little about Eldric, and that he had no reason to trust the man.

"Drop the knife, Stalt," Eldric called back, "I'm not going to cut your throat when you sleep. I had that chance already."

"Aye," Tobias grunted, "just so." He straightened a bit. "Look, I spent nearly the entire last year running for my life," he leveled with Eldric, "I'm not one for fast friendships."

"Slow works for me," Eldric laughed. "We're almost there. Plenty of warmth around Sway Ceremonial Fires."

Tobias snorted.

[Eldric]

The path was little more than a few rugged gouges in the frozen earth that wound a path through the forest's towering sentinel trees. It was slow going; Strider was a sure-footed mount, but with the mud slick with frost it was treacherous even for him, and Stalt's pace gradually began to flag as the terrain worsened. Thormund felt almost sorry for him, though not enough to offer him his mount. He smirked wearily at the prospect. Ha! Strider would bite his cock off before he got his ass in the saddle.

"So tell me," Tobias panted from his place a few feet behind the Northman, "how does a Skav end up working for the Church, anyway?"

Eldric's shrug was more explanatory than dismissive. "They wanted someone who knew the land, who could track the witches through the trees without freezing to death or stumbling into an orc stronghold. Thus, they were forced to hire outside their ranks." He paused to consider. "They pay damn well, though."

"There tends to be a lot of coin in religion." Tobias grimaced, and the Northman's eyes narrowed at the note of genuine venom in his acquaintance's voice.

"Aye, and a very large portion of it is waiting for me at their camp, so don't offend our employers." The words were spoken casually, but there was no mistaking the threat in them. If Tobias came between him and his coin, their easy friendship wouldn't stop Thormund from cutting his throat.

"I'll be the very soul of courtesy." Stalt replied with a wary sort of sarcasm.

After that they traveled in silence for a time. Twilight fell upon the forest before Eldric sighted a column of smoke drifting just above the treeline. Finally, the Skavian sighed mentally. He tugged on the reins and Strider halted with an indignant snort. Tobias drifted up to stand at the gelding's shoulder, eyes squinted as he peered at the smoke.

"That's them I take it?"

"They're camped in the clearing ahead." Eldric answered.

"Well, then," Stalt began with a grin that put the barbarian on edge, "what are we waiting for?"