whitescar A Test of Will (Closed)

[Blueblood]

Time and time again, the cynical and power-hungry would deny that there was any real power in friendship.  Time and time again, the very earth under their hooves would stand up and rebuke them, the aether in the air would sing a paen to all that they repudiated.  Unlike most of his magical discipline, however, Chipper Demise was neither of those things.  He was willing to be a friend, even though he'd hardly heard or known the meaning of the word before meeting Lími.  And now, through a heart mostly kept pure by a commitment to joy in the midst of darkness, the unicorn could now feel for himself the fact that Friendship truly Is Magic!

 

The power that sparked in the caribou's eyes echoed in Chipper's own, lighting up his horn with a glow that seemed to warm the very air around them.  The withering flowers in his hooves perked up once again, the purple glow of their new life now suffused with their natural blue, making their color more a gentle mixture of both.  But not only that, the whole of the field was beginning to bloom now, dessication shaken off like morning weariness to greet the day.  The sheer power of the unintended spell shocked even the caster, and he looked upon the field with open-mouthed amazement.  "Wow, that... I've never managed anything like that before..."

 

He laughed, for the first time without any of the sharp edge of madness Lími had heard in his voice before.  "Did, did you help me do that?  Wow, and I didn't think you guys could do magic at all; wrong kind of horn, nyaha!  Shows how much I know; boy have I got a lot to learn!"

[Bellosh]

 

Wh- what was happening now?

 

Lími felt weird, like he was being uplifted by a Power brighter and greater than anything that walked the earth. Were the caribou of a less enlightened mind, he'd claim to be under a pony spell... oh, but it was a pony spell. From his previous expedition in Equestria, Lími remembered how Equestrians regarded magics revolving around the forces of Friendship as the most potent form of sorcery. That had always seemed odd to the young buck, for his kin always relied on emotions like battelust and rage to fuel their strength.

 

Yet right here, right now... the truth of Friendship's magic could be denied no longer. "Woaaaah..." Lími was at a loss to describe what Chipper's magic accomplished as a result of the caribou's declaration of friendship. All the flowers around the pair sparkled with more life and joy than ever before, which was all the more remarkable for nothing was ever supposed to return from the other side with such high levels of wholesomeness. And they said necromancy was a dark art infamous for its ugliness and imperfection.

 

Granted, the humming Qalipu's Cry still sounded a tiny bit off, but perhaps no resurrection could ever leave a rerisen lifeform unchanged from before. The circle of life... just didn't work like that. Still though, it was enough to leave Lími in a state of mirthful laughter along with his guide- no, friend. "We've done it Chipper!" The caribou buck seized both of the unicorn's shoulders in unchecked happiness; "Oh, wait til my mother and my aunt and clan hear what has transpired!"

Refueled with a new purpose, Lími carefully took Chipper's blossoms into his own hooves before repositioning himself to face northward. "There is no time to waste, my friend. We still have a long road ahead of us, and I don't think the uhh... denizens of the Fells will take kindly to rekindled life in this place. We must away... ere fall of night!" Funny enough, knowing a true friend was by his side calmed Lími of his usual fears... for the moment, at least.

[Blueblood]

The joy of friendship was mutually reinforcing, like a triangular brace to weather the pressures of life and unlife.  Chipper was as overflowing with it as Limi, and was seemingly heedless of being overheard by warmblood hunters or detected by undead monstrosities.  "Wow, that's the spirit!  And you're not even a ghost yet, nyahaha!"  Dark humor aside, the unicorn's soul was shining bright as his eyes, visible even through his lowered lids.  He faced north with a fearless grin, striking out with his new best friend.

 

"Let night fall; right now, I feel like I could probably shove it back up again!"  Chipper wasn't just walking, no, he was skipping alongside the young caribou as they set off for home and hearth.  "How are your mother and aunt?  I hope they're nice as you, then I can have three friends!"  He hardly cared, at this point, whether they were or not, though; in his current mood, he would have hugged them anyway.  

 

Little did the young necromancer know, the opportunity to do so was closer now than either of them knew.  After all, they had stopped covering their tracks some time ago, and of course Sigrun would know where the Qalipu's cry grew.  Bran, too, for that matter.  Attuned and wary as they were for the ravaging undead, those still with life in them might yet escape the notice of Chipper's magical senses...

[Bellosh]

 

*SOME TIME LATER*

 

With the both of them in happy spirits, Lími and Chipper set out northward out of the Barrow Fells. In light of the cheery mood, the caribou buck was more than happy to open up about his Jarl Sigrun and Aunt Ylva. He also got in detail about Clan Askr in general: where they lived, what code they lived by, the gods they worshiped. Quite a lot of ground to cover, but it was a good way to pass the time.

 

Before they knew it, the two travelers had reached the northern limit of the mound fields. Before them lay flat open ground with not much cover around except for clusters of scattered rock pillars here and there. Over on a craggy hill to the distant northwest was another of those dilapidated fortresses that marked the borders of the downs, although this one seemed more grand and imposing than the modest abode of the undead Rat King. Lími didn't like looking that way; he remembered from his studies how that particular northwest fastness of darkness was a confirmed lair of those... who refused to die.

Enjoying Chipper's friendship a little too much, Lími had let his guard down too much. Blind he was to the likely perils that could ambush the Fellowship of the Living at any moment. Instead of maintaining situational awareness, the caribou was busy blushing over an embarrassing matter he meant not to discuss, but let it slip from his tongue anyway.....

[Pretzelparty]

Not too terribly far ahead there was a cow pulling herself forward in the snow, wincing in pain with each step of her left foreleg. Perhaps this was fated retribution for an underhoofed tactic against an opponent earlier? It wouldn't surprise her if it was. The injury even occurred just after she and the Red Jarl had their great battle against a horde of the undead. One of the larger ones managing to catch her limb and make a loud cracking noise. Even with her injury, Brann and she were still victorious. 

 

SIgrun's cloak still held to her body, along with her bundle of weapons. Her determination to reach the end and greet Limi at the forefront of her mind as she trudged forth despite the pain."Not much farther." She muttered to herself, "Soon I can greet him at the gates..."

[Blueblood]

This feeling of comradeship along a journey on the open road.... this feeling of never anymore being quite alone... this strange thing called friendship...  As far as Chipper Demise was concerned, it was freaking awesome!  His world had been so small before, and him yet smaller in it; battling the land, and such undead as were not in his thrall for survival.  But now Limi was in it!  And that made his world so much better, so much bigger!  There was a Clan Askr in it now, and a mother and auntie!  The unicorn didn't know why he felt both happy and pained to hear about both of them from his friend.  Maybe, maybe he was missing the family he never had.

 

But, that was for another time.  Right now, Limi had just mentioned a certain little Qilin mare that seemed to have caught his affections.  "Wow, so you just, like, stayed there?  To pen a poem about flowers?  Again, with the flowers, I guess they must really grow on these warrior caribou types, nyahahaha!  So, d'ya think you'll ever see her again?  In this life, I mean.  If not, I could help with that!"  If Chipper had known exactly what nightmares plagued the young caribou in his journey, he might not have mentioned the subject.

 

A rough cawing sound brought the necromancer's attention out of the conversation, to be greeted by one of his returning crows, at last!  "Well, so much for birds of a feather flocking together, nyaha!  What's up, straggly-wing?  Not just you, I mean!  Nyahaha!"  An even rougher series of caws followed as the black bird perched on Chipper's shoulder.  "Naw, really?  Hey, Limi!  One of the warmbloods chasing us back there's catching up!  Seems they're bleeding, though; might attract a couple of unwanted visitors, expecting hosts to provide a meal, nyaha!"

[Bellosh]

 

"CHIPPER!" Apparently, affirming a bond of friendship with Chipper Demise would not prevent the macabre parts of his personality from escaping out into the world and frustrating Lími even further. "Lián Mei is very much alive! And even if she wasn't, I- I..." The caribou buck involuntarily shuddered and sighed; "See Chipper; when we reach civilized lands, you MUST remember not to go around speaking morbid thoughts to others." Naturally, Lími didn't think he needed to provide further explanation that caribou didn't want to feel sickened and repulsed by deathly obscenity.

 

It was almost weird on Lími's part to feel joy at the reunion with one of Chipper's crows, but as it was oft said in Whitescar, dark wings bring dark news. Hearing they were still being pursued chilled the young buck's bones... but there was more to consider. Knowing of the hunter's injuries, Lími grappled with the situation before him. If he and his necromancer friend started picking up their pace, they'd surely outrun their pursuer. And yet... did Lími really have the heart to abandon someone to their demise?

 

...What if it was Brann who had been injured? Despite all the evil he's sowed, he would always be Lími's brother. If Brann's injuries weren't properly taken care of, would he still be able to stand against the power of the Wights? What were those pale lords of the Fells up to?

 

The indecisive caribou froze where he stood. In spite of his self-preservation instincts, Lími's innate compassion was taking hold in heart. "You might think me crazy... but I think we need to turn back and help tend to our pursuer's wounds." All of the Living are supposed to be on the same side, are they not?

 

[Blueblood]

It was one of the quirks of Chipper Demise's nature that he hardly knew the meaning of the word 'morbid.'  Sure, he was familiar enough with death, pain, and dark necromancy, but it wasn't as if he felt that those subjects were depressing.  I mean, sheesh, if he got nauseous every time he saw a corpse, he'd never get to eat!  "Well, alright then.  But if you ever change your mind, I'll lend a helping horn to anyone you like!"

 

As it would turn out, Limi would take the necromancer up on that offer pretty much immediately.  "Crazy?  Nyahahaha!  Of course you are!  You'd have to be pretty crazy, all things considered, to march into the maw of death to fetch a flower.  But hey!  That's one of the reasons we're friends, after all!  I'm sure you do the same for me.  Welp, Tally-Ho, Corvo!  We're turning around to help our new friend!"  The crow he addressed so cheerily croaked in a contrastingly gloomy manner.  There was little love lost between the blackbird and the pursuing caribou cow; Sigrun had taken a swipe at him back during the chase through the woods, and clipped his tailfeathers.

[Pretzelparty]

Sigrun's continuious trudge... continued against the snow was growing more and more taxing. Limping through the wastes with a broken leg and keeping her eyes dead center on her goal was growing more and more exhausting, but she couldn't let herself get caught: Not by Limi, the Jarl, or the undead and monsters that stalked these horrid lands. She needed to get home and congratulate Limi even if it would take her last living breath to do so! Even with her intervention in the events, she had not helped him capture the flower or kept him from going through any trials there that were foreign to this area: such as his brother's abduction attempt.

 

It was getting colder, and all around her the only sound she could hear was just the hushed sounds of her hoof meeting the snow. The brown pillars that were the despoiled trees spread out in all directions around her. All the fighting she had done earlier drained Sigrun of a great deal of vigor, and the injury she'd sustained was making it harder and hard to keep going. Her eyes were growing heavy with each step of the way as the fatigue set in. She would make this trip... 

 

She would see Limi again...

 

She would greet him with an embrace at the end of this taxing trial...

 

*thump*

 

Or would she? 

 

The cow had fallen, her cloak draped over body as she lay huffing in the snow. She hardly had the strength to move, yet she tried to pull herself farther until finally she had passed out from the exertion.

[Bellosh]

 

It was Lími who first noticed the passed-out body lying on the cold ground and pointed it out to his companion; "Look!" From several meters away, the young buck made out the large caribou's form. While it was hard to pinpoint small details from that long range, Lími could see from the clothes that it wasn't Brann who lay injured. Still... it didn't remove that sinking feeling in the lad's heart.

 

"You there!" Lími cried out as he and Chipper drew closer; "How bad are you injured?" Exchanging a concerned glance with his unicorn partner, the adventuring buck crept closer. Even though the fallen caribou wasn't Brann, that ominous feeling of familiarity only grew worse and worse until...

 

!!!

 

It couldn't be!

 

Up close, there was no mistaking the antlers and hair for anyone else other than... "MOTHER!!!!!" In a state of deep shock, Lími furiously shookJarl Sigrun's body; "W-w-w-what are you... d-d-doing here?"

[Blueblood]

Chipper had followed his friend readily enough, an expression of mild interest affixed upon his face.  Upon realizing that, seemingly by some strange cosmic coincidence, one of the great figures that Limi had been talking about was the very same caribou that had followed them all this time... well, he just found it funny.  Like most of life, really.  "Nyahahah!  Well, not much, from the looks of things.  And probably not anything else ever if we don't act quick!"

 

And with that cheery prognosis, the necromancer began to poke and prod the prone cow, occasionally waving away his corvine companion from pecking at Sigrun's eyeballs.  "Well, good news is, she's not dead!  Which is especially good, since I've never been able to bring back something this large anyway.  But this, this I can work with!  Just need, hm, some of that moss over there, and, no I guess you don't have any live mice or fresh eggs... well, can do without those, but that would have made it easier.  Well, what are you waiting for, the funeral?  Chop chop!  I've got rituals of healing to prepare!"

[SteelEagle]

The breath came in hot, steaming the air around the Red Jarl as he inched his way across the landscape. His blood boiled and the fire that had sunk airships and sent his foes screaming had become a smoldering, blasted thing in his heart. His anger was not driven by the pain of defeat, as much as it had stung. All warriors would know defeat someday. There was no shame there. Nor was it by the weakness and ill-ways of his brother. He was a victim of the teachings of the pathetic royalty of Whitescar, an Equestrian in all but name and physique. A prisoner of the worst kind- he was not to blame for the Jarl's anger. Even that necromancer was blameless. He was a foul beast of unquestionable evil, to be sure, but he was not to blame for his existence. Just as the dread wolf acts upon its nature when it stalks and eats newborn calf, so goes the way of all living things.

His anger was directed at that cow who had acted so dishonorably. Time and time again he thought the so-called loyalists could sink no further in their joyful desecration of the ways of their ancestors, that new lows were impossible. And, every time, he was shocked to find himself far too liberal a judge of character. Sigrun had fallen from such heights of courage and honor as to resort to poisoning him in an effort to get the undead denizens of the Wilds to end the Red Jarl. No real caribou warrior, let alone with aspirations and dreams such that Sigrun claimed, would have done such a deed. It was the way of the assassin and the coward who skulked, cowered, and struck the back of the brave and great. She was no warrior. She was hardly even worthy of being called caribou.

It was this incessant rage which drove him forward against the undead as they had attacked him. He was not the warrior he could be or should be, but they weren't who they should be or could be either. It had taken a little longer than he'd like to admit but the time came when he put them all down one by one. He had then immediately started to follow the trio, though his pace was slowed greatly. But he came all the same, relentless and steady, driven through the blinding numbness of the poison by the desire for revenge. Long past the point when most would have fallen unconscious through the elements and the poison, he persisted. He would not be felled by this treachery against all things decent and worthwhile.

So he followed. Once in a while he would annihilate a creature that tried to attack him. Slowly but surely the poison started to pass through him. The numbing cold and biting winds of the land didn't ever stop, but they were warm, comforting motions compared to the unrelenting, unbelieving rage which consumed him. Only the distance he traveled in this way allowed his discipline to return. There would be revenge, yes. There would be a redemption for Limi, yes. Even tat foul creature that assisted his brother in its own sick way would learn his fate. But he need not rush headlong, especially when he knew what powers of perception the necromancer had and how corrupt Sigrun's warrior spirit had become.

So as he approached the edges of Chipper's perception through those birds of his, he did not skulk in the shadows. He did not leap from bush to bush, nor move cautiously. He stomped straight towards his target, war axe and shield ready, unwilling to allow for a Sigrun ambush. There would be no subtlety now, only the clashing of steel and the felling of true beasts.

[Bellosh]

 

Distressed over the sight of his fallen foster mother, Lími was not in the frame of mind to chide Chipper for his laughter or that crow or his for wanting a taste of caribou. Instead, the young buck concentrated on scrambling to collect moss as instructed. Those fuzzy plants Lími knew to be an ingredient sometimes used by Aunt Ylva, so there had no reason in his mind to question their use. Even if the opposite had been true, the fluffy nervous wreck would agree to anything that'd save Jarl Sigrun without his usual deliberative indecision.

 

So set the frantic caribou was on scooping up moss and bringing it to Chipper that he paid no mind to the crow, incessantly cawing in the direction of a rapidly approaching warrior.....

[Blueblood]

Chipper's smile was no longer showing any teeth.  Oh, he still hummed cheerily, but his lips were sealed in a thin line of concentration.  He skittered about around Sigrun, carving out runes in the snow, uttering little chants under his breath to make them glow purple.  Every once in a while, he would pause to receive the moss from Limi, his only acknowledgement being a nod.

 

Soon, the circle was ready, but before he could begin casting, a pair of crows began cawing, croaking, and kicking up a storm.  "Oh, Darn it!  Another warmblood intruder.  Hey, Limi, could you do me a favor and keep him from trying to interrupt me?  Thanks.  I'll send a couple of corvies with you, peck at his eyes, nyahah!"  With that injunction, he dove right into the magic.  Normally, such magic as he would cast would be dark purple, a necromatic color.  This time, however, it was a lighter shade, closer to lavender.  It was magic of a different kind, changed both by his purpose, and by his new-found friendship.  The runes glowed with light, surging energy into Sigrun's body, glowing brighter and brighter, until the spell finished in a flash!

 

"Nyaha-chack, glgl..."  The unicorn's celebratory laugh was cut short by a sudden fit of coughing, which filled his mouth with the taste of copper, and dripped red from the corners of his mouth.  That had taken a lot out of him, and as the full impact of how much he'd drained himself came home to roost, his knees buckled under his weight as Chipper tipped over into a snowdrift...

[Bellosh]

 

No no no no no; this was not happening!

 

THIS WAS NOT HAPPENING!!!

 

As if things couldn't possibly get any worse, Lími ended up tasked with keeping another warmblood- living creature at bay. Indeed, the intruder was no other than a battered "BRANN!!!" Not good news, not good news! "Wait! Don't get any clos- ARRGH!" Two black avians swooped overhead past the young buck at that precise moment; hungry crows on a flight trajectory towards a caribou warrior slowly succumbing to a toxic bane. No feathered scavenger could resist such a potential large meal.

 

Noticing ailing coughing, Lími peeked behind him just in time to witness Chipper fainting from whatever ritual he had been doing. To use a contemporary expression from the Equestrian Maneland, things... were pretty bucked up. "Odýrr," the wide-eyed caribou had completely given himself to fear, things being too far gone out of control; "OdýrrOdýrrOdýrrOdýrrOdýrrOdýrr..."

 

Other than those two crows, Lími was the only thing standing between the wrathful Red Jarl and everything the adolescent lad held dear.....

[SteelEagle]

There was no real clearing to speak of, yet the world had presented the Jarl with an image obscene in its ruination of all proper values while also satiating him in deeply personal ways. Sigrun lay fallen, her body pulsing with strange magics. He could only surmise that she was dead and that infernal necromancer was trying to revive her. He had seen the dead rise before; this was no different. A fate most fitting for her. Let her bond to this mortal realm be shackled by rotting flesh under a necromancer's command. Due punishment for a caribou who would stoop to poison and thought so little of their ways. Any pity had been choked by rage, rage which had turned into extreme satisfaction upon seeing her. A small part of him mourned what may have been, but the larger part of him cheered on the ending of a foe, even if the celebration was lesser as she had not fallen in battle against him.

The necromancer lay comatose by her side. He was a small one; the act likely drained him. A great opportunity to kill two vile birds with one swift movement of an axe. It was rare to have such an opportunity to end a necromancer so easily. Generally you had to fight through hordes of minions and defenses. But here- here? He was laying there, his own blood spilling from his mouth and melting the snow with its ugly heat. The only thing that would stay his axe was that he was utterly defenseless and a little one. Yes, yes, strike down the elders for their defenses were legion no matter how you reached them, but a child deserved at least the ability to forsake their ways before being sent into the endless snow beyond the veil of mortality. No matter though, for his defenses weren't as broken as the Jarl was led to believe.

The two damnable crows charged and tried to peck his eyes, their impeccable timing speaking to their otherwordly nature. When they came close and at high speed he looked down quickly, the crows breaking themselves against his skull as he managed to headbutt them while continuing his measured, implacable advance. They fell to the earth, heads spinning and beaks damaged as they twitched in place. They would eventually take off again. He didn't know if they would come in for another strike, nor was he much concerned. They were simple distractions, unnatural abominations that were worthless in all ways. They couldn't hurt him anymore that a gnat could gnaw away at the world serpent. He continued his advance, stopping in front of his brother.

Silence.
“...Who are you, Limi,” He asked, his voice breaking with emotion- sadness and anger, hate and pity, “that you would so willingly consort with the vile and debase yourself?! Millions of our kind have traversed this land without needing to sink so...low. Why couldn't you?”

He huffed in anger.

“Sigrun, the others- they lie to you, they mock you by making you their little pet. This necromancer- he destroys your soul by your agreement with his every unnatural act! Do not allow them to do this to you, brother,” he said before stepping away, fishing through his belongings for something.

After a minute, he tossed a shield at his brother. It skipped towards him. What followed was an axe, thrown against a tree with such force as to cause an audible thunk.

“Pick them up. If you're willing to fight for them, then fight for them,” the Jarl whispered above the storm. He was unarmed, putting his own war axe away. “But if you're willing to fight for them, brother, then be prepared to suffer for them.”

[Bellosh]

 

The Odýrrs from Lími came to a halt as the ominous shadow of his enormous half-brother loomed over him. The young buck wanted so badly to defend Chipper Demise's honor, but no words dared to venture from his mouth to oppose Brann. The furious Red Jarl pressed his verbal assault, and again Lími knew what he had to do in order to mount a defense, but still he was too scared to speak up.

 

An eternity of anxiety came to a head with an ultimatum of shield and axe. Brann's demand — to take up arms and fight — flabbergasted Lími down to his very core. Brother... against brother? What chance did a lore-reading weakling like Lími have against a seasoned warrior like his elder brother? Even if by some miracle the adolescent lad could hold his own... how could he then bring himself to cast aside his inhibitions and bring hurt to his own family?

 

Lími scrambled to find any excuse to make Brann come to his senses. "B-b-b-brother," he squirmed as he made eye contact with his bigger brother, pleading as a mouse pleaded to a hungry cat; "This... t-this is MADNESS! The undead... they may come for us at any time, and here y-y-you... you speak of... of trials by combat! S-s-since when has this... this accursed realm of Death b-become a... battleground for the Living to fight one another?"

 

Deep in hysteria and feeling the bite of the cold winds that were steadily picking up, the adopted Son of Sigrun thought of what little else may convince the Red Jarl to call off the duel. "What about- what about our m-m-m-m-mother?" Yes, Lími had just invoked the memory of their shared mother, of whom the buck remembered precious little before her untimely passing. "Would she want us to... f-f-fight as enemies?"

[SteelEagle]

The mewling from his brother was offensive in its weakness. He knew so little about his own culture, his mind stuffed to the brim with such nonsense as harmony and peace. It was tragic to see a calf led so far astray. A young life let down by his clan superiors, all because they themselves grew weaker by the day. They dishonored traditions and broke the back of the future of the caribou with every traitorous treaty, every sickening kowtow to foreigners. Limi never had a chance, really. The Red Jarl should have taken Limi with him when he fled his insidious clan and their vile ways. He would be a real caribou now. Strong and courageous. Wise and vicious. Respected and feared. Instead he had all the mettle of a newborn not yet molded by the Whitescar that ran across the world and the soul alike. Tragic, yes. Too late perhaps. But if he was to be a weakling, may he instead be burdened in his soul with truthful words and painful realization, and at the very least grow strong spiritually where he was so weak physically. That was something, at least.

“You know nothing of this land. We grew strong from this land and from the fighting. We conquered a natural world only we are fit to hold! Then when we conquered this land, we found only one another to challenge us. For every axe thrown, every stroke of blade, every shattered shield, we grew stronger. Trial by combat in the Southern Wilds? I could only dream of such a chance to prove myself. Let the dead surround us in their multitudes if they must, brother, and let them drool at the dropping of blood. My blood will remain boiling; if you are worthy of your name and worthy of this land, so will yours,” he said, walking around his brother with his weapons on his sides, bored in stature but piercing with his gaze. The subject of their mother came up, and Limi- Limi knew little.

“Our mother raided coasts and shattered the walls of many towns. Our mother watched as those she defeated gave gold and sustenance for our clan to prosper. She called out for the destruction of those who degraded our culture. She watched her own sister get set adrift into the oceans to the north with a raft and some food, exiled forever- and cut the rope herself. Our mother was a caribou of the old ways, and would rather see one of us join her in the golden beyond than debase ourselves any further. She would want you to pick that axe up and swing it, to defend what you hold dear,” He responded quickly, marching up closer to his brother. “She would hate to see you stammer and beg for anything else other than combat.”

 

He shook his head and brushed past his younger brother, towards his incapacitated friend and the traitor cow. “But perhaps, Limi, you do not care about anybou or anything other than yourself.” He brought his weapons to bare as he stood over Sigrun. “A caribou who won't fight for anything or any cause is beneath our mother's memories, and even beneath Sigrun's.”

“It will be a mercy for her to not see you this way.”

[Bellosh]

 

Brann didn't seem too keen on Lími's appeal to worry more about the Undead than on their own differences. Indeed, it began to appear to the beleaguered adolescent that fighting was literally the only thing his elder brother lived for.And the only thing the Red Jarl respected was strength.

 

Appealing to the memory of a birth mother Lími hardly knew also proved to be a blunderous decision. It turned out Brann and their mother were two peas in a pod; both of them champions of the old ways. As difficult as it already was for Lími to disown his half-brother for his vile deeds, learning that their shared mother would think nothing of exiling a loved one for their inadequacies only only heightened the lad's sense that he never would be accepted as one of the Viking Caribou.

 

To not be even worthy of Sigrun's memory.....

 

"S-STAY YOUR HOOF!" With a great dash, Lími leaped in between Sigrun and an increasingly aggressive Brann. With his options rapidly running out, the frazzled young buck nervously glanced at the Red Jarl's fearsome axe. "Is there no other way to settle this, brother? We both know I stand no chance against you!" Tears started to form in Lími's eyes; "I beg you, Brann! Spare Sigrun and my friend, and I'll do anything you ask of me..."

[Pretzelparty]

Words were being spoken, that was all she could tell. The cow's mind flickering in and out of consciousness. The voices were familiar. Limi's voice was among them, he sounded panicked. The other voice, she knew it well. Brann was here and he could very well take Limi if he wanted to. The only sign of her being awake was her ears faintly twitching at the source of the argument. Given her exhaustion and the pain dulling her sense it sounded muffled and she could only made out the simplest of words. Words that were familiar to her kin: Conquer, blood, land, combat, mother, ... brother.

 

The word before the last stoked some flame within her. Snow shifted in front of cloven hooves as weight was moved. Barely heard grunts escaping her as she moved and tried to stand up as best she could. But she could not. The weight of her son up against her side made her wince as she put pressure on her broken foreleg. A gasp of pain showing those around she was still alive. Her eyes slowly opened, the gaze of a normally sharp and wary cow now hazy and unfocused. The exhaustion and cold sapping her strength, "I cannot... let you taint your brother's test Brann." She managed to choke out, "Am in no position to make a request... I would only ask you let, Limi decide his path. Take my life if it will quel your anger, but do not steal your brother's. "  

 

Whatever choice Brann made, before he acted upon it, Sigrun would give a very tired smile to Limi. She had little energy left to spare.There were so many things she wished she could tell him. So many feelings she wished to clarify since he'd been taken into her clan, but her lungs would not grant her the breath to speak them. She wasn't sure how much longer she had before her life was extinguished so she said six words that summed up how she felt about her time with Limi and whispered them to his ear in ragged breath. 

 

Spoiler

"Your Mom is proud of you."

 

Now she could only hope the significance of her exact choice of words would not escape him and looked to the axe wielding warrior looming above Limi and her. Sigrun kept her eyes locked with Brann's as long as she could. She couldn't speak it, but in the end she was sure one day she would see this bull again, no matter what happened on this snow ridden day.

 

 

 

[SteelEagle]

It was starting to dawn on the Red Jarl just how far the loyalists must have fallen if they were so base and vile as to not teach the young what there was to fight for. Even with his adoptive mother at the end of his warmaking, with his new friend unconscious and at his mercy, he wouldn't take up arms. Did his love for others pale in comparison to the love he had for himself? Was his honor and courage so pathetic and his love of life so deep that he would honestly sacrifice others so he may continue to live? It was said all of life was a test. This, too, was a test. The Jarl would never kill his brother when he was so weak and small, but he couldn't say that. A true caribou fights for what he loves and considers honor and bravery to be ideals above life itself. It was worthy to die for love or honor. It was unworthy to live without, and detestable to live while sacrificing them. Even the basest, most vile caribou understood that. If this was the sort of youth the loyalists promoted, then all the rebels had to do was what out the elders, because the young blood of the caribou ran cold and small.

It wasn't Limi's fault. The loyalists were showing themselves to be patently incapable of raising young. Here they had good, honest blood, the same blood that ran in the Jarl's bold body. A proud and devastating bloodline. Strong caribou. Good caribou. Not only were they perverting the old ways in horrifying and egregious ways, but they seemed to lack the ability to get their young up to snuff. Even Equestrians were better than this! He had seen the bravery of the average pony during the Raid on the Crystal Empire. They would not so meekly wave away their honor, so cowardly accept their shame while hiding behind tears and sorrowful, begging words. The fact that the loyalists couldn't even do what the ponies could do- instill bravery in even the meekest of bodies- was a testament to a weakness in their soul, a rot, a terrifying vision of a futile future in a harsh land. The Jarl would not allow this to stand without challenge. If Limi wanted a way out of engaging in honest combat and was supplicating his brother, then the Jarl would honor his request.

Limi would hate him for it. His love and acceptance wasn't really required, just his obedience and ability to learn. The Jarl, stone-faced still, slowly removed himself from Sigrun's frame and looked at his brother. A few moments of silence between them, the only sounds were that of the undead howls on the wind and the whipping wind as it started to pick up. “Have they truly instilled in you a love of life beyond any concern of honor? Of bravery? Is there nothing you would give your life for?” He shook his head. Then one leg flew out to grab Limi, who was lifted in the air effortlessly. “This is not who you are, or what you should be. You ask what you can do to save them?” A moment. “Come with me. I do not ask you to join the True Clans of the Whitescar. I do not ask for you to raise axe and blade against those who raise you. But come Hel or high tide,” he pulled his brother in close, “I will make a buck out of you.”

He dropped his brother.
“Go to the shores of the broken coast, next to the holdings of Clan Raekar. I will come for you at the third passing of the moon when the season of the direfrost is upon the land. This is the price for the survival of Sigrun. This is the price for the survival of that necromancer. I will assume that you, at the very least, will show honor in this. Tell them what you must- tell them the truth and still follow through if you believe they know something of the old honors. Goodbye, brother. We will meet again soon,” he said, picking up all of his items.

As he started to pack up, Sigrun awoke, barely. She was weak enough to be a non-combatant still, and she showed the elements of honor and bravery that she was instilled with by her experience and by the honorable parents she once held so dear. Before, of course, discarding everything they stood for, the crime of all loyalist scum. She met his eyes and he smiled. “If only your bravery and honor could have been taught to my brother, you broken cur. Wallow now in your injuries and be aware of your previous failure to harm me. It is only by my generosity and honor that you will continue to draw breath. Know that, for the rest of your days, no matter whom you love and what you do, everything you do and every moment of joy you experience is because of the Red Jarl and the Red Jarl alone. See you on the field, Sigrun,” he replied to her broken words dismissively, continuing to pack up. She would suffer a thousand pains to the soul before it was all over, and only when she submitted to the proper order of things would she be granted peace or oblivion, in whatever manner suited her best.

Slowly but surely he put everything away, eventually re-arming himself entirely. Without another word he trundled off into the misty, whipping land, his heavy hoofsteps clearly marking where he had come being the only remains of his visit.
 

[Bellosh]

 

 

So then... a later rendezvous with Brann was the price Lími would have to pay to save Sigrun and Chipper. It wasn't like the young buck had much of a choice, what with the dictating and the lifting up in the air by his older brother. Obviously, Lími dreaded the prospect of going through the agony that would be warrior training, but a promise was a promise. If there was one moral the Son of Askr kept dear in his heart, it was to never go back on one's word. In these hostile lands, honor meant everything.

 

Right as the Red Jarl finished issuing his terms, Jarl Sigrun awoke at last! Sensing the cow's pain, Lími backed off to relieve the pressure his body put on the other's side. Too weak to stand on her legs, the cow nonetheless made a plea for Brann to stop interfering with his half-brother's life. She whispered something to Lími as well; a message which baffled the adolescent at first. Had not Brann explained in detail how their shared mother would have shunned the younger son for his lack of martial bravery?

 

It took several seconds for Lími to realize what Sigrun truly meant. By then, the Red Jarl was already making his exit after displaying his contempt for the New Ways. Sensing that Brann would leave them in peace for now, Lími made a beeline back to his guardian, clutching her tightly by the cow's neck and burying his tear-coated face in her fur. No words were spoken, but both understood the fundamental truth: no matter whose womb Lími came out of, it was Sigrun who had raised the boy until he had come of age at last. Sigrun... would always be Lími's true mother.

 

Lími looked up for a brief tear-filled last look at Brann as he disappeared into the forest, crying softly; "Fare well... brother." The howling wind dissipated those last words before they reached Brann's ears, but it mattered not. One day, brother and brother would face one another again. It was their destiny.....

[Blueblood]

"Awk!  Awk!"

 

The birds had not been idle, during this meeting of brother and brother.  They had not interfered, however, as other matters consumed the contents of their corvid craniums.  One they counted as their own had fallen, and crows from east and west, north and south were gathering around the fallen Chipper Demise.  They hunched over, like black-clad mourners at a funeral, shuffling their legs, rustling their feathers, uttering heartfelt croaks on occasion. 

 

One of the younger, bolder birds dared approach the unicorn, paying his respects in the form of a hard peck to the face.  "Oww...."  A faint moan was provoked, starting the crowd of crows to flutter back a yard.  "I still need that eye, heh... heh.... hack!"  Flecks of dark copper sprinkled the ground, as Chipper coughed through his hoarse laughter, blinking a teary-eyed gaze into the light.  "Did... it work?  Hate to have... hurt for nothing.  Of corpse, it's impolite to die on your doctor, nya...ha!"

[Pretzelparty]

 

The very tired cow couldn't muster up any words to respond to Brann's stinging comments. Her body was too winded, her legs too sore... the only response she could manage was a deep breath and an angered snort that seemed to produce small ribbons of steam from her nostrils. After she had done so she would Sigrunblushed beneath her thick coat and rested her chin the crown of her son's head, a tired smile coming to muzzle while the young bull cried into the fluff of her neck. Her injuries still ached but the feeling of warmth from her son gave her comfort. 

 

Sigrun pulled up one of her forelegs to wrap it around Limi's side, a sniffle heard above his head as his mother cried softly above him. While she couldn't say it now, she could honestly say she was so relieved he had stayed. Throughout all of this she had been scared that, Limi might shun her for daring to help him in this test so that it might go smoothly. To have this resolution occur, was bringing tears to even the chieftain's eyes. Another sniffle later and she would hug her son weakly to her after he said his goodbyes to Brann... even now she felt somewhat jealous she couldn't say such a thing to him.

 

Many moments passed, silence among the snow broken by cawing of crows above. She smiled, relieved to see Limi's friend getting back up... although he was clearly injured and bleeding. What little strength she had in her hoofs was soon beginning to be put in use as Sigrun drug a cloven tip through the snow. Runic letters were formed in crude sentence structure. 

 

We... Go ... home ... All.

 

She tried to gesture to chipper, a subtle, wordless command to come back home with them.