Southeastern Seashore

Njal took too many trips to this beach.

As a Jarl, every movement one makes carries weight. You could hardly take a trip behind a bush without it sending a shiver down someone's spine. So whenever the old Jarl requested time alone to meditate, naturally some of the younger folk's gazes would follow in wonder. Just what deep wisdom and esoteric thoughts would the sunset imbue upon the old man's bones?

"Blech. No place to sit down here, and my feet are hurting." Njal looked around for a boulder, a washed-up log, a dead whale, anything he could sit down on. But this beach was too perfect.

He squinted his eyes. Oh wait, there was a rock over there. But it looked so craggy, and wet, and it was way over there, and not where he was. Damn it. Oh well, it couldn't be helped. He sighed and started walking towards it.

If the world was the body of a deceased giant, and there were other giants among the stars, could it be that the sky was just a great graveyard? What was the sun, really? Was it a campfire for giants? Or a massive funeral pyre?

Bizarre though they were, such thoughts brought Njal comfort as he approached the end of his life. The universality of death, of new life, of warmth among a sea of ice, these things brought order to the cosmos, in his mind at least. But Njal kept these musings to himself, since he had no doubt the others would associate his ruminations of death with the fact that he was becoming a doddering old man.

As he sat down the rock, he concluded it was more comfortable than it looked.

He wanted to sing, but he didn't want to attract unwanted attention. He hated himself for thinking that. A true wise old man wouldn't give a dead starfish what anyone else thought of him. But if anything his age had made him less confident and more insecure. What twisted logic was that anyways? How foolish. No, no he would do the opposite. He would speak up more, not less. He would clap and laugh and shout. He'd waggle his finger and tell people to listen to their elders. Yes, that was what he'd do.

"I'm not in Valhala yet, damn it."

He sighed again. Age inevitably brought certain kinds of wisdom with it no matter how immature one's heart was, like knowledge of the longing of old friends gone by.

"Eh, screw it."

He began to sing. He sang loudly, loud enough for the whole length of the beach to hear him. He sang of sunsets and funeral pyres, and how youth was wasted on the young. He sang of beautiful maidens with crass senses of humor, and of baby sea lions catching their first fish. He was a doddering old fool, and he didn't care.

As time went by, he felt a few runes form in his mind. He made sure to write them down before it was too dark to see. He thanked the landvaettir for their blessings. Funny thing was, he hadn't even been looking for a chant. It just came to him, piece by piece. He estimated it was about halfway done. He knew deep down inside he wasn't as talented as the other runelords, like Hoegr Rakki. But he did feel like he'd accomplished something. Landvaettir didn't give out their secrets out of pity for old men, after all.

As he sat back up, his back creaked. He stretched and groaned. Stupid rock.

You know what? I'd take a pity chant. I deserve a little compassion from the spirits, damn it. He chuckled as he made his way back to the village, like the obnoxious old man he was proud to be.

Her silence meant that, from his perspective, the woman had just materialized as he got off his rock. Now, by what providence had another singing creature of high stature appeared by his side?

"And a beautiful one at that." He said under his breath. But he shook his head. No no no. He was no longer a spring chicken. And besides, he'd lived a long life and had his fun. Better to leave the Usqueans to the younger men of his tribe. No, this meeting was clearly intended by the spirits to be something else.

One thing that fascinated Njal about the Usqueans was their love of song. It wasn't as boisterous or rooted in oration and history as that of the Eygor Mjok, but rather it was something subtle. Nearly every Usquean woman he had the pleasure of befriending had a habit of humming like this. The Usqueans had readily joined their forest procession not long ago as well, which lead to the creation of that sacred forest of theirs. However, he had not seen them initiate such an encounter. Their fondness of music was, like many things of women, a soft, gentle mystery.

But perhaps the spirits intended for Njal to learn something of it.

So, rather than spring his presence upon her, or even leave her alone, he decided to approach just a bit to make sure he was within earshot, and then stop. Then, pretending he hadn't actually seen her yet, he began singing again.

The words were not of the common tongue, but rather an ancient one unique to the Eygor Mjok. It started low, and climbed up, and went back down again, like waves. It was an inquisitive chant. And of course, it was loud and forceful. The old man had quite a set of lungs on him still. Not that Neris would understand it, but Njal was asking the ocean what plagued it, why was it wrathful some days and calm the next. He was asking the ocean if had scars which would not heal, which made it lash out at the land and sky spirits.

He knew of course that Neris would hear him, and when he had her attention, he would only give her a friendly smirk, and say nothing, only pausing enough to invite her to contribute to the sounds of the beach, if she wanted to of course.

Jarl Njal was about to comment on what a beautiful smile she had (stop it) when the woman was abruptly dragged into the depths.

He groaned and rushed over to the woman. "Oh blast I'm... too old to be rescuing maidens from sea monsters." He arrived just in time to see her breach the water safely, and he was able to get a glimpse of the culprit too. A fish, perhaps an eel of some kind, was not exactly a foe worthy of song.

He chuckled and, if allowed, would gently take the priestess' hands to steady her footing and pull her out of the water a few steps. "Are you alright oh wise and mighty Usquean?"

Then he'd pick up the nearest rock and toss it at the fish. "Get back ye foul demon of the depths. With all my valor I shall defeat ye." He picked up another rock and tossed it.

"No trouble at all fair maiden." Njal proclaimed in a playfully affected manner as they returned to a suitable resting spot away from the sea monster. "Whether it be the top of a sorcerer's tower or the clutches of the brine, the ending is surely written in stone."

He somewhat deliberately stared off into the sunset, unable to contain an amused smirk as Neris unencumbered herself. The Usqueans were truly a lovely people. Once again he reminded himself that he was too old to be gallivanting with beautiful maidens. The more conservative of his tribe would deride him to no end, while the childish teenage boys would joke incessantly. And as much as he hated to admit it, he needed to set an example for his brethren.

This was just a coincidental meeting between two high ranking members of two allied tribes, nothing more.

"I think, a village would spoil the beauty of this place." He smiled. Then he tilted his head slightly to her and added, "Though, as long as the Usqueans continue to bless this land, there will be no shortage of beauty to go around."

Did I really just say that? Oy vey.

He shook his head, a barely audible "bah" escaping his breath. "If you don't mine me asking, is it really so safe for the high priestess of our resident fae sisters to wander fancifully in this beautiful wretched land? Or did the young ones send you to spy on me?"

"Oh." He gave a sly grin. He didn't know Usquean women swung that way.

"If it does rain, I can certainly keep us warm. Let us find a good spot to prance and twirl."

Njal felt a bit unwise taking the high priestess up on her offer. However, he figured he could easily justify it as being essential to maintain positive diplomatic relations with the Usquean rulers. And once did not get to dance with a high priestess every lifetime.

Perhaps counter-intuitively, the best place to stand in the rain near the beach was away from the tall trees, to avoid being struck by lightning. He sought out such a spot where the sand wasn't too lose and there weren't too many depressions in the sand.

"You know High Priestess, the sea is not so different from the forest, when you learn its secrets. Beneath the waves can lie fields of grasses and strange vines, among which colorful fish hide like the birds in the leaves. The trials and tribulations of the things of the sea are often similar to what the denizens of the forest oft endure. And beyond that, many of our kind have observed that life is drawn to life. Where there are great forests and routes of rivers to the sea, often life spills over beyond the shore. The otters play among the water-logged roots. The graves of fish feed the trees. And the water grows rich with moss in late summer."

"I agree," Njal said as he began gathering firewood. He seemed to spot suitable pieces very easily. Neris might notice him whispering something under his breath as he move about in between speaking with her.

"Nothing is pointless. The barest generosity one may reliably impart on an event, is that it was to be witnessed by our eyes. And that gives it meaning."

No seriously, the man was gathering firewood at the rate of four men. It seemed every time he reached down to pick up a branch, or beach wood, or a log, it either dragged more pieces with it or seemed to weigh nothing in his hands.

He picked up on the herbs and spices, and for the third or forth time reminded himself that he too old for such thoughts as he was beginning to entertain. He then humorously wondered if the way Usqueans perfumed themselves translated to their cooking ability. The herbs she used to scent herself might always work really well for a chicken recipe he had in mind.

If I ever call her a chicken, she will probably slay me.

As the wind picked up and the waters churned, their rapidly forming hill of wood stood defiantly. Once it was large enough and he had added some dried grass for kindling (where had he found it?!), he flicked his wrist, and a bit of flint flew into his palm. Then he snapped his fingers, and sparks flew from his hand onto the pile of wood. And it erupted!

"Not magic, just a little trick to impress children." He held up the fire starter in his palm proudly to Priestess Neris.

What he said was only half true. A completely mundane human could not have assembled a bonfire like that in just a few minutes. Again, he was far from the strongest runelord. But his age had taught him some subtlety in his craft, a skill which came in handy more often than the youth would ever appreciate.

"Shall we dance then?" He grinned.