Olaf
Season of the Phoenix - 1304 AE

He ran, barely clothed and breathing heavily, he ran. He did not stop until he reached his neighbors lodge. Desperately he burst through the doorway that was always open to guests and travelers. Gasping for breath he desperately tried to explain his predicament to his old friend. After watching this for a few moments, Endenvar took pity on him and helped ease him into a sitting position on the floor and instructed him to put his head between his knees.
"Breathe." Endenvar said gruffly, his voice thick with worry. Olaf wasn't known to be up this early, and it had been an age since Endenvar saw him move with great purpose anywhere.
He rubbed Olaf's back as he slowly got his breathing under control.
"What brings you here so early in the morning?", he asked, his eyes roaming Olaf's shuddering frame, taking in his muddied feet and hastily thrown on leathers, and shirt that was inside out. "It looks as if Primordus himself was chasing at your heels."
"That isn't a bad description old friend. I had a visitor on my window ledge this morning…" Grey eyes met muddied brown. Endenvar leaned back, his face expressionless as he stared at his friend.
"Let me guess," He said, "Somewhat dilapidated, smelt dead, tentacles."
"You're not wrong."
Endenvar swore.
"I assume you told them." Endenvar asked once he had used every oath he could think of.
Olaf shook his head, face white as he looked up at Endenvar. He was sitting on his rump just in the doorway, to the back of the lodge a large fire was burning in the ornate hearth that Endenvar had constructed an age past. Valdi, now legally allowed to drink, was deep in his cups and trying his luck with Ginta, the local mason. From where he sat he could hear her sharp retort as she once again told him to get bent. Olaf knew from experience that it would be another minute or two before Ginta shifted her daughter Ginna to the other hip and reached for one of the heavy hammers that hung around her waist. When that happened, Olaf knew that it would be at least an hour before Valdi roused himself from the heap that Ginta would leave him in. He tried his best not to meet the eyes of his friend, knowing well what his reaction would be. Instead he focused on the intricate carving on the ornate four poster beds he had helped Endenvar create seasons past.
"Olaf." Endenvar's voice was gruff, his tone brooked no argument. His hand on Olaf's shoulder tightened to the point of pain. "What in Ravens glinting eyes were you thinking?!"
Endenvar stood up abruptly, anger radiating from his large frame as he paced to the back of the lodge and struck a pillar of one of the beds that were littered haphazardly about the lodge; the sound was like a thunderclap. Valdi and Ginta stopped arguing, their faces frozen in shock at the uncharacteristic behavior shown by the lodgemaster. He pounded against the pillar, shaking its frame until his knuckles were bruised and his anger abated. He rested his forehead against his clenched fist.
"Are you a dullard?" He asked Olaf, his voice carrying about the lodge, the attention of all its inhabitants, save Olaf, solely on him.
"Aye." He ran his thick fingers through his greying hair, head bent to the floor and eyes not meeting that of his friend.
"I hear it starts with a Blood Fiend," said Endenvar, "tapping against the window, and then progresses to a Bone Fiend following you in nightmare… I hear it gets worse, the longer you hold off." Endenvar was speaking to the pillar, still leaning against his hand, his eyes tightly clenched shut. "I hear that if you hold on long enough, she sends things. Things that have teeth and claw that rend and slowly eat the flesh from your bones as you watch. There are tales of her ripping the intended to shreds, then piecing them together in a pantomime of Nornhood. Do you have any idea how foolish you have been Olaf?" He asked; his voice low and gruff, "Do you have any idea how much trouble you are in?"
He turned to Olaf, who was still sitting on the floor. His face was grim as he looked him over. Olaf felt the sweat gathering on his back and neck and knew he looked terrible. He felt terrible. He had not been this terrified since the night Gylda left.
"Ginta." He called; face stony as he kept his gaze on Olaf.
"Endenvar?"
"Fetch Burrisson the Blue from Zelwchor Hot Springs, tell him that we need help cleaning up drunkard."
Olaf made to speak, his mouth opening and closing like a fish on land.
"Shut up Olaf. At least let me make you presentable for your funeral."
He walked up to his old friend, reached out to him and helped him to his feet. His knuckles were bruised from his rage filled attack on the pillar, but they were still full of strength were they gripped Olaf's. When he stood Endenvar didn't immediately let go of Olaf, instead he squeezed his hands and said;
"This, all of this, could have been avoided should you have gone to them in the first place."
"I know old friend. I know. Honestly though, I would rather face Jormag naked and with a toothpick than have to deal with them." He shuddered for emphasis.
Endenvar let out a bark of laughter.
"I can't say I blame you, but how do you think they are going to react when they hear what you have done? Do they know about Aliana?"
"I think that Gylda had cut all ties with them before she became pregnant with the babe. She once said that should they have known, they would have taken her from us."
"Olaf, are you sure they haven't already?"
Endenvar muddy brown eyes met his grey ones, a frown spread across both faces as they contemplated the thought.
"No." he whispered, the thought slowly rotating around his head. "If they had come for her, they wouldn't have done it like that. Aliana… She was gone… changed…" He rubbed his hand through his hair, eyes haunted. "They are malevolent," he said, "but I don't think even they would do that to someone. Besides, after what I did to Gylda, there is no chance I would be alive today if they did."
Endenvar slapped Olaf on the back with a resounding thump.
"Either way you look at it you are probably not going to survive." Endenvar grinned widely at his friend, years of friendship and comradery between them. "I always find that a bit of bosh and a lot of flattery does the trick with the ladies… Looking at you now though… There is no easy way to say this, but Olaf, you smell like a brewery in a whore house. No amount of flattery is going to cover that up." He held his nose between his forefinger and thumb and made waving movements with his other hand.
"Fine, fine." He said, "I get the picture. I'd rather see Burrisson the Blue myself. Let's go Ginta, and see what he can do for my unique odor."
"Olaf"
"Yes?"
"Try not to get yourself killed."
He nodded, not sure enough of himself to speak, he turned from his friend and walked into the morning light, Ginta a step behind him. Her wavy brown hair bound behind her back with a bandana, little Ginna held securely in her arms. For a moment he could not see, he waited calmly while his eyes adjusted to the morning sun glinting off of the permafrost. Reaching out he took Ginta's hand, waited while she shifted her daughter in her arms, then focused his energy on the Zelwchor Waypoint. With a gulp of air and the shuddering feeling of his stomach dropping to his feet, they arrived at the waypoint. Olaf released Ginta's work worn hand as soon as they arrived and wiped his on his leathers. He took a minute to gather his senses. As convenient as using waypoints was, it always left him dizzy and disorientated after. He could see that Ginta felt the same, although she said nothing. Instead she slowly lowered Ginna to the ground; the little girl looked very much like her mother. She had the same hair and eyes, and, according to Endenvar, she was already showing promise as a mason. As soon as her feet hit the floor, Ginna immediately made her way to her friend Saldis, who, at the tender age of seven winters, was called Razortongue.
Zelwchor was a truly beautiful location, thanks to the warmth of the springs it did not get as much frost and snow as the rest of Wayfarer. This was because it was located in a natural hollow, surrounded by steep hills and mountains. Around the spring grew beautiful cherry trees that were perpetually in bloom. Besides rabbits, only Minotaur and the young resided in the area. Occasionally a wolf would be found wondering around the springs, but that was a rare occurrence. The spring itself was clear and smelt heavily of sulfur, many Norn believed that it held special healing properties and came from miles around to take in both its beauty and the warmth of its waters.
Just ahead of them, a half-naked Norn stood singing loudly about the joys of baths and beer. A combination, according to the song, that could not be matched. Tall and built like a reservoir, Burrisson stood like a monument to the warmth of the springs. His skin flushed red from the warmth of its waters and a belly full of beer. Deep blue tattoos spiraled down the length of his arms and weaved their way around his chest, disappearing in to a pair of soaked light blue underthings. His balding head shone in the morning sun, his remaining hair carefully gathered up into a faux Mohawk that ran down the center of his head to be bunched up in a small ponytail at his back. His beard, wet and magnificent, shone with the care he had put into maintaining it. His dark gaze met that of Olaf's and a wicked grin split his not so handsome face. Walking from the waist high depth of the water he made his way to Olaf, carefully passing Saldis Razortongue, who was yet again being propositioned by young Laki. As he neared Olaf, he said;
"I follow a two-part spring strategy. I sit in the ste –"
Olaf's meaty fist caught him in the midriff and then, when he doubled over; he bought his fisted hands together on the back of his head. Taking a hammer from Ginta's tool belt, he smashed it against the side of his face. Ginta raised her eyebrow at Olaf, but said nothing. Taking her hammer from his limp grip, she made her way to the edge of the spring where Saldis' mother Edna was lounging. Bending down she gave her a kiss on her cheek before settling herself to watch their daughters at play.
Olaf stripped down, taking his time removing leathers that had seen better days. He pulled the course wool of his shirt over his head and stood a moment in the wafting warmth coming from the springs. Taking a deep breath he made his into the depths of the spring, and at its deepest point, dunked his head under. When he resurfaced he turned to where Ginta was sitting with Edna.
"My lady", he said, "Might I bother you for some soap."
He took care to be polite, Saldis had inherited the the title Razortongue from her mother. Ginta was the only one who got to see the sweet side of Edna's nature, or at least that is what Olaf presumed. How else could she be friends with the woman? Judging by how Saldis and Ginna played, it was a trait her daughter had inherited. Edna tossed him a bar made from rendered fat. Quickly he made to clean himself, staring in shock as the clear water around him quickly became dark with the collected dirt that had clung to him. Vaguely he tried to remember the last time he washed. Maybe a week after Gylda left? (Then only to remove all the blood that clung to him.) By bear! No wonder his guests tended to stand upwind from him! Bringing his eyes up to those of Ginta, who was staring in wide eyed amazement at the spectacle he was making – Edna now sitting beside her, not wanting to be soiled by the growing patch of dirt that surrounded him.
"Ginta, I need you to go to Sunspear and fetch me a fresh batch of clothing, something clean and respectable."
She snorted.
"Do you even have any clean clothes Olaf? I can't say I've seen you wash a stitch since Gylda was taken."
She drew a sharp breath when she saw the look on Olaf's face, rubbed her hand over her face and said;
"I am sorry Olaf; I didn't mean to bring her up. I'll go look."
She got up slowly, taking a moment to stretch her long leather clad legs. Edna followed the movement with a sparkle in her eyes. Stretching her arms over her head she bent one way then the other, and then focused her gaze to where Olaf was industriously cleaning himself with the already half used soap.
"Do you really mean to go?" She asked, "There is no chance you can expect a warm welcome. It's like Endenvar said; if you go it will be to your grave."
Not looking up from his task, Olaf pointed with his free hand to a small cherry tree that grew beside the springs. Under its flowered branches floated a Bone Fiend, its long tentacled appendages brushing gently against the damp soil. As she watched, it turned its mangled maw to where Olaf was washing himself. One long appendage lifted and wound itself around the rough bark of the tree and, caressing its wooden length, gently tap tap tapped against the cherry tree.
Time was running out.