Olaf
Season of the Phoenix - 1304 AE
Olaf swilled the dredges of the fruity beer in his stein. Around him there was a cacophony of sound. Patrons jostled and fought for their orders to be heard. The bar tender, a pubescent boy barely old enough to frequent the establishment, ran from one length of the worn oak bar to the other. He was clearly overwhelmed. His father, who owned Vanjir's Stead, sat like a king and entertained the revellers who found refuge from the raging storm. He was so engrossed with the story of a fabled Norn long gone that he paid no heed to his child's plight as the boy attempted to serve their customers.
Olaf sat with his back to the door, he was enamoured with the grog swirling and swishing in the silver stein in his immense grip. The curved chair he sat in provided him with reasonable camouflage against the lodgemaster's agitated customers. Across from him Valdi sat with his head rested on the heel of his hand. His face set in a scowl as he watched the bustling bar's patrons.
"You shouldn't have left him."
Valdi's voice was a rich baritone that rumbled from his chest. He had come a long way from the awkward teen that Olaf had first met when Endenvar fostered him. Despite the deepness of his voice, Valdi was still barely a man by Norn standards, exacerbated by the attempt at pale peach fuzz beard.
"I had no choice Valdi, you should have seen him with the Asuran. There was no way he would have left it."
"Yes," said Valdi, "He does have a habit of picking up strays doesn't he?"
Olaf sighed, ran his hand through his hair meeting the boys eyes.
"I wasn't referring to you and you know it."
"From what it sounds like, the Asuran and I have a lot in common. Both of us were left to die and both of us were found by Endenvar. From what you said, the Asuran was locked in a shell of a golem and left in a place where no one would find it. How is that different from my plight as a child Olaf?"
"For one, Endenvar knew you would survive. That child won't."
"And why should that stop him from trying to save it?!" He roared as his fist hit the table with a bang that resounded through the lodgehouse. Momentarily, the sound of the other patrons abated as they turned to their table, their faces set in a mask of interest. Valdi was breathing deeply, his chest heaving as he fought the emotions washing over him. When the others saw that he wasn't going to start a fight, they turned back to their beverages and the clamour resumed once more. Before Valdi's fist had hit the table, Olaf had removed his grog from the path of his wrath, and other than that, he made no move to calm the cantankerous Norn.
He took a deep draught of his beer. It was light and tasted slightly of lemons. He stared down at it with interest. Nero, the lodgemaster, obviously had illusions of grandeur.
"How can you just sit like that Olaf, like you don't have a care in the world?"
"Technically I don't Valdi, one way or another, my life will be forfeit. Even if those maligned freaks forgive me for what I did to Gylda, they will wear my guts for garters after they find out what I tried to do to Aliana. I'm dead Valdi."
Valdi's chest heaved, once , twice, before he settled down once more in the curved oak chair, he leaned forward and rested his elbows on the table. He twined his fingers together before resting his face against them. He regarded Olaf with a solemn expression. His eyes were hard and masked whatever emotion that had gripped him before. Olaf knew how sensitive the boy was about discarded children, and how he was especially attuned to anything that concerned his foster father. It had been years since Endenvar had taken the boy in. They had found him bound hand and foot in Shamans-Rookery, slavers had taken him from his family with the intent to sell him in Bloodtide Coast. It was four years before he could speak of his ordeal. When they had asked of his family, all Valdi would say was that they were gone. Even now, in the flickering of the candle light, Olaf could see the ringed scars left on his wrists from the shackles that had bound him.
"You still shouldn't have left him, Olaf. He is the closest thing to family you have. He would follow you through the Fissure of Woe and you know it."
Guilt stabbed though Olaf. He shouldn't have left him. He knew that, but… he didn't want to endanger his friend more than he already had. His eyes left the intent gaze of the younger Norn and wondered the room. The lodge was packed to capacity. Mostly the patrons comprised of Norn, but Olaf could see one or two humans, and even a couple of Charr huddled at the rough oak tables that clustered outward from the bar. He craned his neck to see behind him, and could just make out the opened door. Through it a thick mist slowly seeped into the gloom of the lodge. Olaf wasn't sure when it had appeared, when he had left Endenvar, the clouds that had provided so spectacular a storm had begun to break up, letting the sun shine through to the wetted landscape.
"… have a bad feeling…" Valdi's voice whispered across the edge of his hearing.
Olaf couldn't take his eyes off the door. A sense of foreboding tingled up his spine; desperately he tried to see through the thick mist. He couldn't say what it was that slowly trickled its way through the room, only that it filled him with dread. Taking his attention from the doorway, Olaf regarded the other customers. None seemed to notice the feeling of malicious intent that crawled up his spine. He placed his stein on the table and eased his hand under it to grasp the heavy pommel of his greatsword.
"Valdi," he whispered, his voice hoarse with strain, "do you feel that?"
The boy paused and tilted his head to one side as if listening intently to something unheard by Olaf.
"Aberrations of the Matriarchy?" he asked.
"No, something else, but it's a similar feeling."
He turned once more to where Valdi was sitting and folded himself deeper into the winged chair, hiding as much of himself in shadow as possible.
"Watch the door." He whispered, not understanding why he felt the need to keep his voice down in the loud clamor of the room, but not questioning it either. He drew the hilt of his sword up onto his lap. His eyes fixed intently on Valdi as he regarded the door. Harsh shadows fell across Valdi's angular face in the flickering light of the candles. He folded his arms on the table and leaned forward. His posture was casual but his pale amber eyes were intent and seemingly glowed from within.
"There is someone coming." His whispered to Olaf, his voice hollow as his eyes followed the entrance of the new customer. "I'm not sure who, or what, it is."
His amber eyes followed the stranger until it sat behind Olaf. His eyes grew large as they flickered to Olaf's.
"She is sitting behind you."
Olaf could feel her, her power was chocking him. It broiled around him like a broth. His hand, where it held his sword, trembled. He could feel his bear pounding at his flesh for release to attack this stranger. Desperately he kept it in check. The last time he had released his bear had been an unmitigated disaster.
She cleared her throat.
"You have not met me yet, dearie, but I thought now was as good a time as any."
Her accent was cultured and her tone clipped. Olaf felt it like fingernails across a chalk board.
"You may call me," she paused for effect, "Madam Strange."
His eyes flew to Valdi's, the boy was reaching under the table for his weapon. Around them the other patrons went about their business, not seeing or hearing what was happening at their table. Olaf's heart pounded against his rib cage. There was something… wrong, about this woman.
"The reason we are meeting like this is twofold." Said the woman cheerfully, Olaf could just make out the rustle of her skirts over the noise of the bar. He heard the tinkling of a spoon on a saucers edge and a slow slurp as the woman sipped from her cup. His grip tightened on his sword. He would only have one chance at her, he suspected, after that she would definitely have them at a disadvantage.
"The first was to introduce myself, which I have," he could hear the smile in her voice. "and the second is to tell you that you have about oh…" There was another rustle as the woman pulled a watch from the folds of her skirt, "... twenty minutes to save your friend before the hypothermia sets in. Tick Tock, Laffy."
