Author: Aramenta , Posted: Tue Nov 9, 2021 6:48 PM, Post Subject: Forged in Ice [P]

Aramenta could see him more clearly now that he deigned you lower his hood. His features were hard set in his face, belying a life of grim conditions and work. He was handsome, though, in his own grizzled way. She took a moment to appraise his hair and the intricately beaded and braided beard he wore. She supposed if she was up for a tryst, he would t have been a bad choice. That wasn’t the case, though. She didn’t have time to worry about such foolhardy endeavors. She had a list as long as her arm of bounties.

It was unsurprising to her that he came from the same general area as her. She had abided the northern lands too but perhaps not as far north as he was. ”Funny enough so do I. But your accent. I think you must be still more northerly than my own homelands.” The north did cover an extremely broad area after all. She drummed her roughened fingertips against the wood of the bar before taking another swig of the ale in hand. Her thumb methodically rubbed the top of the handle, a nervous habit she had never broken.


While the context of his words were accusatory, his tone gave hints of a jovial nature that he meant it to carry. ”You are a good deal larger than me. Don’t think I’ll be getting away with anything you don’t want me to.” She chuckled and offered an extended hand to him. ”Call me Aramenta. And alright. We wouldn’t be leaving until the morning anyway. Let’s drink and be merry.” Her tankard clanked against his in a toast, foam dripping and splattering around them.

”Well met, Steapa. You can also call me Ara is Aramenta is a bit too much.” She smiled and tossed back her braided red hair. The keeper came by with a platter of what looked like a roast duck and set it down in front of them. Ara exchanged silver and thanked the man. ”Feel free to have as much as you like. The roast fowl is particularly good here.” She tore off one of the legs and started gnawing on it in a very unladylike fashion.

”So, what’s your experience? What type of things can you do that would be helpful?” She took another big swig of ale before kicking back in her chair, boots on the table. ”Impress me.”

Author: Steapa, Posted: Mon Nov 8, 2021 11:54 AM, Post Subject: Forged in Ice [P]

Steapa lowered the hood of his bear cloak as the redheaded woman appeared to his side. She ordered him a drink and asked him where he was from. He accepted the ale with a simple, but grateful nod. It was clear she was about to speak again so he didn’t answer her question straight away. Instead, he lifted the tankard and had his first sip of ale since before he had set sail. It was cold, hoppy, and strong. Steapa allowed himself a small smile. The gods may have abandoned him here, but at least the ale was good.

As the woman spoke again, he took a big gulp of ale, closing his ice blue eyes to savour the taste. When he opened them again, he turned his head to face her finally. He saw her blade, her battle scars, and a glimpse of her hunger for glory. “I hail from the northlands.” His voice was foreign, his accent thick – but it was clear enough. He was going to need wealth if he was ever to return home, or even to settle in a manner he was used to. Bounties were quick and easy money for a man like him. He offered her a smile before replying to her once more. “Lady, I do not know your name. What if you were trying to lure me into the snow to rob me?” His words were accusatory, but his tone was playful. “Eat and drink with me, show me who it is that seeks my blade.”

Steapa placed a few silver coins on the bar and ordered food and a jug of ale. Then he led the redhaired woman to a table by the fire. He finished his ale in another huge gulp and started to refill it from the jug brought over to them. “My name is Steapa.” He gave a polite bow of his head.

Author: Aramenta , Posted: Sat Oct 30, 2021 5:40 PM, Post Subject: Forged in Ice [P]

It was cold, even by Itjuvit standards. Chill permeated the air even in the midst of summer. The winter had broken the metaphorical gate into the city and laid itself like a blanket over the city. It had been snowing heavily for days, but finally had lightened up enough to make travel a little more bearable. Aramenta sat at the bar, a steaming bowl of rabbit stew sitting in a wooden bowl in front of her. To her right on the bar counter there was a stack of parchment that held some details of various bounties. She had been a mercenary for hire since she was old enough to fight. With wavy locks of shocking red hair ornamented with braids, she took a swig of ale. Pushing her mostly eaten stew to the side, she pulled the parchment in front of her. Itjuvit and Egjora had been at odds with each other since Egjora had built its Dutchy on native lands. There were constant pushes against them to capture more and more of their native lands. Itjuvit being a proud people did not stand for it without an answer, so they often sent their own people or mercenaries to make Egjora answer for their crimes. While many may have considered the Duchy more civilized than Itjuvit and its people, was it truly? They burned small outlying villages, harming innocent women and children or taking them as prisoners for the Gods knew what. Aramenta heard the wooden door creak on its hinges, stiff and unmoving as the metal was from the cold. When she raised her green eyes from the parchment to the doorway, she saw a man much larger than any of the patrons with what looked like a bear’s hide on his back with a simple cloth sack full of something She had dressed warmly in thick hides and fur and had a heavy fur-lined cloak draped around her shoulders. At her side was a glinting bastard sword, simple but elegant in its beauty. ”You’re obviously not from here. Where do you hail from stranger?” She asked for another cup of ale and slid it to him. He might have silver but he didn’t look to be well off. In fact he looked like a grizzled traveler who had borne the snows. As she appraised his form and his sword, she thought that this was exactly the type of person she needed for her mercenary work. If anyone could help her make Egjora pay for its crimes to Itjuvit it was this burly stranger. ”Interested in some mercenary work? I’ll split the pay.”

Author: Steapa, Posted: Sat Oct 30, 2021 5:16 PM, Post Subject: Forged in Ice [P]

Forged in Ice

Lightning arched high above the dark sea. Thick black clouds battled above, mirroring the furious waves below. Thrown around in the storm was a ship, a longship on a raid. Inside just lest than fifty men. Northmen. Through hail and sea, they rowed. Roaring with each haul, each man knew that the next could be his last. Their leader stood tall on the bow of the ship, his steely eyes searching for the horizon. Ice clung to his beaded beard, he turned to his crew and shouted above the noise of it all. “The gods test our mettle boys!” Wave after wave smashed into the hull with the force of a thousand battering rams. “Glory or death! I am proud to have fought alongside you all! I would die for each and every man here.” The ship hit something solid and lurched. It was obvious to every man in that last second – it would be death today.

Later, Steapa came to. His skin felt as though it was on fire – he was shaking violently. It was a small battle to tear open his eyes, but with the strength of his forefathers he managed it. This was a new cold, unlike anything he had ever felt. Ice clung to his flesh and burnt like molten steel. His clothes were drenched heavy and impossible to move in.

Then he heard a low growl.

Suddenly he knew he had to move, he was going to have to fight or die. Now was the moment that would decide the rest of his life. With a low growl of his own, Steapa threw himself into action, drawing his sword and putting it between him and the biggest blackest bear anyone had seen. “Glory or death.”


A week or so later wearing the bear as a huge coat, Steapa trawled through the snow into town. With him he carried everything he had manged to collect from the seashore, he carried them across his back in a simple roll of cloth scavenged from the shipwreck.

A tattooed hand pushed open the door to the inn and Steapa ducked inside, he was bigger than most Northmen, but here he looked a little like a giant from the stories. Ignoring the hushed voices and curious looks he approached the bar sat down and lowered his hood. His hair was black as pitch, speckled with silver in places. It was bound tightly in braids away from his face, which now supported a new scar across his cheek a gift from the bear he now wore.

Ale please. I have silver.” He asked.