Galinia Game  
Rolf's Story

Rolf looked back over the rail of the ferry, back at the island home of Tas Bardon. It's a sad place, a place of fallen memories. But perhaps the earl will be able to change that, change it to a place of hope, a place where children can laugh and play and not fear the evils that stalk the land. A place from which humans would drive the evil plague of vermin from the land.

Rolf had trouble shaking off such musings. Heading on over to lord Richards enclave, Rolf found a room set aside for him. It was a small place, but aside from a bed and room to hang his cloak, what more did he need?

The next day, Rolf joined some of the nobles on a hunt. He didn't feel comfortable in such noble company despite his own peerage, and found himself with the huntsmen. One lad, lord Richards nephew or cousin or some such, had been fond of his drink and did not react well when a boar came crashing out of the bush. Rolf got an arrow into the beast, but the thing weighed more than two full grown men, one arrow just didn't accomplish much. But an aged warrior jumped in from no where and braced his spear just in time to skewer the beast, close enough that the lad was bathed in boar blood.

Buying the man a couple of pints that night, Rolf came to know Jralte pretty well. The man had served in lord Richards army for years, then retired to the "comfortable" life of a huntsman. His eye sight wasn't all that sharp any more, but with a spear in hand, few swordsmen could stand against him. The two spent much time together, getting to know the lay of the land, trying their hand at fishing and Jralte taught Rolf a bit about the making and using of javelins. He'd rather the spear, but Rolf would need a stronger arm for the heavier spear. The man carried a falchion instead of a proper blade.

After a fortnight, Rolf announced his intention to journey about and give the roads a good patrolling. Kerim, anxious to begin forging new lines of trade, decided to join the warder. The next dawn, Jralte was packed and ready when Rolf came down for breakfast, wearing ring mail and a hardened leather cap on his bald pate. It never occurred to Rolf to invite him, and it never occurred to Jralte not to go. But the lands where still wild and lord Richard insisted Rolf take more muscle.

Rolf wasn't very happy about it, but nobles have a way of getting there own way. Kerim was no help at all, favoring the idea of more people to protect his interests. So, the word went out and Rolf found others to joing them. The first was a young man, a carpenters apprentice with dreams of battle. Ryn was a strong lad from days of felling trees and could wield an axe as well as any his age. He didn't have much in the way of a warriors equipment, but Rolf had some studded leathers made for him and bought him a bow.

Lastly, was little Kyrie, a tough Celtic lass with black hair. She proved well versed in the bow and could make a dagger spin on it's point, but she was indifferent with the half-sword she sported. She had won a spot by winning a bet with Rolf, outscoring him with the bow, a thought that still rankles Rolf even if her smaller bow couldn't come close to matching his range. Kyrie seemed to like the lighter weight leathers, but dyed a deep, dark brown.

And so, a few days after Rolf first tried to leave, the little band set forth. First, almost straight south to the coast, to Semasay. There was no real reason, the lands were quiet, but Jralte hailed from there. Besides, Kerim thought well of the idea, it was a good port for trade, though the river route to Tas Bardon would probably prove more profitable in the long run. They spent a day or two, Jralte showing Rolf and the others about and getting to know the locals. He even shared the bounty of the Semasay Taliff, Ulric Bengard.

Moving onwards, they retraced their route but continued northwards to the point of the Lone Sea Rock. Rolf was glad to see the construction going on. There was more to civilizing the lands than slaying the enemy, there was a meed for their school and farms and steadings. Madelyn was there, and showed him about the new school. He saw many promising youngsters, working to build the place that would be the center of their learning.

Setting forth again, Rolf had to put up with a few knowing glances and amused stares from both Ryn and Kyrie. Jralte was old enough to know better and Kerim was already well used to it. But Rolf refused to give them the satisfaction of knowing they were bothering him and like most youths, they had not the patience to continue the game over long. A mere few hours had them pulling into another village, though the name was more for what it would be then what Rolf saw that day.

The community of Failtey, if one can call it such, was hardly more than a few buildings. A trading post, a ramshackle tavern and a provisioners was about it. Even so, an old man with the one milky, blind eye, had opened up a provisioners, but he had little to trade save trail rations, skins and ale. Kerim spent some time with the man making an investment in the future. Kyrie seemed to get along well with the hunters who were in town to barter their wares.

And then on to Dincaoc. It was much as he remembered, though many of the villagers were away at Failtey. Rolf enjoyed a proper, if somewhat chilled, reunion with Edwy. He'd given Jralte and Ryn a stern word about the Celtic views on hospitality and respect, though Kyrie needed no such warning and Kerim was present to learn the same lesson as Rolf. Besides, Dincaoc would prove another valuable trade point for his efforts. Rolf had trouble finding comfort during his stay in Dincaoc and soon harried his companions back to the road again.

Returning again to the poor village of Mistaton, Rolf made much of their hospitality and was free with his coin. Bothered by their proverty, he spent many hours talking with Kerim, making sure that the merchant would help the village become more prosperous. Ryn made an unfortunate comment on their poverty and Jralte had taken the boy out back for a bit of instruction. Rolf didn't know just what had transpired between the two, but it was days before Ryn would comment without first looking to Jralte and weeks before he could rouse himself to make a jest.

Moving on along the trail, Rolf was surprised to come across a little trading post, run by a pair of Smilo's folk. It was a poor little place but what goods would there be, in the midst of a swamp 'tween a village who's chief export is being poor and the Gila? Rolf made a point of buying some small tokens, just to help them along. The visit with the Gila was, fortunately, brief. Rolf didn't want trouble and while they'd signed a treaty, it's still tough not to feel a bit nervous around something that looked at you like its dinner.

Continuing on, Rolf was surprised to see a town being built around the site of Aenis' death. It was a somber time for Rolf, the site of the first death of one in his charge. Rolf felt a stab of irritation that the town was Celtic. Aenis might have been a scholar among warriors, but he'd still been a Norseman who died in battle. Yet, knowing the pride of the Celts and lord Richards efforts to ally the peoples, Rolf knew better than to make an issue of it. He brought the others together, told them the tale of a brave, fallen comrade. While the others slept well that night, Rolf stood vigil over Aenis pyre and felt the weight of failure heavy upon his shoulders.

Rolf was in poor spirits the next day, his failures fresh on his mind. But the lands here about had been pretty well cleared, or so Rolf had thought. They came in an hour after dusk. Had Kyrie not been watchful, they'd all been left for dead. But what upset Rolf the most is that it was not dogheads that attacked, but men, and Norsemen at that. There were five of them, not very well armed and all sported quite a few lash scars. Outlaws, and not worthy of the clean death thay'd received by sword and spear.

Reaching Dingaic, Rolf was in foul spirits. He let the others have their reign and he merely stayed upon the shore, watching the waves break and letting the strains of his flute mesh with the whispering wind. He would have been content to sit such for days and Kerim enjoyed the time to make his connections, but Jralte was having none of it and after a few stern, and painfully true and obvious, words, Rolf came to have a better appreciation for Ryn's delimma back in Mistaton.

Deciding on a change of scenery, Rolf booked passage for himself and the others to Ramsay, the village of his youth. He spent several days there, enjoying seeing his sister Thyra and her children. They had grown strong and fine, and were better behaved than Rolf had been at their age. Kerim had plenty of time to get to know the people, but Kyrie didn't like being an outsider among the Norsemen.

Rolf enjoyed being home, but his joy was still soured by his failures. Thyra even began to wonder if Rolf had not fallen back to his wasteful ways, despite the showering words of Jralte and Ryn. Kyrie also thought highly of Rolf, but it was not her way to sing the praises of a Norseman. Finally, after berating himself for days, Rolf felt himself drawn unwillingly to the mountains. There he found it, the grave of the shepherdess. It was his uncle Arkell who had driven wisdom into Rolf like a hammer upon the anvil, but it was the gentle shepherdess who convinced Rolf, all unknowing, to heed his uncles teachings.

It was a time of painful healing for Rolf. He shed his tears and let the bitter dregs of remorse drain from him. He was sad at her passing, but in his own way, he had brought meaning to her death. Because of her, men were able to retake the wild lands. Because of her, towns were being built, schools crafted and people given homes. Returning to the others upon the morrow, his improved disposition was noticeable to any with eyes to see. Thyra was especially gladdened by this and seemed the younger for her joy.

Days later, it was time to return to work and Rolf felt ready to do his part. Setting sail to Dingaic, Rolf felt the tug of the sea, it's depths calling to his Norse blood. But the battle was inland, and that also was a calling for the Norse. Before even the lines could be tied on their ship, Rolf was off and ready to begin the march home. He really didn't want to, but Kerim talked him into stopping by Farfobest. At times, the merchants interests were irritating. But it would also help tame the lands. The Dwarven enclave was every bit as warm and hospitable as he recalled, and he was happy to have it again behind him.

Moving back to Din Aenis, the site of the pyre forged the steel that was Rolf's purpose instead of distempering it as before. Standing resolute, he spoke of the need to cleanse the land of the vermin who had stolen it from their ancestors. One young lad heard Rolf's words and, having been orphaned by the damned dogheads, wanted to follow in Rolf's footsteps, become his page perhaps. But Rolf would have none of it, knowing the dangers that must yet be faced.

Deciding to travel north of the swamp, Rolf was dismayed to again hear the barking laughter of the doghead. They were not far north of Din Aenis and the cries of something decidedly human drew their attention. It was a shrill voice, that of a child or a woman. Moving carefully, they spied some ten or so of the hated creatures, and a child in their midst. They would have to attack though none cared for the odds, no caring person could be unmoved by the child's plight. Moving slowly into place, they fell upon the dogheads.

It was a tough battle and none escaped unscathed. Ryn took a deep gash to the thigh and a solid rap to the head, Jralte had a wicked bruise that spoke of broken ribs, Kerim's arm hung limp and had to be bound to his chest and Rolf's leg would barely hold his weight. Kyrie also suffered as a doghead had caught her in the head with a rock. One doghead had it's hunger for battle sated and sought to flee to the north, but the boy showed amazing toughness by tripping the doghead up before Ryn took it's head with his axe. The boys effort tore a scream of pain from his lips and brought a tear to Rolf's eyes.

In the aftermath, the party took some time to lick their wounds and Rolf discovered that the boy was in worse shape than any save the fallen dogheads. It was a broken shoulder that mostly led to the boys cry, though his body was riddled with bruises and the marks of claw and tooth. In fact, it was hard to find a single fingerspan of flesh upon the boy that did not show sign of abuse. It was a wonder that he'd survived the cruel antics of the dogheads and it was only then that Rolf came to realize that it was the self same boy from the Din Aenis. Rolf was enraged by the boys foolishness, but that was eclipsed by the boys resilience and bravery. If only Rolf had agreed to allow the boy to join his journey, he'd not have known such torture.

Moving slowly, painfully onward, the injured band turned more easterly. Given their situation, Rolf considered returning to Din Aenis and perhaps return by the safer, southern route. But no, the plight of the boy would only enflame them to charge into battle with the dogheads and the time was not yet ripe for that. Moving onwards, they found true reason to worry. The trails of the dogheads grew to an fightening level. Waiting until it grew dark, Rolf and Kyrie left the others in a sheltered little hollow and searched out the den of the beasts. They didn't even try to get close and could not make even a fair estimate of their numbers. It was enough to know that they were there.

Returning, they used the rest of nights cover to move as far as they could, knowing that another battle could very well leave all of their bones bleaching in the sun on the morrow. Even when dawn did come, Rolf pushed them onwards, wanting to make Failtey as soon as possible. It was a hellish march and bruises from unsteady feet meshed with injuries of battle. It was a sorry looking troup that limped into Failtey but an hour before midnight.

Kyrie was most glad for the town, for her quiver was empty and that was one of the few goods the old man could provide. Oh, Rolf had fashioned some arrows for her during their brief rests, using heads from broken arrows and rocks, but they threw her aim off and hunting became more a chore than a welcome challenge, a chore for which she had little energy. Rolf too found a full quiver a pleasing thing, though his skill with a sword gave him more options than Kyrie commanded. Aside from arrows and wholesome food, they enjoyed a brief respite at Failtey, though proper healing was beyond such a simple village. Their concern for the boy pushed them onwards far sooner than they would've liked.

By the time they reached the new chapter of the Order of the Saga, they were a pitiful sight. Rolf struggled along with the aid of a staff, near crippled by pain and swelling. Jralte had begun to cough blood and Kyrie had begun to sicken, not being able to hold down food and it was a struggle for her to remain conscious. Kerim's arm had become to fester. Ryn alone was hale enough to draw the sled upon which the lad rode.

The knights of the Saga bit off their questions in light of the bands obvious need and brought healers quickly. It took a few days of their gentle tending before before Rolf could walk unaided, though it gave him time to enjoy Madelyn's company again. The boy was another matter, he would remain with the knights, and Rolf arranged for him to remain even after his body was healed. Byrne, the boy, didn't like it one bit, but Rolf struck up a bargain with the boy; remain, learn what the knights had to teach and when he was ready, Rolf would welcome him as a comrade in arms.

Finally, it came time to stop burdening the schools hospitality. They were whole, though they all bore scars within and without. Heading out, they followed the road back to Giant's Ferry. Rolf found himself a bit saddened, he'd grown close to the gruff Jralte, the sly Kyrie and the steadfast Ryn. At least Kerim would continue to travel with him. Rolf even missed the stubborn Byrne, though he'd known the lad but a few days. True, he would enjoy being back among those he'd first met that day at Angasia, but life had seemed simplier and more direct among the trio with which he had shared the last several weeks.

Rolf and his party took the ferry to Tas Bardon again, to report their finding to lord Richard. His liege was troubled about the dogheads and the danger they'd faced. He ordered Rolf to make another journey about the lands, but to give the dogheads a wide berth and to avoid the road north of the swamps. Rolf didn't care for the order, wanting to lead men to scour the dogheads from the road, but the time wasn't ripe yet.

With greater attention towards duty, Rolf stuck to the roads most in doubt. And so he went, from Giant's Ferry to the Saga chapter, then back to Failtey, down to Dincaoc, a slogging through the swamps to Mistaton, back past the halfling trading post and the Gila. Once back at Din Aenis, he found there had been some worry for the missing Byrne, which he was able to put to rest. And then back to Farfobest.

Returning by the same route, Rolf came across a dwarf on the road. He'd left the sturdy halls of Farfobest to sell his services elsewear. He was a talented smith who went by the name Grimden. He carried a heavy mace with a smaller hammer at his belt. He wore chain mail, had a sturdy helm upon his round head and a crossbow strapped to his pack. The dwarf was a sturdy fellow and while he couldn't make a great pace, he never seemed to tire.

Moving back into the area of the swamps, Grimden had many harsh things to say about it. He kept getting stuck and cursed what the muck did to his armor. Once, seeing a rabbit, he let fly with his hammer, thinking it would go well roasted. Not only did Grimden miss the hare, it took Ryn only a couple of hours to find it again. Even with promises to buy him another, Grimden wouldn't leave without the hammer. Something about having crafted it himself and not letting it go for naught.

Winning free of the swamps at last, Grimden's attitude improved a bit and a bit more at seeing mountains again. True, they were a bit small by his reckoning, but still a quite acceptable change of scenery for the dwarf. The ale was weaker than he liked, but the food was plenty and roasted well, and flavored with onions instead of mushrooms. When Rolf was ready to leave, Grimden thanked the little band and sent them on their way. He would remain in Failtey, build a smithy and make a fortune. He and Kerim were already discussing terms to bring in raw materials and send out weapons of quality.

Back through the school, Rolf learned that Byrne was doing well. He tended to get into a few scuffles with the other students a bit too often, but he was learning quite a bit. And at the last, the weary little band returned to Giant's Ferry. Again, Rolf reported his findings on the road, even though there was nothing of import to speak of. Given the dangers of the road, though, lord Richard commanded Rolf to find deputies to watch the roads as his own duties would soon be sending him elsewhere. Rolf wondered, but lord Richard wasn't in the mood to speak of his plans as yet.

Returning to Giant's Ferry, it took little time to hire Jralte, Ryn and Kyrie to ward the roads in his abscence. Rolf was gladdened, for lord Richard had only allowed him a few weeks to train his warders and get them to know the route. And Kerim had some mule drivers he had found somewhere, wanting to show them about the same.

So again, Rolf was on the road, leading a larger band of people this time. They made good time and knew the route well. This time, they did swing back south to Dingaic as it played a significant role in Kerim's budding trading empire, as did Farfobest. Besides, Rolf had had word at Dingaic that Peter wished to meet them at Farfobest. Rolf wasn't very happy about it, not liking being under the weight of their mountain, but Peter had proven a valued friend. Besides, the roads were still frought with danger as they'd learned before.

At Farfobest, word was brought up of Grimden, but the dwarves were having none of it. If anything, they became even more stoic than is their want. It didn't take long for Rolf and the others to get the message that the dwarves didn't wish to speak of or hear about the wandering smith. That only wetted their curiousity, but Rolf would rather argue with a rock than a dwarf.

After a fairly quiet and quick trip, the intrepid little band strode again into Giant's Ferry. Rolf found himself tiring a bit of the road. He liked the freedom of it, but to cover the same trail over and over and over yet again was not all that luring. It did seem to suit the stolid Jralte rather well, the man seemed to thrive on getting to know the locals and was fast becoming a true and welcome guest just about everywhere. Besides, Rolf was anxious to return to his real mission, forcing the monsters from the lands that men once called home.