Day Five of the Odinsleep (Saga and Hárbarðsljóð)
Day Five of the Odinsleep (Just after 1:20 am, 5 hours 40 minutes until sunrise)
The woman pours Ra’ziir a drink before filling her own cup. “You are one of the mortal warriors who fought alongside Idunn this past day, are you not?” The woman phrases her words as a question but it is obvious from her tone that she already knows this to be true.
The old man adds, “I would think that even a Ljósálfr as yourself would require rest after the day’s exertions. What troubles cause you to wander so late into the night?”
Ra’ziir accepts the cup and thanks the woman before answering the old man’s question, “Indeed, sir. While the elves of my world need only take the briefest of respites, it is not a daily requirement for us and my thoughts linger on a puzzle of sorts.”
Wary of sharing information with these strangers, the elf-emental turns his arcane gaze upon them. As near as the bladesinger can determine, these two are exactly what they appear to be a father and daughter sharing a late-night drink beside a fire. The old man does have a ring that has a powerful magical aura and spear he has stuck in the snow is also formidable but given the locale and the citizens of this city, perhaps the lack of more magic is more noteworthy that not. Ra’ziir goes on to explain the dilemma with the bracers and the discovery of the name “χρόνος”. The young woman glances at her father who raises one eyebrow. He leans forward, sets his cup down and replies, “χρόνος you say? That’s a name I have not heard in ages. Its name was inscribed in one of these gems – the ones that bound a creature to power the bracer itself?”
Ra’ziir nods, having suspected that the appearance of these two was no mere coincidence.
“Then summon it you must, and rebind it within the stones – that will restore the power. I warn you, this creature is not one to be trifled with lightly. Your friend’s magic wristband merely taps the creature’s power, siphoning it away in small bits to perform miracles.”
“That is all well and good, but what is it? What is χρόνος?”
One of the ravens that was perched upon the branch of a nearby tree hops off and flies over, landing on the young woman’s shoulder. As she leans in to refill her father’s cup once more, she looks at Ra’ziir and says, “He is a Prince of Elemental Time.”
Meanwhile back at Völundr’s, most of the party member remain sleeping. Raven and Grotto talk some while the dwarf packs the bowl of his pipe. Grotto takes a long drag of the aromatic mixture and holds it for a while before letting it go. The scarred dwarf watches the elf’s fingers work and chuckles, “With hands like that you would have been better suited as a cobbler than a baker!” The dwarf laughs recalling the cursed folly of Raven’s Grimmlands cooking. Raven cracks a grin at the comment and nods.
Shadow, who has already settled in for the night makes a mental note to himself to prepare a divination to delve more deeply into the mystery of Dickory’s Clock.
Raven finally finishes weaving the Heartwire through the links of his armor and rises from his seat. He slips the chain shirt over his head, noticing no real difference in the weight of mail. “I should try to get some rest now.” The elf settles to the floor in the lotus position, his legs crossed and hands resting on his lap. He closes his eyes and focuses on his breathing, searching for the quiet place in his mind that will allow him to enter the Reverie. He fidgets some, trying to adjust to his seating and clear his mind. The sounds of the day’s battle echo in his ears and the flash of blood and steel rise to the forefront. Determined, he presses on, thinking of calm waters, blank parchment, and clear skies in an attempt to settle his thoughts. Nagging thoughts eat at the serenity he is trying to find and he fidgets some more. A small itch between his shoulders provides yet another distraction, the sound of footsteps crunching in the snow outside of the window another. To top it all off, he finds himself mentally listing the ingredients to a spiced pie crust he had once thought of making … “cinnamon, nutmeg, clove, ginger….” Finally, he blows out a long sigh and abandons his efforts. He lies down and draws his cloak up around himself like a blanket, settling in for normal sleep.
One of Idunn’s eyebrows rises in a delicate arch and a knowing smirk pulls at one corner of her mouth, “You wish… to plant… a seed… in my garden?” Her pauses are laden with expectations and she allows the question to hang in the air for a moment before she begins giggling. “I had suspected you may wish such a thing but I failed to anticipate the literal interpretation. I would be pleased to watch over this tree of yours. I will give you a day to make whatever preparations you require.”
Cedron chuckles in response, shaking his lightly. “In another life perhaps” he thinks to himself but says instead, “My thanks to you glorious Idunn. I pray that you may meet m’lord soon, and witness the magnificence of the Path of Progress firsthand. I assume we will stand by your side tomorrow?”
The goddess shrugs, a very human gesture, “I do not know but my hope is such. Still, I have a sense that there may be something else the All-Father had in mind for you. Be well, Cedron. Take what rest you can before the morning comes.” And with those final words, the goddess departs.
The woman pours Ra’ziir a drink before filling her own cup. “You are one of the mortal warriors who fought alongside Idunn this past day, are you not?” The woman phrases her words as a question but it is obvious from her tone that she already knows this to be true.
The old man adds, “I would think that even a Ljósálfr as yourself would require rest after the day’s exertions. What troubles cause you to wander so late into the night?”
Ra’ziir accepts the cup and thanks the woman before answering the old man’s question, “Indeed, sir. While the elves of my world need only take the briefest of respites, it is not a daily requirement for us and my thoughts linger on a puzzle of sorts.”
Wary of sharing information with these strangers, the elf-emental turns his arcane gaze upon them. As near as the bladesinger can determine, these two are exactly what they appear to be a father and daughter sharing a late-night drink beside a fire. The old man does have a ring that has a powerful magical aura and spear he has stuck in the snow is also formidable but given the locale and the citizens of this city, perhaps the lack of more magic is more noteworthy that not. Ra’ziir goes on to explain the dilemma with the bracers and the discovery of the name “χρόνος”. The young woman glances at her father who raises one eyebrow. He leans forward, sets his cup down and replies, “χρόνος you say? That’s a name I have not heard in ages. Its name was inscribed in one of these gems – the ones that bound a creature to power the bracer itself?”
Ra’ziir nods, having suspected that the appearance of these two was no mere coincidence.
“Then summon it you must, and rebind it within the stones – that will restore the power. I warn you, this creature is not one to be trifled with lightly. Your friend’s magic wristband merely taps the creature’s power, siphoning it away in small bits to perform miracles.”
“That is all well and good, but what is it? What is χρόνος?”
One of the ravens that was perched upon the branch of a nearby tree hops off and flies over, landing on the young woman’s shoulder. As she leans in to refill her father’s cup once more, she looks at Ra’ziir and says, “He is a Prince of Elemental Time.”
Meanwhile back at Völundr’s, most of the party member remain sleeping. Raven and Grotto talk some while the dwarf packs the bowl of his pipe. Grotto takes a long drag of the aromatic mixture and holds it for a while before letting it go. The scarred dwarf watches the elf’s fingers work and chuckles, “With hands like that you would have been better suited as a cobbler than a baker!” The dwarf laughs recalling the cursed folly of Raven’s Grimmlands cooking. Raven cracks a grin at the comment and nods.
Shadow, who has already settled in for the night makes a mental note to himself to prepare a divination to delve more deeply into the mystery of Dickory’s Clock.
Raven finally finishes weaving the Heartwire through the links of his armor and rises from his seat. He slips the chain shirt over his head, noticing no real difference in the weight of mail. “I should try to get some rest now.” The elf settles to the floor in the lotus position, his legs crossed and hands resting on his lap. He closes his eyes and focuses on his breathing, searching for the quiet place in his mind that will allow him to enter the Reverie. He fidgets some, trying to adjust to his seating and clear his mind. The sounds of the day’s battle echo in his ears and the flash of blood and steel rise to the forefront. Determined, he presses on, thinking of calm waters, blank parchment, and clear skies in an attempt to settle his thoughts. Nagging thoughts eat at the serenity he is trying to find and he fidgets some more. A small itch between his shoulders provides yet another distraction, the sound of footsteps crunching in the snow outside of the window another. To top it all off, he finds himself mentally listing the ingredients to a spiced pie crust he had once thought of making … “cinnamon, nutmeg, clove, ginger….” Finally, he blows out a long sigh and abandons his efforts. He lies down and draws his cloak up around himself like a blanket, settling in for normal sleep.
One of Idunn’s eyebrows rises in a delicate arch and a knowing smirk pulls at one corner of her mouth, “You wish… to plant… a seed… in my garden?” Her pauses are laden with expectations and she allows the question to hang in the air for a moment before she begins giggling. “I had suspected you may wish such a thing but I failed to anticipate the literal interpretation. I would be pleased to watch over this tree of yours. I will give you a day to make whatever preparations you require.”
Cedron chuckles in response, shaking his lightly. “In another life perhaps” he thinks to himself but says instead, “My thanks to you glorious Idunn. I pray that you may meet m’lord soon, and witness the magnificence of the Path of Progress firsthand. I assume we will stand by your side tomorrow?”
The goddess shrugs, a very human gesture, “I do not know but my hope is such. Still, I have a sense that there may be something else the All-Father had in mind for you. Be well, Cedron. Take what rest you can before the morning comes.” And with those final words, the goddess departs.
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