I knew it wasn’t going to be good. The words ‘We must speak’ have never, in the history of all the worlds, been the herald of happy times. Even so, I was surprised at the extent of how things were turning out.

With a heavy voice, the Chief spoke. “None of the Tribe faults you for your actions, Melinda. More than one warrior heard Grold’s words, and you were within your rights to draw him into the challenge. And you were correct that Yorlunn’s ‘offer’ was an insult to one who had just bested his son. That tribe has always been blind to the power that women have, so it may even have been a legitimate offer in his mind. Whatever the case, the Tribe supports your right to turn down the offer, and claim satisfaction, and even the Great Spirit watching over Indsamling agrees that you fought within the rules of the Pact, so that there is nothing Yorlunn can do on that score.”

“Unfortunately, Yorlunn might be blind in many ways, but he did not become chief of his tribe simply by chance. He is a cunning brute, and he is not known for holding a grudge long, as those who anger him end up dead in short order. You, my child, have angered him greatly by killing his son and throwing his offense back in his face. He has lost much of his standing with the tribes, which he had hoped to use to rally them to his cause of war.”

“I just came from the main hall, where he was trying to recover the situation. One of the old rites, given by the Great Spirit as part of the pact, allows for an augury, cast with the blood sacrifice of a member of the tribes, their life feeding the spirit and granting it the power to see into the future, and communicate with the gathered Tribes. The stronger the sacrifice, the more powerful the divination is. This augury is not often used, for obvious reasons. In the past, it was always one of the greybeards who was the sacrifice, one who was strong enough to make the journey, but all knew that his next true battle would be his last. An honorable sacrifice, to give one’s life for the tribes, so that they might know the right way to go.”

I sighed, and said, “And I guess that the whoreson and coward wants to nominate me instead? He cannot get to me through a wergild or demand satisfaction, so he has to resort to such cheap tricks? What, did the bastard give some kind of speech about how I had ‘proved my power’, or something?”

Stalfar grinned softly. “That is how the currents flowed, yes. He also commented on your magic, playing on the fears of the more superstitious tribes. They know you did not use your magic in the fight, but that does not mean they are thinking clearly when it comes to the matter. He was close to convincing a majority of the tribes when I left to warn you.”

I nodded once, and then took a deep breath. Old Stalfar wasn’t the one I was upset with. The Elk could not face off against all the tribes, if it came to battle. And to publicly go against the combined will of the Gathering without some cause would be an insult that would demand blood be spilled. But I was not going to just allow myself to be sacrificed.

Looking up at Stalfar, I met his gaze and held it. “Tell me, Stalfar Greatsoul, Chief of the Elk, and protector of its people, what would you have me do? I will not allow myself to be killed for a fool’s vengeance, but I do not wish for the Tribe to suffer for my sake. What wisdom do you have to share, Chief?”

Now, the Chief and warleader of the Elk smiled at me. “There is the determination of your father, and your mother’s fire! Good, good! You will need it for what is to come, for the only way to keep your life while not dragging the Tribe into a war that we would fight, for honor’s sake, but could not win, is to take the solitary path. You will have to go into exile.”

He took a breath, considering how to phrase his next words. “You would need to go into exile, but how you go about it is up to you. The Tribe could cast you out in dishonor, but it would strengthen Yorlunn’s position, making it known that we feared the strength he wields. Or you could fight again, without respecting the rules of the Pact, and be forced out by the Great Spirit, but a blood price would be placed on your head, with all the tribes, including ours, bound by the Pact to try and claim it.”

Neither of these options were entirely comforting to me. The idea of being an Exile was bad enough, but strengthening Yorlunn left a bitter taste in my mouth, and forcing the Tribe, including my own family, to hunt me down was unthinkable. But Stalfar’s face was not so grim. “And what is the other option, then?”

“The last option would be to use another of the rites of the pact, and make another offering to the Great Spirit. The Rite of Sundering is a powerful rite that does not require death to empower. Instead, it requires a sacrifice of potential. One who uses the right may invoke a powerful Wish, calling upon the Great Spirit directly to bestow some boon. But in return, the one who invokes the Wish is cast out, exiled from their Clan and all the others, for as long as the Pact lasts, with no more ties of blood or family between them, and forced to venture out into the blizzard conjured by the rite alone, and with only what they can carry. The magic will also call strong monsters from all around, which is why, of the three times that the Sundering has been performed, none of those three lived longer than a single winter before the end claimed them. Of course, none of them were Twice-born and blessed by the Goddess of Winter.”

I nodded slowly. “In that case, what bounds are placed on this Wish? I would know just how powerful a curse I might lay upon Yorlunn, and those who follow him.”

Stalfar nodded. “None know the true limits of the Great Spirit’s power. But it is believed that the more powerful the wish asked for in the Rite, the more terrible the blizzard conjured by it, and the more powerful the monsters called by it will be. Beware! Ask for too much, and you may awake the white wyrm, Frostdeath, from his lair beneath the icy glacier!”

He paused, and then asked, “Are you sure that you wish to perform the rite?” When I nodded, he smiled, and pulled a dagger and sheath from his bag. “Then I cannot do more than honor you for your sacrifice now, while we are still of the same tribe.” He pulled the dagger from its sheath, and I gasped, for it was made of blue ice, a material so rare that few had seen it. It was said that even in the deserts of the distant southlands, that a blade of blue ice would still be cold, never melting. On the blade I could see a prayer to Auril etched into the ice, a plea for safety in the face of the winter wind. And then he handed me the blade, and its sheath. “This blade was made by me in my younger days. Carry it with you, and bear it to good fortune, Melinda, a reminder of the clan that will remember your sacrifice, even if we cannot do so openly.”

Blue Ice Dagger

Type

Simple Weapon

Weight

0.5

Damage

1d4+1

Damage Type

Piercing / Slashing

Critical

19-20 / x2

Thrown Range

10 ft

This masterwork quality dagger is made from blue ice, a material found deep in glaciers that can be ‘mined’ and ‘forged’ like iron. Only heat intense enough to melt iron will cause this ice to melt. Because of its incredibly sharp edge, it gains a +1 enhancement bonus to damage. This dagger was made by Stalfar Greatsoul of the Tribe of the Elk in his younger days, before taking up the mantle of Chief.

Gratefully, I took up the blade, and bowed low to Oglaf, before sheathing it again, to place it on my waist, ready to be drawn at need. I couldn’t say anything, my emotions were running too high, and if I did anything more, I would burst. Pulling myself to my full (though still meager compared to the Chief and my father) height, I nodded once. Stalfar told me the words to say to begin the Rite, and then clasped my hand in the traditional farewell of warriors, and my father hugged me, whispering to me that he was proud of the warrior I had become, before both left the tent.

I took a moment to pack my things. I would not be coming back to the tent, or to the Tribe, once I left this tent that I’d shared with the others of my hunting party. It hurt, more than I wished to admit, but I was damned if I let anyone make me a victim again. The tribes wanted to try and fuck with me? Well, two could play that game. They would learn not to ever fuck with me again, that was for sure.

In the center of Indsamling, not far from the doors of the great hall, there was the stone altar where the tribes originally made the Great Pact with the Spirit of Indsamling. It was also where certain rituals important to the Gathering were done, including the sacrifices were made when an augury was to be performed. More importantly, to me at least, was the fact that this is where I would exile myself from the only family I had known in this world, and cast myself out into the storm.

As I walked towards the altar, I saw Yorlunn and the other chiefs walking out of the hall. When the big oaf saw me, a wicked smile crossed his face. No doubt he thought that I had heard of his plans, and had accepted my fate. I looked forward to seeing his face when he realized what was happening.

Damage roll: 1d4 = 3 (Slashing)

1d6 = 3 (Iron Vulnerability)

Total: 6-5 = 1 (DR 5/Cold Iron)

With a single move, I drew the steel dagger that I’d won from Grold, since I needed something that would damage me enough that I could bleed upon the stone. I winced internally as the burn of iron touched my skin, but kept my face passive. I took a deep breath, and began to speak.

“I am Melinda Eriksdaughter, warrior of the Tribe of the Elk! I am the Twice-Born, Blessed by Auril, slayer of Worgs! Today, I proved myself the equal of warriors of the tribes, and the better of the whelp of Yorlunn of the Bear Tribe!”

“But what songs are sung of that battle? What tales are told of that fight? None, for a coward cannot bear the shame of a ‘mere woman’ killing his incompetent son in single combat! Instead, he proves that the Tribe of the Bear is the Tribe of the Rat, sneaking about and conspiring like a citydweller, using honeyed words and playing on the fears of weak-willed greybeards! They would see me sacrificed to try and ease Yorlunn’s dishonor, that he brought upon himself! Well, to that, I say NOT TODAY!”

“BY THE BLOOD OF THE ELK, I CALL UPON THE GREAT ONE WHO FORGED THE PACT OF INDSAMLING! HEAR NOW THE WORDS THAT CANNOT BE UNSPOKEN! TODAY, I SHATTER THE BONDS OF KINSHIP AND FAMILY, OF BLOOD AND OF TRIBE! I GIVE UP MY PLACE IN THE TRIBES OF THE FROZEN LANDS AS PRICE FOR A BOON!”

The crowd, which had been muttering and looking more than a little rowdy with the insults I had been openly speaking towards not just Yorlunn, but his tribe, and all those who had sided with him in the council, now grew gravely quiet. The winds, ever present, now grew into a roar, and I could see clouds forming above me, slowly swirling together. With what I had planned, I knew it would be a great storm, an arctic hurricane, with Indsamling at the eye. Yorlunn looked as though I had kicked him square in the balls. If he thought damage control from just my leaving would be difficult, he had no idea what was coming.

“OH, GREAT SPIRIT OF INDSAMLING! OH, AURIL, GODDESS OF WINTER AND MAIDEN OF FROST! I CALL UPON YOUR ANCIENT POWERS! I STAND HERE WRONGED BY THE COWARDICE AND GREED OF YORLUNN, LEADER OF THE BEAR TRIBE, AND THOSE WHO FOLLOW HIM! LET THIS OFFERING OF MY BLOOD AND THE SEVERING OF TIES BRING FORTH DOOM UPON THEM!”

“FOR ONE THOUSAND YEARS, LET THIS CURSE BE LAID UPON THE BLOOD OF YORLUNN, HIS TRIBE, AND ALL WHO SIDED WITH HIM IN COUNCIL THIS DAY! LET THEIR MEN FALL VAINLY IN BATTLE, BLADES CHIPPED, BROKEN, AND UNBLOODIED! LET THEIR WOMEN BEAR NO MORE MEN, ADDING ONLY WOMEN TO THEIR TRIBES! LET THEIR FOOD TASTE AS ASH, AND NOURISH NOT THEIR BODIES! LET THEIR CHILDREN GROW WEAK AND INFIRM, EASY PREY FOR EVEN THE HARES OF THE TUNDRA! MAY THEIR SOULS NOT GO TO THE HALLS OF GLORY, BUT BE CAST DOWN AND MADE INTO PLAYTHINGS FOR THE DEMONS OF THE ABYSS! BY THE RITES OF INDSAMLING, LET IT BE!”

Melinda’s Diplomacy roll: 1d20+13 = 29

By now, the storm was the mightiest I had ever seen. But I knew that the powers I had invoked were pleased. A blue-gold light shone around me, and everyone in the encampment heard twinned voices, male and female, one stern and one laughing with cruel laughter, “SO LET IT BE!”

With one last defiant glare at a dumbstruck Yorlunn and those who had sided against me, I spread my wings, and flew off into the teeth of the gathering storm. As I did so, I heard the woman’s voice whisper in my ear, “You amuse me greatly, young one. The curse you asked for is greater than the power the one administering the Rite can offer, but I will add my power to his for this. In return, I will call upon you for several services, when the time is right.”