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Frost's End
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James Holter stared upon the blue banner that hung from the restored Yorktown building, his eyebrow raised as he examined the sloppily painted white raven. It looked like someone had splattered white paint across the banner and called it a day. While the edges of the wings looked jagged and splattered, James couldn’t mistake the painting for anything else but a white feathered bird, its beak open as if to sound out a cry. He had to give the artist some credit; at least, it slightly resembled a raven. James glanced at the orc, who was adjusting the banner, the creature grinning as he gestured toward his work of art.
“You like?” the orc asked, his proud smile almost innocent to a degree. Almost.
‘I wonder if this is his first time painting this. I’m pretty sure a kindergartener can do better.’
James sighed and nodded, giving the orc a thumbs up. “Yes. I like.”
Truth be told, he didn’t want to hurt the poor oaf’s feelings. Besides, this was one of many banners that were plastered around the area Aldren’s refugees had set up. They didn’t seem to mind the poorly done raven, so why should James?
‘You’re too soft,’ Faust muttered, the Centurion spirit chuckling in the young man’s head.
‘Shut it. How do you know he won’t go postal if I tell him it looks like a paint spill?’ James shot back.
‘Postal?’ Faust retorted, obviously confused.
‘Forget it,’ James sighed. He was done explaining Earth references to Faust since the spirit had never really gotten a single one.
The young man scratched at his chin with his left hand, which was wrapped in white bandages, a result of a past fight from months before. He blinked as he felt a sudden cold sting him, his eyes moving to see that the problematic hand had frosted his blond beard once more. The blond man sighed, brushing it off with his right.
“What is that?” a voice called out behind James. He turned to the source, smiling a bit to see Dahlia, the shaman. Her short hair swayed gently in the cool breeze, her poncho-like cloak reacting with the wind enough to lift and expose a glimpse of her warm-looking tunic and breeches. The shaman had a look of curiosity, a reaction that was all too common to the young man.
“It’s the new symbol for the Holter clan, of course,” James revealed.
“Holter clan?” Dahlia chuckled. “Aren’t you being a little too egotistical?” she commented as she stepped up to the banner. “I thought we agreed on White Raven?”
James shrugged, his right hand brushing stray strands of blond hair from his brow. “I thought Holter clan sounded nice.”
“Hmmm. Me no like Holter clan. Arscor like White Bird clan,” the orc commented.
“Whose side are you on?” James narrowed his eyes at the insubordinate, who grinned dumbly as he pointed at the banner.
“Banner represents white bird, no Holter,” the orc argued. “We are all like bird, not like Holter,” he continued. James and Dahlia stared at the orc in dumbfounded silence, neither party saying a single word as the orc nodded its head before walking off to wherever he had come from.
“White Raven works for me,” James agreed finally, his eyes moving to the banner once more.
“Good. White Raven clan it is, then,” Dahlia grinned. “How are you feeling, anyway? Any pain? Nausea? Vomiting?”
“I’m fine,” James answered, waving off the questions. “It’s been months since then, I’m fully recovered,” He reassured the shaman.
Dahlia raised an eyebrow before sighing in defeat.
“Fine. If you say so,” she muttered. Then, without warning, she stabbed James’ abdomen with her index finger. James instantly winced from the sudden jab, his hand instinctively moving to cover his gut. Specifically, the spot where he had been stabbed with both a knife and a nasty Ice Lance spell months back.
“I knew it,” Dahlia said.
“It’s nothing,” James responded. “It’ll get better with time,” he added. Granted, he wasn’t wrong.
It had been four months since the incident with the Lumen Knights, his stab wound being the result of two scuffles ending with the young man catching a sharp object in his gut. After four months of potions, resting, and Faust’s strange healing, James had miraculously healed up to almost perfect health. Almost. His healed abdomen still stung from time to time, especially during his grueling training sessions with Harald and the town guards. Still, James had already gotten used to it, as the pain was slowly wearing off day after day. Now, it rarely hurt. That is, if left undisturbed.
“Jabbing it every two days isn’t going to heal it, you know,” James groaned.
“Maybe,” Dahlia sighed. “But I still don’t like the fact that you’re putting yourself through training throughout the healing process.”
James raised an eyebrow. “So you don’t want me to train because it’ll put too much strain on me. Yet you’re the one who sneaks into my cot on those ‘sleepless’ nights,” he teased.
Dahlia’s lightish brown skin suddenly flushed darkly, her amber eyes widening a bit. “That’s not fair! The nights are very cold and–” She stopped herself, her head shaking. “This is ridiculous to argue about.” She glanced to the side, avoiding any further eye contact. “There was a reason I came here, you know. You still have errands to do.”
Now it was James’ turn to avoid eye contact, his face contorting into a grimace as he recalled the many errands he had that day. “I was hoping you wouldn’t mention them.”
“The town isn’t going to restore itself, James. Not only that, but there’s also that clan of people following you. Errands are normal,” Dahlia pointed out. James groaned but didn’t argue. There was a reason Dahlia was his ‘advisor,’ or however she had put it. A clan leader, no matter how small the following, still had a duty to his people.
‘I’m never going to get used to calling them that,’ James thought to himself.
‘Well, you best get comfortable with it. I doubt it’s going to change anytime soon,’ Faust commented.
“How’s your arm, by the way?” Dahlia asked. James blinked, his eyes moving to his left arm, which was wrapped in a fresh set of bandages. He raised it, his fingers moving around a bit before they clenched lightly.
“It’s better than last month. It doesn’t hurt to move, and I can feel everything again. Well, sort of, if you count out the never-ending cold.” While the frostbitten arm slowly regained its feeling throughout the months, James couldn’t shake off that numb sensation it emanated. While not noticeable, there was always a numbing cold that plagued his blackened fingers. It had bothered James for a good while since not even the fireplace in Dahlia’s hut could warm them up. Eventually, however, he had gotten more used to it as time went on.
“Not much we can do about that,” Dahlia muttered. She stepped up to James’ clenched hand, her own moving to open up his fingers. She gently held his hand for a few seconds, her fingers pressing on James’ bandaged palm. “It’s not as stiff or cold as last time. Maybe you are improving…” Dahlia trailed off, her eyes moving to meet James’.
Both of their eyes locked onto each other, the young woman blushing as she squeezed the bandaged hand. James could feel his own face heat up, his eyes breaking away from the glance. Dahlia did the same, her hand quickly dropping James’ own.
This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.
“Uh, so I’ll get on those errands,” James muttered.
“Agreed. I’ll go and let you do that,” Dahlia responded before she walked off, presumably to the infirmary.
James sighed, his head shaking in defeat as he watched the shaman leave.
‘Are relationships normally this complicated?’ James vented out to Faust, who responded with a chuckle.
‘This isn’t a normal relationship. You should know this.’
James frowned at that response, his eyes moving to the white raven banner.
‘Is any of this normal?’ he asked.
Faust didn’t answer. The blond man sighed and walked off, away from the banner.
James walked through the paths that intertwined throughout the settlement of Yorktown, which had grown these past months. He eyed the newly restored buildings, which resulted from the townspeople coming together to fix the damage left by the marauders that threatened the town back during the Frost solstice. His body ached with that memory, his thoughts recalling the fog that had engulfed the burning town.
It had been a hellish scene, complete with the abomination that had lurked around the corner. James took a deep breath of the cold air, his head shaking away those memories. That day was far behind him, now irrelevant to the present. Yorktown was restored, and its people recovered from both the marauders and royal soldiers. Of course, the town wasn’t the same as it was before, nor would it ever be. James stopped his walk, his eyes scanning the makeshift gate that separated the White Raven clan from the rest of the townsfolk.
“It still feels unreal,” he muttered to himself.
‘You’re not the only one with that thought,’ the spirit agreed. James sighed, his right hand moving to sweep back his growing hair. It had lengthened these last five months since he had been in Valenfrost. James still wasn’t sure if he wanted to cut it short or let it grow some more.
‘Faust, do you–’
James suddenly stopped, his hand quickly moving to grab at his chest. He gritted his teeth, powering through the pain as it quickly passed through his chest and head. James breathed heavily, his vision blurring as he tried to keep his balance.
“Again?” he asked himself after a short while. His chest pain was gone, any remnants of it disappearing as fast as it had come.
‘You should tell Dahlia about this,’ Faust pointed out, the spirit’s voice sounding just as distressed.
“I’m fine. I’ve been fine ever since,” James responded before his eyes widened. There was a metallic taste in his mouth, something that he hadn’t experienced in months. He brought his fingers to his lips and held them out. James blinked at the sight of red.
“Later today. I’ll tell her,” he muttered as he cleaned the blood from his hand. The chest pains were nothing new, as they resulted from his fight with the Lumen Knight known as Gryff. They had appeared out of nowhere with no real origin. No wounds, no blood, not even any lasting effects. Until now. This was beginning to worry James. He was now bleeding for no plausible reason aside from the sudden pain that had appeared in his chest.
“When I’m done with my errands, I’ll let her know,” James repeated. He wiped his mouth before he headed through the gate in front of him.
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Seamus awoke in blood. The sky above was a hellish red, its clouds tainted with the light of the blood moons. He slowly sat up, his wide green eyes looking at the surrounding aftermath. Blood surrounded the young man, ripples forming around his body as he stood on his knees. Bodies littered the environment, with arrows and broken spears stuck to them. A torn flag flapped in the wind, its bear paw symbol disgraced. Seamus looked down at his hands, which were dirty and covered in crimson. He swallowed and raised his head to the source of the light.
Behind the young Halvorson was the fort he had grown up in. The place his father had proclaimed was untouchable. The same place his mother had described as an artful piece of architecture. The same place that the marauders had raided and set aflame. Seamus stared upon the flaming fort, his eyes drifting up to the clouds above. The two moons, Luna and Callisto, were there, shining their light on the scene. But instead of their usual bluish and heavenly glow, they were a blood red. Crimson moonlight bathed the fort, which only added to the hellish event. The entire scene proved too much for the young man, as his hands shook uncontrollably.
“You coward.”
A soft voice called out, the young man’s eyes widening as he gritted his teeth. He was the last of his clan, a coward who had run from his fate.
“Coward,” he managed out in a whisper. Seamus Halvorson slammed a shaking fist at the bloodied ground, his throat going hoarse as he screamed into the red night.
Seamus Halvorson woke up in a frenzy, his forehead damped with sweat. His breathing was heavy, his lungs begging for cold air as his body overheated. Seamus kicked off his sweat-soaked blankets, controlling his breathing as he laid back on his bed. The nightmare was still fresh in his mind, its horrific images replaying in Seamus’ head as he tried his best to forget. He took a couple more deep breaths, his head shaking as he stepped out of his bed. Seamus moved to slip on his pants and tunic despite his overheating body.
His movement around the dark caught the attention of a nearby oaf, who groaned. “Five more minutes,” the man grumbled.
Seamus frowned, his eyebrow raised as he moved to grab his fur-lined boots. In doing so, his foot impacted with a discarded blacksmith’s hammer, which caused the young man to curse out suddenly.
“Delphine’s ti–! Haggard!” Seamus hissed before he grimaced. He limped back to his cot, wincing as he squinted at the damned weapon that was left haphazardly on the ground.
“Caelus’ balls! What do you want?” Haggard growled out, his head rising from the thick mountain of blankets he had made for himself the night before.
“Your hammer!” Seamus replied in a hostile tone. He massaged his hurting toe, which throbbed painfully.
“What about it?”
“I stubbed my foot against it. Stop leaving it out in the open! Same with your clothes. I keep mistaking them for mine since they end up near my bed,” Seamus sighed as he tossed a dirty tunic from his side. He grabbed at his boots, his hands carefully fitting one of them over his hurting foot. “If we’re going to share a living space, I’d rather not have your dirty socks by my pillows.”
“Hmph,” Haggard only gave the young man a short, gruff dismissal, which annoyed Seamus.
“Are you even listening to me?”
No response came from the drifter, which would have normally infuriated Seamus. However, the young man only sighed before he limped his way to the door. He passed by another cot on his way, this one occupied by a red-haired woman. She was sleeping soundly despite the small argument Seamus and Haggard were having. The mute berserker known as Lilith slept without a care in the world, her good arm holding her knees close to her chest. She slept curled up, which bothered Seamus. She had been a savage not too long ago, a homeless nomad on the island she had grown up on. It only made sense that Lilith preferred sleeping this way, as years out in the wild could have conditioned her to be this way. Seamus frowned at the thought before he grabbed his cloak.
‘She’s not out in the wilds anymore. She’s safe here,’ Seamus comfortably assured himself before he turned to leave.
Seamus pushed against the wooden door that led outside, putting some strength into it as it resisted him. Cold air rushed into the home as Seamus stepped out. He quickly closed the door behind himself, sighing in relief as the chilly breeze swept past him. Seamus’ cloak flapped in the wind, his heated body slowly cooling down. He looked up at the clouded gray sky, which had visible breaks in it. The blue sky was now visible through the breaks in the clouds, signifying to Seamus that Frost was soon coming to a close. Bloom was nearing, and with its transition came the unending rain.
‘At least it won’t be freezing cold. Rain during Frost usually ends up with iced streets and dead livestock. At least now the rain’s only danger will be limited to slick streets and a wandering cold.’
Seamus glanced toward the surroundings. Yorktown was looking healthier by the day. The buildings that were once burnt and dilapidated now looked brand new. The entire village looked as if it was a recent settlement, with men walking the streets with lumber and supplies for rebuilding. Despite the months of work, Yorktown was far from completing the renovation. The newcomers, the ones from Aldren, were expanding the town into the nearby forest. Seamus had seen how eager the refugees were when it came to rebuilding, almost as if they were yearning for a second chance at life. A second chance that a certain otherworldly man had given them.
The young Halvorson turned to the nearby banner, which displayed a white raven, its wings spread out as if to take flight. Despite looking sloppy and savage in a way, the depiction of the curious bird was almost elegant. Seamus smiled at the banner, a tinge of nostalgia coming over him. However, his smile soon faded once he saw the wall the blue banner rested upon. Aldren’s former citizens weren’t getting along with Yorktown’s populace because the rest of the native townsfolk wanted to stick with a traditional council.
Aldren’s refugees had wanted a Jarl to rule over the island instead. It had stemmed from their loyalty to the Draugr, better known as James Holter. They had seen the strange man as a leader, a mythical being almost, that was capable of anything. Those orcs had proclaimed James as the Herald of Dremor, a god that ruled the underworld and commanded over the undead. Aldren’s refugees had taken their word as truth since they had seen firsthand what James was capable of, both during the Fall of Aldren and the second Battle for Yorktown.
‘A man who refused to die twice. A man who commanded a spirit from Helheim itself.’
Seamus recalled the rumors of what James was capable of. They ranged from commanding the dead to controlling dark magics beyond comprehension. Seamus chuckled aloud at the thought of such things. He knew James, for he really was. A tired man from another world who just happened to get himself into the worst situations possible.
“Ah, but they won’t see him like that, will they?” Seamus muttered to himself. James was seen in a different light now. Since his fight with Knight Gryff, the blond man was no longer an enigma to those around him. All who lived in Yorktown now knew of his secrets, including his otherworldly status and Faust’s presence in his body.
Someone, somehow, had leaked them. Who did it was now irrelevant, as James’ secrets were out in the open.