Outlander
Kiphanis was cold. The wind cut through him like a knife and Kip (as he was known) could not help but let the slightest shiver run through him. He thought he had been used to the cold being raised in the Highlands, but here on the Mountains of Tares, in the dead of winter, Kip was colder than he’d ever been. He had his three pointed Peacekeeper hat pulled down over a thin, wool hood and his cloak pulled tight about him, but still he was cold through to his bones.
Not for the first time he looked with jealousy at his Shadow Wolf companion, Punk. Punk’s ghostly form sat beside Kip in the snow and the howling wind barely moved his fur. Like all Shadow Wolves, Punk could faze slightly out of this reality so things of a physical nature would have less or no effect on him. In the bright sun the wolf was barely visible. When the sun shown bright, the Shadow Wolves faded more and were much weaker. But also the wind and cold had less effect on them in the sun, for less of them was really there. This is what Kip was jealous of.
Soon Kip would take the plunge back into the waters of the Bay of Blood and help a Green Water Dragon shed it’s skin and make a long coat from its hide. Working with the half crazed Water Dragon as it shed its outer skin was dangerous and took a very controlled mind and a totally relaxed spirit, but if he now had the coat it would stop the wind and rain better than any other garment he now had. It would also symbolize his move from a Ranger class Peacekeeper to a Ranger Marshal. Not many that took up service in the Peacekeeper Core ever took the challenge to become a Marshal and stay on for a second term of service. Most were happy to do their time and return home and serve the Core as a Peacekeeper in their hometown or village. Some found just making it through their assignment to serve away from home too big a challenge and deserted or just disappeared. Both Peacekeeper Rangers that had been assigned to Tares to serve the Troll tribes before Kip had done just that. They had sent word that they had settled amongst the trolls then nothing more was ever heard from them.
So it was natural that there had not been many volunteers to go to the island of Tares. Kip himself had not volunteered but had been asked by the Tares representative of the counsel of Nations. Kip had gotten the letter handed to him by a message runner and had not actually talked face to face with the Troll representative, but they were asking for him by name, so how could he refuse them? He guessed they had asked for him because though he had little resemblance to the trolls, he had some troll blood running in his veins. Not that it had helped him much this far.
Kip had been serving in Tares almost three long, grueling years and had just earlier that week received his summons home across the waters to Yaleen and the Peacekeeper’s stronghold. It had taken him two whole minutes to fully grasp the impact of the message: he was leaving Tares and the Trolls. He had felt like dancing a jig, but his joy had been short lived.
Before he had time to make plans to leave he had been called to meet Rogarn, the leader of the mountain tribe, Nuren, here at the top of this accursed mountain. The tribe of Nuren had been the bane of Kip’s life from the day he had started his service in Tares. Two young trolls from the Nuren tribe had been waiting for him as he left the boat and then to jump him. He guessed they had planned to put him in his place and let him know he was not wanted in their land. Punk had caught their scent just before they grabbed Kip but as it was an unusually sunny day he was slow to react. Kip had felt the big hands grabbing him and had slipped to the ground and rolled away, but one of the two trolls had a firm grip on Kip’s staff and it had slipped from Kip’s hand in his roll. Next, Kip had tried to talk to them, but the one with his staff had snapped the staff into splinters and flung the shatter halves at him. He had not known trolls were that strong. The Staff was Ironwood and was supposed to be as strong as steel. The staff of a Peacekeeper was the main weapon for both defense and to send an attacker packing, other than one’s own mind and body. And less than ten steps into his mission his staff was gone.
As the two trolls had stepped in again on Kip, Punk had struck. Punk, unlike Kip, had no hesitation killing and lunged at the bigger trolls throat, and in a flash of grey wolf and dark troll blood Punk had rip the trolls throat out. Furious with himself for losing his staff and of losing control of the situation, Kip pulled his Night Staff from his belt and struck at the remaining Trolls knee. He had only meant to knock the troll down but in his anger he had hit much harder than necessary and the troll’s knee had shattered.
Much to Kip’s frustration, Punk, who had killed, was held with what seamed to pass here for respect, but Kip who had just maimed his opponent was treated with contempt. Kip knew neither he nor Punk had acted according to the peacekeepers code of non-violence, but they had lived through the first few days.
The upside of the incident was that the trolls knew he could handle himself in a fight and though he had had to defend himself a few times, the trolls had at least seen him as a force to be reckoned with. He had felt like he was not always staying true to the Peacekeeper charter but he had gained the respect of most of the trolls and though he was always an outsider, he had survived his term of service and had kept peace and helped ensure order. The down side was he had never won the hearts of the Nuren tribe. You can only do your best to live at peace and there is always two sides. When it came to him and the Nuren, a cease fire was the best he could pull off.
Standing knee deep in snow waiting for Rogarn, Kip could not wait to be done with whatever the latest trouble with this tribe was and be gone from the island of Trolls. Punk, who sat half visible in snow beside Kip, agreed. Though Punk had grown a thick coat in their time there and the wind and cold had less effect on him, he too was not liking the cold. The two had shared an unusual bond from birth and were never far apart. What one felt the other picked up on and what one sensed the other knew. This had made them an impressive hunting team and were easily the best trackers the Peacekeeper Core had. Despite this they still could be surprised. Punk’s ears snapped up and the two moved as one looking to the north just in time to see the towering figure of Rogarn lift up from under the snow. The cloak that had hidden him fell away. Both Kip and Punk jumped.
Rogarn was of average height for a troll, which put him just under 8 feet tall. He, like all trolls was hairless and his head was crowned with seven small horns. Two more dropped from his chin giving him the look of having a bone goatee. He wore leather leggings and a black sleeveless tunic. Despite Rogarn’s age he moved with the grace of a cat. Without a word, Rogarn strode forward and stopped two strides from Kip.
Kip braced himself for the curse that was Rogarn’s usual greeting to Kip. Kip had never had it interpreted but knew it was sometime along the line of, “May you die shamefully and bring dishonor to your tribe.” Kip was ready to make the warding symbol to deflect the curse.
“Greetings brother, Kiphanis,” Rogarn bellowed.
Kip was half way through making the ward and froze not sure he had heard correctly. Kip had been weary before the greeting but a warm greeting from a Nuren tribesmen set him doubly on guard. Before he could ask why the change, Rogarn dropped a bundle at his feet.
“After three years you have finally proven yourself to us and now it is time you do what it is that we called you here to do,” said Rogarn. “Tonight you become one of us for tomorrow we may die. Come!” Without further explanation Rogarn turned and started wading his way north deeper into the mountains.
Kip was stunned. No encounter with the trolls had ever suggested that they wanted him there and now the man who had seemed to dislike him the most was telling him he was to be one of them and do something for which they had “called” him to do. His mind raced. What could it be? He turned to look at Punk but the wolf stared back with out expression, clearly no more in the know than Kip.
Kip bent down and poked at the bundle of cloth with his night staff. Part of the wrapping fell away to reveal the hilt of a blade. Kip’s curiosity got the better of him and he quickly unwrapped the blade. It was a short sword with a two-handed grip, sheathed in dark leather.
“It’s a Whereblade to ‘walk the dead.’” Rogarn called. He had stopped ten strides away and was waiting but had not turn back to face Kip. “Come and earn the right to wield it.” And with that he started off again.
Maybe Kip should have never gone with Rogarn but he did. That night he became part of the Nuren tribe and over the next 2 days Kip learned to wield the Whereblade. He ‘walked the Dead’ and was never the same again.
Three months after returning from Tares and working to train new recruits for the Peacekeeper Core, Kip was still coming to terms with the experience.
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