The Midwinter Witch

Part 4

He watches as the glow fades from its eyes and goes dark, pounds his chest hard three times, and roars like a primal animal. “Now for the messy part.” He grunts while wrenching the still burning axe from its head. He extinguishes the fire by cutting off it’s fuel supply. Until he began rolling the beast onto its back he didn’t appreciate the size of it. Once he has it where he wants it, the hacking begins. He chops a large hole into its chest with the axe and then uses his fighting knife to remove his prize. The men of the wall guard assemble around the scene, just in time to watch Kyrel hoist its heart high above his head.

“Holy Shakul! That was the most incredible thing I've ever seen!” Uhlt declares with awe.

“As a Vanquent, I seek to honor my ancestors in all my deeds,” Kyrel laughs as he says this, and then gingerly prods at the broken ribs he feels now that the adrenaline is waning. “It is a very difficult task when their deeds set such a high measure to live up to.”

“A burden you seem happy to bear.”

“I like to think I’m off to a good start.”

“I’d second that, friend.” Uhlt looks to the grisly trophy still clutched in Kyrel’s fist, “What's with the heart?”

Kyrel smirks, “It is a tradition of the Order. Just as Krokar ate the heart of the God Kapros, to honor our great ancestor we eat the heart of each magic beast we slay.” He bites into the large organ and tears off a chunk. He expects to see the looks of disgust that Vanquents so often receive when there is an audience for this ritual. To his surprise he sees the men already proposing the best ways to harvest the rest of the Fricyr. He places the rest of the heart into a sack and laughs, before he immediately clutches his ribs again.

“The first man to kill a Fricyr shall be lauded as a king for a night!” Uhlt bellows, and the men all cheer and shout in agreement.

All the way back to the bar, a cheer of “Mongrel Son!” repeats at a volume that could ward off a stampede of mammoths. By the time they arrive, the story has spread and the entire town fills the streets hoping to catch a glimpse of the stranger called Kyrel.

When he eventually makes it back to the warm confines of The Rakehelly Walrus, he orders a fry pan be brought out to the stove with salt and fat. While the heart cooks, he retrieves a topical medicinal balm from his pack and applies it to his ribs, rejoicing in the relief as it begins to dull the pain. Every man and woman in the entire bar listens to the men of the guard recount the story. He is disappointed to not see Uhrt among them. Many of the residents bring him drinks and he quaffs mug after mug. When the heart is finally ready he begins to devour it which triggers an outcry of cheering and still more mugs being brought to him.

After finishing his meal and many more drinks, he's had his fill of the story and the way that it grows more grandiose with every round of drinks. The last time Uhlt told it, Kyrel was flying through the air while swinging his axe, and he was on fire himself. He feels a growing yearning as he look around the bar. He's had his feast, he's had his fight, now he needs to attend to the other need.

'This is why I hate the cold!' He thinks as he surveys the women in the bar. He hasn't paid enough attention to notice before now, but the womenfolk here are nearly as hairy as the men. Many still dress provocatively and display ample cleavage. He is greatful that they lack the beards, though they all have rather thick body hair like the men, even on that ample cleavage. As a man of science he understands the evolutionary imperative that drives such things but it doesn't suit his personal tastes. He finally spots the least hairy woman in the place. She is roughly the same height as the rest of the women but has a lighter color to her hair, and softer features. In the lands of his childhood she'd be considered pretty. Here, she is like a goddess. She's staying mostly on the outer edges of the crowd, being friendly but not really engaging with any specific group.

"Uhlt my friend! Tell me," Kyrel throws an arm around Uhlt's shoulders and directs his attention towards the woman. "What man lays claim to her? Tell me and I shall best him so I may have her for myself."

"Which? The ugly one?" He asks with a belch and a puzzled expression.

"Ugly one?" Kyrel breaks into a fit of laughter. "If you mean the one who stands out then yes, I desire the attentions of the ugly one."

"But why? She parades around naked, always bundled up and shivering.

"How can a woman be naked and bundled up? There’s not a naked woman in the entirety of this place. I can assure you, I'd find her."

"Bah! Naked. You know." Uhlt pauses to gather his thoughts. "She doesn't have the hair on her chest." He shakes his head, "No man claims her. Who would want such a woman? So weak? How will she even keep warm?"

With a raised eyebrow and an overconfident smirk Kyrel says to him "I'll see to that."

~~~~~

When he finally wakes, Kyrel finds himself tangled in the arms of the girl from the night before. Looking her over he thinks to himself, 'still not ugly!' He extracts himself from the bed and gathers his things. Moving out of the room he finds a hallway filled with doors and a set of stairs at the far end.

Descending the stairs he finds himself standing between a kitchen, and a door. He steps out the door and finds himself still in the Rakehelly Walrus. There are a few patrons scattered throughout the bar but most are keeping to themselves and the room is quiet. Behind the counter there stands a man who looks startling like Hirga. 'Was she a man the whole time?' He thinks as he steps over to the bar.

"You must be Kyrel." The man says cheerfully. "I am Himbor. My sister told me about you, as did every person I crossed paths with on my way in. You're a legend."

"At your service." Kyrel responds with a nod. "Though I dare say, I feel much less legendary than I feel hagard, hungry, and thirsty."

"I'd be happy to pour you a drink and fix you a plate."

"Wait a moment," Kyrel calls before Himbor mames it through the kitchen door. He digs in his pack and sets a large ceramic jar on the bar. He opens it, releasing an earthy aroma that quickly fills the space, drawing looks of curiosity. He withdraws a small swollen pouch of thin cloth containing the source of the smell. "Please place this into a large mug of boiling water for me." He hands the pouch to Himbor.

"It'll be ready shortly." While the water heats, Himbor brings out a plate of salted fish and pickled vegetables.

"Thank you good sir! You are both a gentleman and a scholar!" Kyrel exclaims as the mug gets placed before him.

"I'm not sure I'm either, but thank you still." Himbor nods toward the mug. "May I inquire as to what that is?"

"Certainly. It is called Kahve. It comes from the nation of Machika, South of my homeland. It begins its life as a bean. Then it is roasted. To prepare it you grind the roasted beans, boil them in water to your desired strength of flavor, and then enjoy."

"And does it taste like it smells?"

In response Kyrel digs another pouch from the jar is his pack and tosses it to Himbor. "Try one yourself. Not only does it taste wonderful but it bears medicinal properties. It can ease the pain after a night over overdrinking, focus your mind, and it provides a burst of energy that can keep you going when you're tired from long travels."

“Thank you. I shall prepare it and join you.”

When Himbor returns he finds an empty mug, an empty plate and a stack of 5 gold square coins on the bar.