This week Grillain is facing fear. It seems so simple and straightforward. Stop being afraid of the big bad monster. Just another problem to be overcome...right?
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She hit the ground running. Having moved the bed at home closer to the fire she awoke dry, comfortable, warm. But, her thoughts were steely with purpose. Morning is such a good time. Everything is fresh and new. The bees buzzing in their house, a hot drink and a chunk of neck in your hand and there couldn't possibly be anything you can't do. Grillain scuffed the ground with a foot, watching the puff of dust rise up around her blue skinned boot. A ray of warm sunshine crept toward her and she allowed it to warm her from her toes up, standing patiently as it did so. When her breath stopped clouding in the air she swallowed the last of her drink and went inside.
The portal ride still made her shiver with its power. She wondered who had created such an invention. Were they some sort of dark mage? Maybe Odin himself had created it. The thought of Odin sitting in a camp, carving a ring of fire and then wedging grayling eyes into it made her grin with amusement all the way into the Black Forest.
She approached the Elder's territory with care.
"That troll cave is entirely too quiet," she murmured.
With a rather gleeful wantonness, she went to work chopping trees down. She used the wood to begin construction on her tower with a janky roof and just enough room for a bed, fire, and workbench. On the other side of the building was a ladder and a platform to shoot from. For such a long time there was no response to her destruction/construction cycles. Not even a normal amount of gray dwarves came to challenge her. She began to wonder if maybe the trolls in the area had moved out. Were they intimidated by the Elder?
As if thinking about him were a trigger, a sliver of cold crept through her chest. She decided it was a good time to sharpen her axe. Her feet found her path with gratitude and if she moved a little faster than strictly necessary it was only to be expected. She wasn't scared. She was just...hurrying. At home, she rummaged in her boxes to see if she had enough copper to make another piece of bronze armor. A shiny, thin cuirass joined the bronze dotted pants she already had, though that was the end of her tin. There was plenty at the new raiding base though. She'd mined some of it!
It was (of course) a quick trip back through the portal. She seized the raw chunks of tin she'd gotten from the beach and hurried back to the portal. As she stepped toward the portal, she noticed a flare which was normal, but the flare died abruptly and she felt as if there were glue holding her back. No...not her. Her bag! She could go through just fine, but as her bag crossed the threshold, it "stuck."
Experimentally she set the pack down on the ground and moved back toward the gate. Fire sprang up to greet her approach. Reluctantly she took only a chunk of tin from the bag and went back toward the portal. Nothing. Not even a spit. It just refused to work when she tried to take tin through. Reluctantly she admitted defeat and put the tin in a storage box in the tiny raid camp. She would have to wait until she had plenty and then use the boat to transport it. She had neither the time nor reason to take the boat all the way here right now. Obstinately she refused to admit she could just build another boat. Her little friend was special. She wanted it to stay that way.
Grillain slept at home and dreamt of a great tree. Half of the branches crackled with flames and half the branches were filled with green leaves. She awoke abruptly, sweating and trembling with eagerness or anxiety, it wasn't clear. But today was the day. She had no excuses to make.
"I will make you proud of me Father," she whispered into the fireplace. It crackled back comfortingly and her eyes settled upon the flames.
A log fell down and she threw another few sticks on it to keep the fire alive. Fire. The key would have to be fire, wouldn't it? Another fit of trembling, but this time it was definitely eagerness. She sprang forward with gusto and was running lightly through the portal as quick as a wink. She was only a half dozen paces within the trees when the pounding steps of a troll made her stumble.
"There's the troll!"
It did not particularly upset her that the troll was there. In fact it was quite a bit of relief. She could not have handled a troll invading her battle with the Elder. The troll grabbed a tree and wrenched it up by the roots to swing at her. It must have been searching for her all night! She turned on her heel to shoot an arrow and taunt it.
"Are you angry little monster? Come and get me!"
She kept shooting as she raced across the territory. Even at her slowest, she could still outpace it. She had made a whole circuit of the grounds around the Elder's altar when her feet hit the pathway again. She turned once more as the trolls gray dwarves came at her, but they were too late. Her last arrow found the monster's throat and brought him down. Two swipes with her axe took care of the dwarves and the forest again fell silent.
"I'm getting...quite good...at this…"
She walked to catch her breath before reaching the tower. She settled the troll treasure into a box and claimed the bed next to the fire before turning again for the altar. Fire. She paced the altar, clearing the grass from its perimeter and setting up small campfires all around the whole place. When she was done she settled down to count her arrows. One hundred fire and twenty flint heads later she was convinced she did not have enough. She set herself to making more. Four hundred more. All fire arrows. She gathered all the resin she could find from fallen trees and graylings. For some reason they gathered the stuff like candy and dropped them like marbles when they died.
She did not stop to think. For she knew he would be there in her thoughts, creating reasons to not complete her objective. Instead, she welcomed the fire into her heart. A rumble and a lancing light over her head echoed her fearsome mood, but the lashing of rain cooled the heat of her anger. She watched the campfires go out one by one and she sighed in defeat. Another night would pass. The rain drove her into the tiny tower where she huddled next to the fire and finally gave in to sleep, twisting fitfully on the straw.
The next day she made sure all her fires were blazing hot, though she could not be sure they would capture her Prey within their flames. She could only hope. One more deep breath at the altar. She stretched out her hand. As seeds dropped from her fingers into the altar she Spoke.
"Odin, my heart is for Valhalla!"
The shaking of the ground heralded the arrival of her foe. The light motes swirled and concentrated, condensing into a figure taller than the stone pillars themselves. As tall as the tall pine trees she had cut down. It was made of twisted wood, branches jutting out of its shoulders and hips. It stretched impossibly long arms out toward the sky which darkened at its summoning.
Grillain waited no longer but raced for her tower. She took the ladder to her platform two steps at a time and sprang out on the ledge.
The Elder turned to look at her, it's red eyes glowing with malevolence. Grillain heard a rising scream in her mind. It was the wind of a storm screaming through the trees, the wind that drove her to run back home, the thorns of shrubs flaying the skin of her legs and arms to ribbons. The scream that promised dire retribution if she didn't run fast enough.
Through the scream of the wind, Grillain set her feet and raised the bow. She struggled with her heart, but there was anger there. She allowed the anger to spread. Hot, and comforting. The arrow left the bow streaking through the glowing darkness and exploding upon the Elder's chest. A bloom of fire rocked it and its arms swept forward toward her.
She was surrounded by...roots. Painful shards ripped into her skin. And she knew her mistakes instantly. The tower was too close. It afforded no protection at all. The tiny wall she'd built was nothing to him. The whole tower itself couldn't have tripped him! Before he could throw another attack, she leaped from the ledge to the ground and ran. She ran straight toward the fires, hoping he would follow her.
It didn't work. He did turn toward her, but he did not bother to follow her. Why would he? As she ducked and wove through the campfires, his root attack lanced out from his arms and sprang up around her, tripping her, slicing her open.
"Mistake! Big mistake!"
She turned and headed back toward the trees beyond her tower. She almost made it. Almost. Just a few steps short of the tower the darkness claimed her.
She woke naked. And furious, though she was relieved she had been defeated right next to the tower. Her face froze as she heard a familiar whipping sound. Oh no. Next to the tower! She was up and running. So very luckily she reached her items before the Elder did. She grabbed them and ran for the edge of the trees, pulling on cuirass, helmet, greaves. She stuffed food down her gullet, then pulled her bow. She whirled just in time to see the Elder send a crashing attack upon the tower, blowing the roof high into the air. Behind the safety of a tree she began to fire. She could not be defeated again or it would be disastrous. She had no idea where...or if...she would reappear again.
As the Elder turned its attention to search for her she recognized this panicky feeling, this sourness that breathed along the roof of her mouth and out her nose. She had felt it before. She had lost her weapon to a roundhouse strike in her first battle. In a gutless move, she had run from the field of fighting. After the battle the Chief of their Viking clan had called her before him. In a raging temper, he berated her soundly, which she supposed she deserved. Then he struck her, which she did not deserve. He told her how useless she was and threatened to enthrall her. Lying on the ground looking up at that giant of a man, beard matted with drying blood, ale flecked spittle flying from his mouth she wondered if he just might kill her. She would certainly never have the guts to protect herself.
*You will never leave here. You have nowhere you can go. You are nothing.*
She struggled to contain the panic. The Elder's words were so powerful she wanted to weep, to give up. To become the thrall the Chief wanted her to be. She glanced behind her, to the trees that would surely hide her. But eventually she would have to come back. The Elder was right. There was nowhere for her to go. Shaking, she raised the bow and relentlessly began firing. If she did not make it, she wanted to know that at least, this time, she had not run away.
The streaks of pale fire soared through the air that was filling with smoke from the campfires. Unknowingly she had picked, if not the perfect spot, at least a spot far enough away that the Elder seemed to have trouble finding her. The tower underwent a terrible assault and was soon reduced to rubble. Grillain grit her teeth against the urge to vomit as waves of unrelenting fear attacked her. The Elder's mental power was just as harsh as his root attack.
But a bully was only a bully so long as she let him be. For a moment she stopped firing.
"No wonder they threw you out! You're too stupid to know who your real enemy is!"
The fear the Elder sent shifted to anger and she drank it in like water. It soaked into her skin and bones, suffusing her with energy. She fired again, and her shots rained fire upon his head and shoulders. His eyes searched the terrain and instantly roots sprang up around her. Was it her imagination or were the roots a little smaller? A little slower? She stumbled as she moved sideways, always trying to keep firing. Many of her shots now didn't even hit, and she had to stop when she ran out of stamina, concentrating on keeping out of the way. Every once in a while she'd let loose another arrow from her dangerously dwindled supply.
As she got her breath back she dragged herself back onto the stone altar and watched him waver, swaying from the damage she had done to him. He was charred now. She reached back and groped for the very last fire arrow, then raised her bow once more, knowing her words were more true than any she had uttered while alive.
"Your own worst enemy is yourself."
The fear that had held her in its grip began to fail under the assault of truth. He had not given her the fear, it was her own, and it might always be there, but she refused to allow it purchase anymore. She would never run away again. The last arrow flew through the smoke and buried itself into the Elders eye. With a final groan he burst into ash and blew away.