A Visitor

[Storyteller]

At Galahad's estate on evening a man is escorted in he is dressed in wolf furs and you recognize him as Loki Runetounge.

"I have completed my investigation into your domain and what seems to be troubling you," Loki says.

[Storyteller]

Loki just kinda looks around waiting for anyone to respond.

[Gunnar Voldemon]

Gunnar seemingly drops from the sky and lands a few feet away from Loki. "What's brings you here huntsman?"

[Storyteller]

"Good to see you again Gunner," Loki says with a smile, "as Didaskalos ordered I have investigated what maybe happening within Liabach," Loki says.

"This is what I have been able to put together so far," Loki reaches into his cloak and produces a crossbow bolt.

"I have found the glade in which the wood for the crossbow bolts was harvested it falls within Liabach between Gorton's Apothecary and the Wildmoon Meadery," he says, "it appears that the bolts have been infused with some sort of dark art the type I am unsure of."

"I tried to track the scent and path that the harvester of the wood took away from the glade but it seems to backtrack and cross itself multiple times," Loki says with less enthusiasm, "if I had more time I am sure I could have been able to sort it out."

"What I found to be most strange was the lack of field work and finding no hunters in the forests," Loki says.

[...]

"Round and round and round we go, what this is all about, LOKI KNOWS!"

Lyrah giggles as she pops her head around a corner, and makes to stroke at an invisible beard on her face while pacing the room and pondering his information.

"o0o0o0o0o Maybe it's an invisible hunter! Or perhaps, he or she simply has no desire to be found. If you didn't want to be found Loki, where is it exactly that you would go? what would you do to conceal thyself within the darkness?" Lyrah wiggles her brows and grins a toothy smile between looking to him and Gunnar.

[Storyteller]

Loki looks at Lyrah grins and begins to sing (Performance X 5) a skald;

Hearken, ye ring-bearers, while of Harold I tell you,
the mightily wealthy, and his manful war-deeds;
words I o’erheard a maiden high-minded speaking,
golden-haired, white-armed, with a glossy-beaked raven.

Wise thought her the valkyrie; were welcome never
men to the bright-eyed one, her who birds’ speech knew well.
Greeted the light-lashed maiden, the lily-throated woman,
the Hymir’s-skull-cleaver as on cliff he was perching.

How is it, ye ravens—whence are ye come now
with beaks all gory, at break of morning?
Carrion-reek ye carry, and your claws are bloody.
Were ye near, at night-time, where ye knew of corpses?”

Hearken, ye ring-bearers, while of Harold I tell you,
the mightily wealthy, and his manful war-deeds;
words I o’erheard a maiden high-minded speaking,
golden-haired, white-armed, with a glossy-beaked raven.

Wise thought her the valkyrie; were welcome never
men to the bright-eyed one, her who birds’ speech knew well.
Greeted the light-lashed maiden, the lily-throated woman,
the Hymir’s-skull-cleaver as on cliff he was perching.

“How is it, ye ravens—whence are ye come now
with beaks all gory, at break of morning?
Carrion-reek ye carry, and your claws are bloody.
Were ye near, at night-time, where ye knew of corpses?” 

Shook himself the dun-hued one, and dried his beak,
the eagle’s oath-brother, and of answer bethought him:
“Harold we follow, Halfdan’s first-born,
I the young Yngling, since out of egg we crept.

“That king thou knowest, him who at Kvinnar dwelleth,
the hoard-warder of North men, who has hollow war-ships
with reddish ribs and with reddened war-shields,
with tarred oar-blades and with tents foam-besprinkled.

“Fain outside would he drink the ale at Yule-tide,
the fight-loving folk-warder, and Frey’s-game play there.
Even half-grown, he hated the hearthfire cozy,
the warm women’s room, and the wadded down-mittens.

“Hearken how the high-born one in the Hafrs-firth fought there,
the keen-eyed king’s son, against Kiotvi the wealthy:
came the fleet from the eastward, eager for fighting,
with gaping figureheads and graven ship-prows.

“They were laden with franklins and lindenshields gleaming,
with Westland spearshafts and with Welsh broadswords.
The berserkers bellowed as the battle opened,
the wolf-coats shrieked loud and shook their weapons.

“Their strength would they try, but he taught them to flee,
the lord of the Eastmen who at Útstein dwelleth.
The steeds-of-Nokkvi he steered out when started the battle.
Then boomed the bucklers ere a blow felled Haklang.

“The thick-necked atheling behind the isle took shelter:
he grew loath, against Lúfa to hold the land of his fathers.
Then hid under benches, and let their buttocks stick up,
they who were wounded, but thrust their heads keelward.

“Their shoulders shielded the shifty heroes—
were they showered with slung-shot—with the shingles-of-Gladhome.
Home from Hafrs-firth hastened they eastward,
fled by way of Iathar, of ale-cups thinking.

“On the gravel lay the fallen, given to the one-eyed
husband of Fulla; were we fain of such doings.

“Of more and other things shall the maids of Ragnhild,
the haughty women-folk, now have to gabble
than of the heath-dwellers which Harold not ever
feasted on the fallen, as their friends had done oft.

“The high-born liege-lord took the lady from Denmark—
broke with his Rogaland sweethearts and their sisters from Horthaland,
with those from Heithmork and Hálogaland eke.”

With that he looks toward Gunner and smiles.

[...]

Lyrah gets a rather perplexed look on her face and sort of half nods and shakes her head at the same time. "While you are skilled singing songs and reciting poetry, I'm afraid I will require a... Not so... Verbal version of that to know what you even mean by such words.."

Lyrah goes wide eyed, and gasps for a moment before laughing. "Oh nevermind. Your words were so beautiful that I thought the voices in my head stopped talking to me. But I can hear them again. So all is well!"

[Storyteller]

Loki just shakes his head.

"I have to get back to the Ard Rhi," Lokie says as he vanishes from sight.