Herbalists' Cache so I can watch your face as I take it all away

What little Wardruna knows of stars is of the stories passed down from generation to generation: they are small embers and sparks that had burst forth and been cast out of the world of fire that has been sent into the night sky to illuminate the heavens and the earth. He looks to them and simply sees embers of the world of fire: failing to see the shapes and destinies that some claim to be able to read in them. Then again, he is no seer. He is not gifted with the ability of communication with the gods: he was the commander of the warriors of the Spine and his only destiny during that time had been to die in battle and be taken to the hall of heroes where he awaited the end of everything with the allfather and his legions. He casts a glimpse heavenward before his good eye flickers down to her as she speaks of the stars and how they favor him. There is a bird-like cant to his head, an unspoken inquiry that burns in the gold of his undamaged eye, but he bids his tongue to still. He desires to ask it, oh, how he desires! Yet he knows the dangers of prophecy. Often times it is not specific: a statement that can hide a double meaning and often times one’s own interpretation is obsessed over until it becomes truth; sometimes it means the opposite of what one gleams from it, typically taking what they wished to hear and little else.

“Do you have a name, Seeress?” Wardruna inquires of her, drawing nearer for a moment only to take in her scent in full. She is lone. Yet another lone female that the gods have led him to. This was becoming quite a trend with them and he’s gotten the message by now. He’s building a kvennabúr. It had not been his intention but it appeared to be the intention of his gods and who is he to deny them?

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