Firestone Hot Springs each must die someday

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The winter storm does not relent and not for the first time Kjalarr is left to wonder if his sacrifice to Skaði — goddess of the winter — is enough. So he stalks another sacrifice. A young buck, with budding antlers still a child by it’s spots, bleating miserably for it’s mother lost in the snow and shivering. Kjalarr does not have to kill it but he: fierce and unforgiving is the last thing the frightened ungulate sees nevertheless. The Viking’s struggles as it attempts to flee and as a result the young one’s death is not swift nor painless. In a cruel way, this lessons Kjalarr's own pain, however briefly. The cold has seeped into his heart, as unkind and harsh as he was becoming. He sees it in the way he snuffs out the young ungulate's life and further by the acknowledgment that he is not bothered by it. The cold — the weather of his true home, of a home he is bred and built to endure and conquer — the grief of his daughters has made him just as frigid and harsh and he feels nothing as he lays the deer to the bloodstained snow. No sorrow. No guilt. Nothing. It was a sacrifice and that is all. It was food to appease the goddess so that she might spare him and his blood and she continues to reap her dead. “Hagl Skaði, gyðja vetur, gyðja veiði. Samþykkja þessu blóði, samþykkja þessa fórn sem þakklæti fyrir leiðsögn þína í gegnum sköpun og fyrir áframhaldandi leiðsögn og vernd í gegnum það.” Kjalarr murmured the prayer over the deer’s rapidly cooling body, it’s sinew already beginning to stiffen. He hovered over it a moment longer, swiping salmon pink tongue over his jowls to catch the droplets of blood but it’s stain remains upon the platinum silver of his muzzle.

Kjalarr turns his back to his offering, heading deeper into the hot springs so that he might draw from their warmth to offer respite from the bitter cold and to replenish his energy for the rest of the (short) journey back home to his waiting kingdom and his son where he no doubt where he left him: suckling at his mother’s breast.

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As he stalked the reaches of the Hot Springs, Rian began to wonder: would they all perish? The season, so far, proved unrelenting in its assault upon the Wilds. A fierce chill had settled deep into his bones and he'd been unsuccessful in shaking it. Every night when he laid down to sleep, he watched as the den entrance slowly filled with new fallen snow. And, every morning, he woke to dig himself out and emerge—not new, nor revived, but to repeat the same mechanical steps. Walk, patrol, mark, eat, walk, patrol, greet his mother, sleep. Repeat, repeat, repeat.

However, today he was not alone. A voice echoed across the eerie silence of the reaches—a deep, resonating sound, that caught in his frozen ears and set alight his heart with something akin to unease. The words were foreign; like something out of a long-forgotten age. Rian shifted his course and broke into a trot, his strong legs eating up the distance until he came upon the discarded fawn and saw Kjalarr's form retreating into the fog. He furrowed his brows in confusion and looked from the carcass to Kjalarr, and back again only to start off after the would-be King.

"Kjalarr?" He called out softly with a half-raised tail and a scrutinizing cast to his jade eyes.

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The vivid dreams of his father were more frequent than they’d ever been, sometimes they were red, angry and harsh and other times they were blue: calming and encouraging, but regardless each time he woke up panting, overheated despite the cold that seeped into the mouth of the den he shared with his wife and son, nestled close to them to share his body heat and Kjalarr thinks of them now, wrapped so easily in the catacombs of his thoughts. For a brief moment he gives pause, the coarse winter guard hairs prickling as he feels Skadi’s presence, her acceptance of his sacrifice. She is pleased with what he offers her and all Kjalarr can do is hope that she does not revoke her favor. She is said to be as beautiful and as merciless as the storms she conjures and he does not deign to upset her or offer her anything less than she deserves. Still, he is one man and does what he can to keep himself and his family in her favor, hoping that it is enough.

Kjalarr? The timbres of boyish youth called out to the Viking. For a long moment, the colossus considers not stopping as he knows the tone not to be that of Torgeir. He takes a few more steps, enveloping and welcoming the steam as they rise from the pools, letting the writhing steam wash over him. Cleanse him. It feels good and he considers if Arille is old enough to survive the trip to them. The steam would be good for him, Kjalarr thinks, but despite himself he is beckoned and he stops, turning scarred visage to the speaker. He has not spoken with his younger cousins at any sort of length but as Kaskara has currently stepped down from her spot at his side Kjalarr carries the burden of leadership alone and his time is limited between his duties and his den-ridden wife and infant son. Regardless, the northman recognizes Rian on sight alone. “Rian.” There is slight surprise carries in the deep, accented resonance of his own voice, giving away to what he did not ask: why are you out here? Skadi’s ice storm was not safe to be wandering about in and just being out of the den was running the very real risk of freezing to death. Kjalarr almost had as he dared to make his way back to Neverwinter Forest after the storm had stranded him in Blacktail Deer Plateau, and he knew that he only had his will to keeping pushing forward and the favor of his Gods to thank for it.

The boy’s half raised tail and scrutinizing gaze did not go unnoticed by the heathen who drew back, deliberating between amusement and annoyance. He was surprise to see this kind of resistance because Kaskara herself had supported his rise and for a while they had operated as a team. Kjalarr’s chin lifts — the only acknowledgment and retaliation he casts to the boy’s posture (for the moment). “Why are you not with your mother and siblings?”

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Trying to play Rian as a troubled teen. Kinda weird!

A few moments passed and Rian wondered if he would stop at all to heed him or simply ignore him. He was used to it, after all. Only his mother and siblings gave him any sort of acknowledgement, and even Cypress hardly had time to spare him a passing glance anymore. It still didn't stop the ice that trickled down from his curiously swollen throat. Forgotten, his mind whispered. Tears welled in his eyes but he quickly blinked them away when the large male turned, his face a mask of surprise at the sight of the yearling standing alone in the snow. 

Faced with the intensity of the northman, Rian's tail slowly drooped and he flattened his ears respectfully. He was keenly aware of his low rank in the pack; one of the many uncertainties that plagued him. In truth, when he was of age, he wondered if he would even be needed in Kjalarr's new Neverwinter. At the question he shrank even further into himself and looked down at the snow that now covered his paws. He was faintly aware they were nearly numb, but he couldn't really muster up the will to care. "I dunno." 

He lifted his gaze and flattened his ears further while his mouth twisted futher into a frown. "Why are you here?" 

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Kjalarr watches as Rian sinks low, and though the Viking knows that he should feel guilt for making the boy cower he does not. He has been Alpha for months now and whether Kaskara’s time spent down from leadership ranks is temporary or not he does not currently know. The time for retaliation is over. Kjalarr has no time and no more patience to kiss the feet of the wolves of Neverwinter Forest. Kjalarr is not Scimitar, he will never be and he does not strive to replace his adoptive father for doing so will only bring insult to his memory. He does not will for Neverwinter Forest to change but change is natural, it is unavoidable and to remain the same is to remain stagnant and possibly to bring certain doom. If it is failing then it must be changed, to evolve; but change is not the top priority on Kjalarr’s mind. Currently: he only seeks to weather his pack through the storm, to see them safely through the winter with as little casualties as possible and if that means he has to heartlessly sacrifice a few animals (or wolves, even) to do it then he will. He sacrificed his daughters to ensure that Arrille lives and grows strong and old. He tells himself it was a kindness, that they would not get better but part of Kjalarr is reluctant to fully believe it if only because he didn’t know and now he would never know.

“This storm is dangerous,” Kjalarr felt the need to reiterate though surely the boy already understood this. Perhaps his words were hypocritical but then again: Kjalarr was a northman. He was built for these harsh, cold climates …and he had faith that Skadi’s favor would protect him as it had so far. He had brushed close with death, close with the valkyrja more times in his life than he cared to admit. He does not fear it for he knows where he will go when the valkyrja do come for him; regardless he has no plans of dying. “The steam of the hot springs will warm you, come,” He gestures towards them where they waited with his muzzle. The smell is atrocious but he would rather suffer the sulfuric smell then have his cousin (or himself) freeze to death.

“I came to make a sacrifice to Skadi,” Kjalarr responds honestly, sure that Rian, if he’d been following him already saw and noted the untouched corpse. “she is the goddess of winter and the hunt. It is important to keep her favor through this storm she has created.” It was a storm to end days, to snuff out lives before they had a real chance of living or before they were ready to go. Skadi’s favor was very important to the Viking who strove to see only the safety of his family and the pack.

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I know that, why do you think I'm here? Rian thought petulantly, but didn't put voice to his mental dialogue. It was no use lamenting openly about his woes. Kjalarr, he knew, had far more to worry about than the complaints of his lowest ranking youth. Undeniably, it wounded him to know even the newborn Prince was ranked above him by virtue of blood alone but this wasn't a grievance he wished to bring up with the Neverwinter ruler, let alone his mother. His ghostly status among the Neverwinter pack lent precident to his status, but he, ironically, refused to see the forest for the trees. 

He was readying himself mentally to be turned away by the brute but Kjalarr did the unexpected: he invited Rian to join him. Shell-shocked, and entirely blown off his feet, Rian stood gawping like a fool for a few moments before his brain caught up. His jade eyes flung open wide as Kjalarr turned wordlessly away and he, not wanting to be left behind, bounded forward to catch up with the adult. The freshly killed buck forgotten in the wake of his emotional upheaval. 

Rian fell in step off the Alpha's flank, his ears cupping forward and his eyes tenatively climbing the reach of Kjalarr's neck in an attempt to find other male's own icy-blues. "Skadi?" He whispers, testing the name on his tongue. Papa and ma never talked much of Gods or dieties, but he was aware of their existence and, indeed, their importance in some wolves lives. It wasn't something he ruiminated on frequently but he didn't question the existence of lackthereof of such things—it just was a thing. He didn't know the Neverwinter ruler believed in a higher power, until now. 

"Where is she? Why cannae we just go an'talk to her? Will she eat the buck?" He fired off as his mind, once more, returned to the kill.

i'm sorry this post is short & crappy. :-(

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Rian repeated Skadi’s name and fired off a series of rapid questions as he followed. Kjalarr spared the young man a glimpse but otherwise tried to keep his gaze upon the path before them, searching for the perfect pool. He did not come to the Springs often enough to have a favorite but he’d learned during his travels to and fro that there were pools that put off more heat than others. Kjalarr idled for a moment, not entirely sure how to answer Rian’s questions. “The Gods rarely make themselves visible to us, Skadi included. We do speak to her: through the sacrifice and the prayer. They are not like you and I — they have other ways of letting us knowing they are pleased or displeased with us, that they have heard us.” Kjalarr explained, sparing another glimpse at Rian to see if the boy was following along to his words or if Kjalarr had lost him. Explaining his Gods and how it all worked was not something he’d ever found himself having to do before and he was a bit of an novice at it. Besides, there was much that he didn’t understand himself. “If she is pleased with it and accepts the sacrifice then yes, I imagine she will.” Kjalarr replied, stopping short of a larger pool. He stretched and laid down upon the ground near it, shivering slightly as the damp warmth curled the fur at the nape of his neck. Beyond feeling nice, the pools offered a nice respite from the bitter cold and Kjalarr intended to take full advantage of them.

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It's totally ok, dude!

Rian sensed a bit of hesitation as Kjalarr ruminated over his question before finally coming up with an adequate answer. The little O'Malley boy was not unwelcome to the idea that greater things lived beyond and above them, but he only wished he could be presented with undeniable proof—something Kjalarr was, understandably, unable to provide. Still, when the great pale wolf turned to ascertain Rian's reaction, the boy nodded. It was a suitable answer, but it didn't really quell the curiousity now brimming in his racing mind.

Kjalarr came to a stop beside one of the steaming pools, one of the hundreds dotting the landscape. Somehow this one was better than the others, or maybe the king was tired of walking. He lay his immense body down beside it and Rian eyed the pool warily. His mother had warned him away from them in the past—the heat was so great that it could boil bone into nothing in an instant. But he could not resist the siren song of the warmth it provided. He felt it radiate past his fur and into the depths, kissing his skin like a gentle lover. 

Rian stretched his legs down and curled his haunches beneath him, rolling half on his side opposite of Kjalarr so he was facing the Alpha. He bent to lick idly at his frozen paws, but stopped when a thought occured to him. "Did we upset her? Is that why the snow is so bad?" He asked, curling his neck and settling his chin easily against his throat. He regarded the pale wolf with an openly curious look; it was the most alive Rian had looked in months.

Kjalarr went on to explain in further detail, and Rian was utterly enchanted by the tale. But even the warmth of the hotspring could keep the cold at bay for long, and the pair retreated back to Neverwinter when it became too oppressive to bear.