Tales of Fjolfrin the Frigid
Along the riverbanks of Lloringel, in the shadow of the Roof of the World, Fjolfrin stumbled into his meager home after toiling the fields of the Kinsey family estate. Despite the ache in his bones and the weight in his eyes he remained restless. The mockingbirds of the north made sleep all but obtainable as their mimicry carried well into the mid of night. Their songs were that of an eerie sort for they had taken upon themselves the sounds of roaming beasts and the ever moaning undead.
There then was a vial shriek and the birds fell silent. Fjolfrin rose, grabbing his axe and took for the street. Thick smoke clouded his sight and burned his lungs with every breathe. Fjolfrin knew not friend from foe as shapeless forms whirled through the smoke all around him. He was knocked to the ground and fell unconscious.
Fjolfrin awoke coughing, covered in dirt and ash, beneath a warm spring sun. He rose slowly and wiped his face with his forearm. Plumes of smoke still stretch towards the sky from the charred remains of the village. There were few able-bodied people helping where they could, gathering personal items of the unfortunate and dousing what fires still lingered. Fjolfrin shook off the aching in his head and began to lend his hand in their efforts.
He soon found that his home too was unable to withstand the midnight blaze. Much of his possessions were lost or were misshapen lumps of charcoal. He was able to find a sword, relatively undamaged and still warm to the touch, as well as a few mundane utility items. Through the following hours Fjolfrin came to the realization that despite the loss of all he had known as a boy, it may be the perfect opportunity to become more than a simple farmhand.
As the sun began to fall in the sky Fjolfrin gathered what little he had and started down the road towards Fronepu. In all his years he had never been to the capital of Ar Agyr and eagerly looked forward to the new prospects that lie in wait.
Fjolfrin quickly found the sprawling web of streets and alley ways of the Fronepu Commons to be deceiving. Taverns and houses began to look similar as narrow throughways over, under and sideways seemed to always lead back to where he stood at present. There was not much foot traffic, as many were no doubt nestled warm in their beds at this time of night. He then heard what at first sounded like light scrapping followed with soft thuds, almost rhythmic.
Fjolfrin looked down the road and saw a cloaked figure who looked as though they were, skipping? That’s an odd way to stroll, he thought to himself. The figure kept approaching seemingly unaware of his presence. He cleared his throat and called out, “You there! Why do you frolic so? Mayhaps your jaunt will lead to Harbors Gate?”
The brisk darkness of the streets was welcoming to Wren as she skipped along, pleased at the relative quiet. Fronepu could be so crowded. She smiled to herself. Skipping was both quick and fun, as well as something she didn't often get to do.
“You there! Why do you frolic so? Mayhaps your jaunt will lead to Harbors Gate?”
A voice hailed urgently, startling her as it was nearly beside her. She jumped and froze, shoulders coming up defensively around her ears. The posture together with the fluffy cloak and her frizzed brown hair evoked a small bird puffed up against winter's cold.
She squinted her eyes in the direction of the voice and blink-blinked, seeking a figure in the evening's shadows. Her voice came slow and thin, tentative.
"Harbours Gate is probably closed at this hour. The Wren does not often go there. It is time for food now. Who are you?"
Fjolfrin stepped forward from what little shadow concealed him, raising one hand in the hopes of easing the tension in the cloaked figure. He caught a quick glimpse of the odd blinking in the low light before the figure spoke.
"Harbours Gate is probably closed at this hour. The Wren does not often go there. It is time for food now. Who are you?"
He stepped closer bringing his hand to rest on his chest. "I am Fjolfrin of Lloringel. A man by the name of Barfur told me to meet him near Harbors Gate with prospects for work, but I believe it be a trap lying in wait." He looked upon Wren curiously, "The Wren is it? And where might your supper be? I know little of Fronepu and would be grateful join you."
Wren blinked several times, her head tilting to one side, as she listened.
"I am Fjolfrin of Lloringel. A man by the name of Barfur told me to meet him near Harbors Gate with prospects for work, but I believe it be a trap lying in wait." He looked upon Wren curiously, "The Wren is it? And where might your supper be? I know little of Fronepu and would be grateful join you."
Her thin voice replied with short clipped phrases. "Yes, I am the Wren. Fronepu is a big city. I know where is good to eat. Good to sleep. Lots of undead though. Do not know Barfur. Harbors Gate is for work in the day, not the night." She looked off to the distant Harbor, delicate brow furrowing. Slowly her shoulders were descending away from their defense of her ears, the dappled cloak falling more smoothly at her sides. Her soft brown gaze flicked back to take in the young man who had stepped into better light, round eyes darting about. She seemed to decide something, gave a nod, and spoke again.
"Yes," she repeated. "Not the night. Fjo- llfrin... Fyolf... Fjolf-rin. Lloringel. The Wren will show you what she knows. In return, you give a good story. Over dinner. Yes?"
As Wren spoke Fjolfrin found himself slightly tilting his head, just as she had not but moments ago. He straightened once he realized the weight of his head and proceeded to nod after each of her short phrases.
"Stories...yes." He said scratching the back of his head, "There are a few tales I still remember from my youth." He nodded once more, "Have you heard of the... Farmhand's Wish, or perhaps the Tale of Lord Ringel?" Fjolfrin hummed a string of seemingly random tunes quickly, searching for the rhythm. "Behold Lord Ringel, with each step he does jingle...?" I think that's right, he thought to himself as the pair began to make their way through the streets of Fronepu.
