The familiar wooden palisade of Skaro deep within the cedar forest was a beautiful and welcome sight to Ethan. He’d spent the last hour riding ahead of Leah and Alera in silence.

His momentary lapse of kindness towards Alera was heavy on his mind. I shouldn’t have stopped, we wouldn’t have run into that troll and had to be rescued by Torag. And what the hell was that? Flirting with Gorm right in front me? Right after Leah tried to tell me that she still loved me? No, fuck that.

He resisted the urge to gently dig his heels into his horse when he spied the walls of Skaro. Despite their unintentional introduction to the Skarobjorn, he wasn’t sure how fast news had gotten into the city that he’d returned. The sentries would most likely greet his companions with the same cold, unwelcoming stares that had met him when he first arrived.

“Whoa, girl,” he reined his horse to a stop as soon as he saw the first sentry to wait for his companions.

“What is it? Something wrong?” Alera asked him when they caught up to him.

“The Skarobjorn, the people here, are wary of outsiders,” Ethan explained. “Even though we met some of them in the woods, it probably wouldn’t be ideal if you guys got here without me.”

“Oh, thanks,” Alera’s grin set his heart fluttering.

“Good looking out, Ethan,” Leah nodded appreciatively as she scanned the top of the wooden barrier. “Arrows don’t make for a very fun welcome.”

“Definitely not,” Ethan agreed as his horse resumed her slow walk. He could hear the ringing of metal on metal and children playing on the other side of the wall. I love this place, his thoughts returned to the happy memories of Skaro, his own cold welcome but very warm goodbye.

A moment later a group of five Skarobjorn appeared walking towards them.

“Greetings, Úlfeóinn!” One of the welcoming party held her hands wide in the air to catch his attention.

“I got this,” he grinned as he dismounted. He saw Leah roll her eyes as he dropped from his horse.

The four warriors behind their leader smiled and whispered amongst themselves as Ethan approached them.

“Greetings!” He called back to her, reaching his arm out in greeting.

“Torag sent word that you had returned,” she clasped his forearm roughly. “If you are in need of assistance, we will gladly direct you to the tavern.”

“That won’t be necessary,” he shook his head. “I remember where it is.”

“Of course, Úlfeóinn,” the woman crossed her hand over her chest and bowed her head in salute. “If you would like, we can attend to your mounts while you are in Skaro.”

“That would be very much appreciated,” Ethan returned her salute before turning back to Leah and Alera. He waved them to approach as he handed his reins to a willing young man who had extended his hand.

“I watched her last time you were here, Úlfeóinn,” the man said softly, rubbing his hands over Ethan’s mare’s velvety muzzle. “I will take the utmost care of her once again.”

“You have my thanks,” Ethan saluted him as well.

“What’s going on?” Leah slid out of her saddle, but looked apprehensively at young man waiting to take the reins of her horse. Alera was right behind her.

“We’re walking the rest of the way,” he gestured for the two of the to hand over their mounts. “They’ll take excellent care of your horses here.”

Once both Leah and Alera had handed over their reins, Ethan turned quickly on his heel and passed through the gates of Skaro. God, I missed this place, he thought contentedly to himself.

The villagers eyed Alera and Leah cautiously as the three of them strode down the dirt road, but recognition of Ethan quickly changed their faces to warm and welcoming.

“Úlfeòinn! You have returned! Finally we can feast!”

“I’m sure the War Shaman will be happy to have her apprentice return, and the War Leader!”

His mood lightened as he walked through the town. Even Gistal, the grumpy leatherworker who’d made his bracers, nodded warmly at him as they passed his tannery.

“Are you some sort of celebrity here?” Alera asked after a small group of children had finished accosting Ethan to play with them.

“Eh, it’s complicated,” he shrugged. “During the Great War, Skaro sufferer greatly at the hands of the demons. One of them, Azamon the Vandal, destroyed their original city. Since then, they’ve been scared of outsiders. I’m the first one Hertha has ever trained.”

“That’s kind of weird, isn’t it?” Leah asked in a hushed tone. “I mean, you only came here because of a quest, shouldn’t another Fighter have come before to do their own class quest?”

“I honestly don’t know,” Ethan shrugged again. “Without saying too much, the entire questline was weird and very spiritual. I haven’t talked to any other Battle Shaman to know what they did. For all I know, everyone’s quest is similar and personal.”

“That’s still really odd, I trained with a whole class of Druids,” Leah shook her head.

“I was by meself, in Anvasa,” Alera shrugged. “But I was also dumped in the city alone, unarmed, nearly naked and told to survive for three nights while a pack of assassins chased after me.”

Ethan stopped and looked at her, his brow furrowed.

“What?”

“Just how the House operates,” she shrugged again.

“Remind me never to play a Rogue,” Leah scoffed.

“Same,” Ethan nodded his head in agreement.

“S’not all that bad,” Alera said defensively. “After you kill the first one, the rest get a little leary. Then you just have to steal food and hide.”

“So many questions,” Ethan's voice rose in incredulity and annoyance at her presence.

“Over here, my friends!” Torag said, gesturing to the empty seats at thick wooden table. “I’ll get meat and mead, we may not have a proper feast prepared, but we shall celebrate Sorry’s happy return.” He hurried over to a man with long salt and pepper braids stacked on his head, leaving Ethan alone with Leah and Alera.

“Did he just call you ‘Sorry’?” Alera looked confused as she sat down in one of the empty chairs at a small square table.

“Yeaaah,” Ethan sighed and stretched out the word as he sat across from her. “When I first got here last time, I was nervous and apologized a lot to my Master, she started calling me ‘Sorry’ after she broke my axe. It just sort of stuck.”

“Wait, she broke your axe?” Leah looked shocked. “The Frost enchanted one? I wondered what had happened to it.”

“Very first sparring match,” Ethan shook his head as he absentmindedly rubbed the metal wolves on his bracers.

“That sucks,” Leah nodded in commiseration.

“It happens,” he shrugged. “I was close to out leveling it anyway.”

“Well, brother, what is it that brings you home to Skaro?” Torag interrupted their conversation by slamming four very full wooden tankards on the table before sitting between Ethan and Alera.

A pretty barmaid was right behind him, placing an entire leg of venison still on the bone in front of Ethan and passing plates out to the rest of his group.

“Úlfeòinn,” The woman smiled and inclined her hard as she left. Ethan couldn’t help but notice the more than passing resemblance the woman had to Torag as the women winked at him before walking back to the bar.

“Eyes off my daughter,” Torag cocked an eyebrow at him as he sipped from his tankard of mead. Ethan took his own sip of his own mead, appreciating the sweet and flavorful liquor. Over the rim of his mug, he thought he saw Alera scowl at him. Good, she flirts with one of Torag’s children, I’ll flirt with the other. See how she likes it.

“I need to speak to the War Shaman and to Siv,” Ethan began his explanation. “I need their help.”

“Help?” Torag asked him, his brows furrowed in confusion. “With what? You know that they would give any assistance you could require.”

“It’s me that needs help, Torag,” Leah said, twisting the end of her braid. “We have some… enemies, and they have taken my husband.” She looked nervously at Ethan for confirmation that she could continue.

“They’re holding him in a castle south of here,” Ethan continued, taking over for her. “And we don’t have enough people to rescue him.”

“Ah,” Torag wiped his lip and began stroking his beard. “You have come to request the aid of the Skarobjorn to win your battle.”

“Yes,” Ethan nodded solemnly. “Do you think, will you come?”

“That is not an answer I can give you, brother,” Torag shook his head. “For an outsider to ask such a thing, even one the War Shaman has proclaimed Skarobjorn, is unheard of. It will take more than the permission of Siv and the War Shaman. All the Elders must be assembled.”

“Do you think that’s possible?” Alera interrupted before Ethan could ask.

This was the first Ethan had heard of there being Elders in Skaro. He’d assumed that Hertha Korisdottir and Siv Horisdottir, being the spiritual leader and the war leader would be the ones he’d have to convince.

“I don’t know,” Torag shook his head again. “It has not ever been done before,” he sighed. “Even during the Great War, the Skarobjorn fought alone. We did not seek aid from others, nor did we grant them our warriors. You’re asking for something much smaller than repelling an invasion of demons.”

Ethan looked down at the steaming venison and sighed.

“But,” Torag put his hand on Ethan’s arm. “Just because it hasn’t been done, doesn’t mean it can’t. Let us eat, and then we will go to the home of the War Shaman and ask her for guidance.”

He nodded, trying to hide his disappointment that Torag hadn’t been able to be more positive and picked up the knife. Ethan quickly removed several slices of meat from the leg and passed them to everyone at the table, serving Alera last. The venison was perfectly cooked, a vibrant pink in the middle near the bone with a perfect sear on the outside.

“Is this how you are the entire time you were here?” Alera asked as she held her plate up for a third portion.

“Ha!” Torag laughed, clapping Ethan hard on the back. “We had to force Sorry to eat most days. He either couldn’t due to the work the War Shaman put him through, or he was too sore from being knocked around the sparring ring by myself.” He took another drink from his nearly empty tankard.

“That’s,” Ethan paused, trying to come up with a way to defend himself. “That’s only mostly true.”

“You should have seen him when I hit him with my maul!” Torag laughed again, his wide smiling spreading easily to Leah and Alera who had been enjoying the man’s stories of Ethan’s time training. “‘War Shaman! My spleen! Please heal me!’

“What about the last time we fought?” Ethan scowled in mock indignation. “I don’t remember you even landing a single hit on me!”

“Please,” Torag scoffed. “You had the blessing of all four Vættir. It wasn’t even a fair fight. You just wanted to show off to Siv and the War Shaman.”

“Speaking of Siv,” Ethan attempted to steer the conversation away from his embarrassing start of his training. “Tell me more about this, ‘Annika’, you were kind of vague in the woods.”

Torag downed another quaff of mead, wiped froth from his upper lip and belched. “That one,” he began, wagging at finger towards Ethan. “That one would give even the great Ivald Eiriksson a challenge. A true Valkyrie, she is.”

“Wait, for real?” Ethan’s jaw fell open in shock.

“Who is Ivald Eiriksson?” Leah asked, looking between Ethan and Torag.

“The War Shaman’s husband,” Ethan began to explain. “The two of them destroyed the demon lord that obliterated the original town.”

“He is the greatest hero of the people of Skaro,” Torag nodded reverently. “His sacrifice allowed the ancestors of everyone in the city to live. Without him, there would be no Skaro nor Skarobjorn.”

“It sounds like she’s a worthy match to your War Leader, then,” Alera glanced over at Ethan before quickly returning her gaze to Torag.

“There could be no one else,” he smiled at her. “She is Fire touched, just like you.” He gestured to Leah. “Though not as skilled in the ways of the Vættir.” He bowed his head slightly at her. “There is but one person in all of Skaro who would be a match for her in combat, and fortunately for us all, they are to be married.”

“Oh, whatever,” Ethan rolled his eyes as Leah and Alera quieted their giggling. “You think we can go see them now? Has it been long enough for them to be finished?”

“We are finished eating,” Torag looked down the the platter containing only bones and bits of gristle too hard to chew. “So yes, I think it is safe to assume they have as well. I’m sure that the War Shaman will be in a joyful mood after the betrothal of her granddaughter.”

“Torag,” Ethan cleared his throat, “do you think that we could go and speak to them now? I’d love to meet Annika, and see the War Shaman.”

“We have eaten,” Torag waved his hands over the scales of gristle and bone on the table in front of them, “I can see no reason why they shouldn’t have finished as well. Yes, to the War Shaman!”

Apprehension gripped him as they approached The column for the Vættr of Fire, glowing orange in the setting sun as the four of them. Involuntarily his eyes flicked towards the columns of earth and air, and he felt a small twinge of happiness that he could not see Vewa’s symbol to cause him more grief at his failure.

“Do you think it’s okay for my friends to come inside with me?” Ethan looked back at Leah and Alera, they’d followed a few steps behind him and Torag.

“Your cause is to help your friend, Leah,” Torag nodded. “It would probably be best if the War Shaman heard it from her as well.”

“So this is where you learned?” Alera asked as they caught up to where Ethan had stopped, right next to the fire column. “It’s beautiful.”

“I can feel the presence of great Spirits here,” Leah closed her eyes, her Druidic tattoos emitting a faint green aura. “It’s… it’s amazing.”

“War Shaman Hertha is inside,” he said, smiling that someone else could appreciate the wonder of the Hearg Hertha had created. “She’s even more amazing.” Ethan gestured for them to follow him as Torag held the door for the three of them.

The inside of the longhouse was filled the smell of familiar incense, reminding Ethan of the hours he’d spent here. By the light of several braziers, Ethan could see that everything was exactly as it had been the day he’d left to return to Startesgarde, the weapon racks, the sleeping furs, even the circle of runes denoting the five Vættir was still etched into the dirt floor.

Hertha Korisdottir was kneeling facing away from the entrance to the longhouse. Siv Horisdottir and another woman were kneeling beside her. That must be Annika, he thought as he appraised the woman who was to marry his friend.

As Torag had said, she was “fire touched”, like Leah. But whereas Leah had bright red hair, Annika’s was more of a dark reddish brown. Ethan could see her skin was very fair and covered in tattoos and freckles. He couldn’t make out the intricate markings, but he could tell they were not the geometric tattoos of the Skarobjorn. They looked more floral in design.

But what surprised Ethan the most about the woman kneeling next to Siv was her size. Siv stood nearly a head taller than Ethan, but Annika was tiny in comparison. Ethan guessed she’d barely reach his chin standing up. But despite not being built like any of the Skarobjorn he’d seen, he could sense a power radiating off her. An inner strength that overwhelmed her small frame.

Reverently, quietly, Ethan approached his teacher, Leah and Alera a step behind him.

“Master Hertha,” Ethan knelt on the ground and lowered his head. She’d asked him several times not to kneel, but out of respect, he’d always knelt anyway. “Master, I have returned to Skaro and I am desperately-“

“I know why you have returned, Úlfeòinn,” his teacher’s voice sounded angry as she spat out the title Ve, the Vættr of Life had bestowed on him.

Ethan looked up, Hertha had stood up and was now facing him. Gone was her usual grandmotherly expression, the care and tenderness nowhere in her face.

“The answer,” she paused and looked down on him. Ethan’s heart dropped. Her expression was pure contempt as she eyed her former student. “Is no. No Skarobjorn will help you.”

“Master Hertha, I.. I don’t understand,” Ethan’s heart was racing as he looked up at the War Shaman. He hadn’t even been able to make his request before being denied.

And the anger in her voice. Never before had she talked to him like that, her rejection of him hurt more than the denial.

“That much is clear!” Hertha Horrisdottir glared at him. “You lack even the most basic understanding of anything I thought I’d instilled in you, stupid, insolent boy!”

“Please, War Shaman, what have I done?” He begged, rising to his feet. He tried to see Siv’s face in the dim light of the braziers, hoping that the War Leader would be shocked at her grandmother’s behavior. But Siv averted her eyes from Ethan, staring, instead, at the ground.

“What have you ‘done’?” She shouted at him, “What have you done? You come here, wanting the help of my people, knowing you will lead them to their deaths, but don’t even know why I’d deny you?”

“Please let me- OOF!” A column of dense rock shot out of the ground to his right, throwing him backwards into Leah and Alera.

He landed hard, the impact hurting more than Torag’s massive maul.

“Teacher!” He cried out as he scrambled to his feet. His guildmates were staring in fear as the small, grandmotherly sized woman unleashed her own rage against Ethan.

“Please! Tell me what I’ve done!” He sobbed. Alera made to step towards him, but Leah grabbed her arm and shook her head silently.

“Why should I tell you anything?” Hertha spat out in disgust. “Everything I tried to teach you apparently amounts to ‘fortune cookies and platitudes that mean nothing’ to you.”

Ethan collapsed back onto his knees. Her words struck him harder than the rock had moments before.

“Hertha…I… I can explain…” he pleaded once again.

“No,” her voice was low and gravelly, as she stepped towards him. Ethan could see the fire from the braziers dancing in her eyes as she scowled at him. “You will get nothing from me, nothing from my people. You are no pupil of mine. Get. Out.”

“Ethan,” Leah pulled away from Alera and pulled on his shoulder. “We should go.”

“War Shaman,” Ethan pleaded, not moving or taking his eyes off his former teacher. “I… I’m sorry.”