Flying off into the teeth of a storm may have been an inspired idea, in terms of dramatic flair, and it would certainly keep Yorlunn or his flunkies from tracking me down, but in every other possible way it was probably the dumbest decision I’d made in both my lives. I mean, what possibly could go wrong flying into an arctic hurricane, with your own wings? It isn’t like there was thunder, lightning, extreme winds, hail, and other wonderful things to deal with, am I right?

I quickly decided that fighting the supernatural storm wasn’t going to do anything for me. I simply wasn’t strong enough, or a practiced enough flyer, to do something like that, not with this storm. So, I went the other way. Instead of flying against the wind, I flew with it. It took me a couple hours, but I avoided most of the hazards of the storm. Soon, I was out of the roughest winds, and flying away from Indsamling, and everything I knew. I flew until I was clear of the leading edge of the storm. I didn’t want to try landing in the middle of a blizzard.

Fortitude Save (Forced March): 1d20+3 = 19 (DC 10)

Fortitude Save (Forced March): 1d20+3 = 20 (DC 12)

Fortitude Save (Forced March: 1d20+3 = 14 (DC 14)

Fortitude Save (Forced March): 1d20+3 = 11 (DC 16)

Nonlethal Damage: 1d6 = 5

You are Fatigued.

I continued on a couple hours, trying to put more distance between me and Indsamling. But eventually, the fatigue got to me. I had walked with the tribe during the day, and this night flight was more work. Looking back, I must have put twenty miles between me and the tribes. Even if they set out with the morning light to try and catch me, there were none who could match my speed when I was in the air.

That gave me enough reassurance that I decided to rest. The fact that I’d come close enough to one of the small fishing villages on the lakes to see the lights from their fires. Gliding down out of the night sky, I looked around, but didn’t see an inn. The small village didn’t have many visitors. It did, however, have a set of docks by the beach, where the fishing boats tied up each night.

With luck, I found a small rowboat upturned on the beach, to keep the snows from settling inside it when it wasn’t needed. It was not exactly the most spacious accommodations I could imagine, but it would keep the wind off me for the night, and allow me some peace as I slept. That would have to be enough. Once I was nestled underneath the wooden boat, I finally allowed myself the luxury of crying. I had lost everything, again.

The next morning, it was well past the dawn when I stirred. The little rowboat that sheltered me was more a pleasure craft for the children learning the ways of boating than a working craft like the fishing boats. I took a moment to assess my situation. I had food and drink, thanks to the items I’d earned, or been gifted, and I was in good health. Yorlunn was miles and miles behind me, and wouldn’t be able to touch me unless I got foolish. My tribe could not be blamed for what had happened, because I had done the rite in front of all the tribes, cutting myself off from them. And the curse I had laid upon the tribes would not affect my tribe, or the ones that had voted against my sacrifice.

In short, things were not as bad as I might have believed in the dead of night. Sure, I was alone and on my own, but I had the tools I needed to survive, if I wanted to remain on the tundra. Or I could venture out into the world, and see more of what awaited me.

I did not forget the voice that spoke to me during my flight, either. I had little experience with the gods and powers of this world, but if the male voice during the rite had been the power behind Indsamling, then the female voice must have been that of Auril. I had invoked her during the rite, and I bore her blessing, so I wouldn’t be surprised if I gained her attention. Especially since the ‘favors’ I owed her would no doubt bind me closer to her.

But that was fine. The Tribes had tried to kill me, because I had shamed one of their leaders by rebuffing their backwards, bigoted ways, and throwing my rejection in their faces. They didn’t like that a ‘mere woman’ stood up to them like that. That was fine. With my final act as part of the Tribes, I had shattered the ‘old guard’. Maybe not today, and maybe not tomorrow, but it was inevitable. Cursed with bad fortune in battle, and bearing only daughters for the next thousand years, the tribes under the Bear would either die off, or be forced to change their ways within a single generation.

My thoughts turned to the future. What would I do now? I didn’t bother considering trying to warn the people of the villages about the potential raids. I was just one lone exile, after all, and I owed nothing to the citydwellers. The war might not even happen, with the curse in place. Certainly, the tribes would not be united, as they might have been if Yorlunn had gotten his way. No, the towns of the tundra would live or fall on their own, as was right.

But the central town, the only one that could be called a city, Sleetmouth, was what amounted to a center of commerce in this area. There, I could either find some kind of work, or gain passage to the southlands, where I’d be able to do any number of things. Perhaps even become an adventurer, and find treasures and glory, along with power.

According to my knowledge of the tundra, it was three days’ ride along the road, tracing a path around the freezing lakes and rivers. For me, on the wing, it wouldn’t take a day to fly straight there. With that goal in mind, I spread my wings, and took to the air, flying over the lakes, to the startled surprise of more than one fisherman, who did not expect to see a woman flying in front of their bow.

Of course, as I got closer to Sleetmouth, the response to my passing was less of surprise and more of alarm. After all, a strange figure passing you over the lake was one thing. That strange figure passing you on the way to your city was another entirely. I heard a loud bang behind me, and saw a red glow in the sky. Some kind of flare? Alchemical, no doubt. An alarm for other boats on the lake, or for the guards of the city, warning of danger.

That changed my perspective slightly. I had considered just flying over the city wall in Sleetmouth and finding a room at the inn, but given that the guards were likely going to be looking for me, I’d rather not give them any reason to cast me into the dungeon. Chains burned my skin, after all. With that in mind, I shifted course slightly, so that I landed upon the docks of Sleetmouth, at the foot of the small rise that the city was built on.

Melinda’s Diplomacy: 1d20+13 = 26

The three guards who rushed up to meet (or rather, intercept) me on the docks looked to be of an unfriendly sort, but they weren’t yet to the point of drawing their weapons. I might not be an expert on how cities in this world worked, but I was fairly certain that, if I started fighting guards, I would be extremely unwelcome in the city. So, I raised my hands, keeping them well away from the daggers on my waist, to show that I came with peaceful intent. That, alone, didn’t look like it would convince them to not arrest me, so I figured a bit of a speech would help.

“Hail, Protectors of Sleetmouth! I come bearing no ill will or violent intent. I am seeking entry to the City of Sleetmouth, until such time as I can arrange passage to the southern lands. If the city is closed at this time, just say so, and I shall pass around your walls, and continue on my way.”

Not exactly the most rousing or persuasive speech in history, but something about my tone convinced the leader of the three guards that I was telling the truth. Or, at least enough of it so that I wasn’t an immediate threat to the city. He moved his hand away from his sword, and his companions followed suit and approached me, staying outside the reach of my arms, just in case.

“Who are you, who comes so openly and strangely to Sleetmouth in midwinter? Our scryer detected a great magical disturbance to the west, from the direction you flew, in fact. And there is the fact that you look human, but fly with the birds. How can you explain this riddle, then?”

I couldn’t help but smile at that. Even if I didn’t get more than that, I had an opening now, which would hopefully result in me being able to enter the city. I could fly all the way to the south, but that would be long and boring on my own, and not to mention dangerous, as I’d be hard pressed to find safe places to sleep through the night as I traveled the wilds alone. Perhaps telling them more about why I was here would convince them to trust me?

“I am Melinda Eriksdaughter, a Twice-born blessed by Auril, the Frostmaiden. Once, I was a child of the Tribe of the Elk, but I gave up my place in the Tribes and cast myself out into exile, because of the actions of others. Know, then, that the tribes of the frozen lands are gathering as we speak, and there is question of war upon the lake towns, with hopes of plunder and glory and honors won in battle. I say this not as a threat, or proclamation of doom, but as a warning. I know not whether the Tribes will continue the course they have started, but stubborn men can be counted on to continue the path, even after it has been shown to lead to ruin, rather than admit wrongdoing.”

One of the other guards cut in. “And why should we believe a barbarian wench from those savages, even if she has pretty wings? Get tired of warming a bed for a brute with nothing but size to his name, and looking for someone more skilled?” I did not appreciate the way he was looking at me.

The first guard who spoke did not appreciate it, either, because he turned a glare that would melt dragon scales upon the man, who wilted under the glare. Turning back to me, he sighed, and said, “My apologies, young Eriksdaughter. It would seem that sometimes the young do not know when to keep their mouth shut, especially when they do not have the size or skill to back up their boasts. I am Willmot, Captain of the Sleetmouth Guard. Would the gathering magic to the west have anything to do with this potential raid, or your exile?”

I had to bite back a laugh as I saw the younger guard scowl at getting put down so completely by his captain. I couldn’t suppress a smirk, however. “Indeed, it would, Captain. The whelp of a powerful chieftain of the tribes thought he could possess me, like a cheap set of clothes. He paid for his arrogance with his life. His father, in his wrath, sought vengeance by campaigning to have me sacrificed before the powers that be, my life empowering an augury to bring victory in battle. I declined that ‘honor’, and invoked great powers and the gods in a rite to sever my ties to the clans, and lay a curse upon those who tried to move against me.”

Willmot looked me over, and then nodded slowly. Looking over his shoulder, he said, “You see, Joel, this is why you do not judge a book by its cover. This is no tamed bird in a cage, with nothing but looks to her.” He smiled back at me. “I think you should have a word with the Lord of the City. If the tribes are gathering for war, he needs to know about it.”

He may have been smiling, but I could tell that this was not a request. With no better options, I nodded. “It would be my pleasure, Captain.”