Journeys - 6 (Patreon)

Sorry for the delay, lack of sleep delayed it at first, then the Thornspeakers decided they really needed two chapters so my attempts to fit it all into one... failed. We'll get to see Ulfar next weekend – along with seeing where Jaina's at in an interlude.

Oh, and the attached image is a new Gwen generation – more or less her dress in this chapter.

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"Ho Theodor! It's good to see you. How's Adalyn these days?" One of the men I was watching slapped the new arrival on his back. Even amongst the often tall Kul Tiran's I've seen then were both above average – honestly, the entire camp was tall. If any of the women, let alone the men, were below six foot, I'd be surprised. "She's doing well, right? Figure it won't be long before she's up for bringing her little one with her. How old's she now?"

"Good to see you too, Burton." Theodore smacked Burton's arm away affectionately as he rumbled out a reply. "Coming on a year now. Got her name just last month, went with Uller for Ulfar."

"Hah! She'll have good company then." Burton waved his friend after him, taking him back to the fire he'd vacated for his greeting.

I shifted in the tree as the two headed further into camp and out of earshot, shaking some life back into my stiff limbs and muttering a a spell to bolster myself against the cold once more. As much as I was glad to have found this place early, a night-time divination leading me straight to the small layline which ran through this place, it was bloody cold in these mountains and I was sorely tempted to join their fires.

Whether I should or not depended on how I interpreted Athair's invitation. I was expected at the becoming, which was to occur tomorrow, but did that mean I was expected then? And how? Was Athair going to be here tomorrow to introduce me, inform the people before me that I was coming, or had he done so already?

There wasn't really any way to tell, and I was learning enough from watching and listening that I didn't feel the need to show myself just yet.

From what I'd seen so far it was clear that they were... much more wild than the witches of Gilneas. Not only in attitude, with more than one of them arriving with a fresh kill that they butchered here – one of which I could've sworn spilled the entrails of their kill to read them – but in dress too. While there were some witches that dressed in furs and leathers they usually used them as accents over more common dress, but here it was all furs and leathers, a little rough-spun fabric, and a whole lot of scrimshaw jewellry.

And of course the skulls. The full blown animal skulls, complete with branches reaching up like antlers, that many of them wore as hoods. There were at least three different types of those, with Theodor arriving wearing a bear's skull.

I'd been able to distinguish bears, something akin to a wolf, and the blatant antler stag so far and I was beginning to suspect it was similar to the distinction between Foxes and Ravens back home – not that they were at all segregated, mingling together freely and with clear camaraderie.

The bones didn't stop with the scrimshaw or headdresses either; I'd been careful with how close I approached their camp thanks to the effigies which were scattered all across the boundaries of the hillside, bone scarecrows that held a lurking magical awareness that tasted of moss and bone on my tongue.

Last, and by no means least – indeed, most notable and important of them all was what lay at the back of the camp. The clear reason why they were assembling here and not elsewhere, the exact spot the leyline came from the north, merged with a sliver fragment from the south, and turned westward. The steaming hotspring-well surrounded by blossoming trees and wildflowers, framed by immense stone menhirs carved with truly ancient vrykul runes... and a gleaming green sign of the Guardian Bears, Ursoc and Ursol, before it.

When I'd first seen it I thought the thing was a moonwell. It wasn't, the magic was wrong – not a hint or touch of the stars or moons in its steaming mists – but it was so akin to them I couldn't help but make the comparison.

Unfortunately I hadn't seen many examples of their magic, not enough to tell whether they were more skilled than we were it came to druidic and Life magic, but I had seen some. A few rested by the spring, and had done since before I arrived, sitting with slow and steady breaths in meditation – not magic of its own, but their slow breathing was perhaps one breath every half hour.

So deep in trance their bodies were scarcely attached to this world. Touching and visiting the Dream to some unknown purpose... maybe. I had no way of knowing.

Another worked with bone, chanting as she stretched and moulded it much as I would a tree to reach the desired shape. She had been working for hours, slowly forming what I'd come to recognise as the frame of a drum, and was only now stretching a hide and affixing it in place.

Whether they knew more or not, their knowledge trod a different path. And I was excited to see what I could figure out for myself while I was here – I'd likely never focus on bones the way they did, but that didn't mean it was useless.

-oOoOo-

Eventually, as the sun slipped past noon, I fell from my perch into the snow below – I'd had enough of watching and was satisfied with what I'd seen. Even discounting my less than appreciated blood ties, even with the many ways they were different from myself and the other witches, at the very heart of things? They were kin. Fellow followers of a tradition that stretched back to our giant ancestors.

The snow crunched loudly under my boots as I crossed the effigy line, a tingle running through my bones as my passage plucked some unseen string. Two of the 'Wicker Men', both ones who had been here all day, stood and turned to face me immediately.

I slowed to a stop as the pair, an older man with a wolfen headress and a younger woman without one at all, moved to intercept me. "Fare tidings. I was given directions to this place and your gathering by the white stag, Athair, and I hope that I do not intrude." As I offered a curtsy they both looked bemused, the older man staring at my legs and outright snorting as he choked back a laugh.

Very hesitantly, the woman tried – admirably, if not at all properly – to return it, he hands bunching up her heavy fur laden skirts awkwardly. "No intrusion on your part, Mainlander. High Ulfar told us to watch for your arrival."

"Though we'd begun to think ye'd never pluck up the courage to come closer." The man rumbled like a bear, his accent thick enough to be called craggy. "Been half a day since ye first overflew us."

They'd noticed me? When?! I know none of them had spotted me in the tree I'd sat in! I checked!

My confusion had to be clear on my face as the woman laughed. "Ravens, we don't get them up here. Not ones that stick around; the falcons chase them off." She smiled widely and genuinely. "Figure you didn't know that. Ain't yer fault, we'd do no better in your lands. I'm Clara, Mainlander, and this is Burton." She jabbed her companion in the ribs.

He glowered at her. "Apprentices of High Ulfar himself, and Thornspeakers true." He smiled down at me, not quite condescendingly, but... definitely with a sense of superiority about him. "As are almost all here today."

"None of that, Burton!" Clara jabbed him again, getting a grunt of pain from the older man. They were definitely... physical, and I eyed their height again warily. "Come now, introduce yourself and join the fires. You've got to be cold wearing that."

As she started walking back to the fires, where we were now the clear centre of attention and a a susurrus of guesses and gossip was running back and forth, I followed. "Less than you'd think. I'm fine."

"You sure?" She glanced back at me. "Sure I could rummage up a spare fur blanket or two if I looked."

I shook my head, smiling to show I still appreciated the offer. She shrugged, bemusement returning, and we were quickly at the fires.

"Ho! What'd'we have 'ere?" One man slapped his knee loudly as Clara sat and I stood beside her. "Little thing, she is."

"Mainlanders, they're all short. Right Birch?" A woman waved at her neighbour.

'Birch' shrugged. "Suppose that's true. Truth be a lot of Stormsong folk are too, but she's..." His white moustache quivered as he chewed over his words, looking me up and down. "Fair bit smaller than that too."

"Hah!" Theodor barked out a laugh from another fire. "Sitting next to Clara she looks like her daughter, just blooming into womanhood!"

As my eyes wanted to start twitching as they began debating my age amongst themselves, I cleared my throat loudly. A touch of the Astral was enough to make it carry, quietening all else under the blanket of the Great Dark Beyond. "My Name is Gwyneth Elwyn Arevin, Disciple of the Silver Tongue, and here on behalf of the Order of Amber. It is good to meet you all, kin as we are stemming from the same ancient teachings."

Burton, and a few others looked at me oddly. I'd not see any usage of Astral magic amongst them, so maybe they were unused to it? Odd consider Athair and Athainne's clear connection...

"This Order of Amber much like the Order of Embers?" Theodor asked with sharp eyes.

I'd heard that before – Waycrest. He'd mentioned the Order of Embers and Arom's oaths. "No, to my knowledge we have no connection to Arom's oaths." I shook my head slowly, raising a hand to gesture at the great menhirs behind the well. "I speak of our ancestors. The Old Ways and the Old Tongue."

Having called the Old Tongue by its name in its language, I was glad to see sparks of recognition, and even surprise amongst the Thornspeakers.

Burton frowned at me, nearly at eye level despite him sitting and me standing. Bloody hell these people were worryingly tall – Clara was the shortest and she had to be near six feet herself. "So what is the Order of Amber then?" He asked.

"To begin, I should speak of what we were before the fou–" I started, only to be cut off by Clara

"Pipe down, Burton!" She snapped at him, waving a fist at him warningly since he was out of reach. "High Ulfar told us to leave the questions for when we were all here, and he's right. You'll just waste all our time making her repeat herself over and over if you ask now." Settling back with arms crossed under her chest she huffed and looked up at me. "Now sit, join the fire proper, and be welcome." She grabbed my arm and pulled me down beside her. "You hungry?"

I barely had a chance to adjust my cloak under myself before I hit the dirt. "A little, I suppose." She was as strong as she looked, if not more so. I'd not exactly stopped enhancing myself today and she'd overpowered me easily. "Although... is it fine if I ask questions?"

She huffed again. "Of course." Without looking like she realised what she was doing, she put a hand on my head and ruffled my hair. "Ask what you want. Mind you, if it's a secret you won't get an answer."

It took a moment, surprise over the action catching us both, but she started to flush with embarrassment while I just blinked and slowly pushed her hand away.

"Told you she looked like her kid!" Theodor laughed again. "Thinking of settling down soon, Clara?"

"Up yours!" She threw a finger at him. "Sorry about that. Now, questions. Sure you've got plenty, so go ahead and ask."

"Well, as much as I'd love to learn more about the differences in how we use our magics," I said, tapping my chin and putting the awkwardness behind me – no reason to make enemies when she was trying to be friendly, "hearing the origin of why you call yourselves Thornspeakers seems right. Back in Gilneas we've always just been witches, even amongst ourselves."

Birch grimaced. "Bad name, that. Witchcraft... ain't kind nor good."

The nods others gave to his words, along with the unease Clara showed, wearing her emotions openly, made clear that was an unfortunately common sentiment.

"Been Thornspeakers here for longer than anyone can remember." She said, talking quickly to change the topic. "You called them the Old Ways, and they are at that. Older than Waycrest, older than Kul Tiras, older even than mainlanders coming to these shores. It were the Drust first, you see, and this land–" she waved a hand out towards the distant forests down the slopes, "–were their home long before our people came here. They were the first Thornspeakers, the first who heard the wilds and kept the balance."

Burton spat on the ground. "Right up until they didn't."

Clara nodded sombrely. "Bit ahead, but yeah. Right up until they didn't. Mainlanders came, our people and ancestors, and they settled on the isles. The Drust, most of 'em, didn't like that, and fought back. Calling on T–" she paused, correcting herself. "Calling on darker and darker things, corrupting the land. The Thornspeakers objected, refusing to defile their land – our land, and changed sides. Fought with us against their people."

"And after you won, they came to teach you their ways." I said, finishing for her.

"Yeah! That's pretty much it." She laughed for a moment, then her face fell. "High Ulfar's the last of them. The Drust. Probably be in our lifetimes that it's just us and he's gone."

Someone scoffed. "The old bear's got centuries in him yet!"

I looked at the runes on the menhirs. It was the Drust that learned from the Vrykul, then. The ones who'd been taught by them, and the Kul Tirans were... inheritors of the inheritors. How much of the history of the Old Ways had been lost in that war?

It was hard not to frown. I knew it was Gilneans that'd colonised Kul Tiras to begin with, so in a way we held some of the blame for their destruction – I rather doubted the reasons for the war were all one sided.

Humans were good at antagonising each other.

Not that I could voice any of that here and now. I was their guest and trying to 'correct' their histories when I hardly had more details than they did, only a sense that their account might be biased, would not only be horrifically rude but make most dragons think I was being a little too condescending and arrogant.

"That story ties back to why witchcraft's bad." Burton grumbled, watching me with a frown. "It were witchcraft, making puppets of the dead that they turned to." He spat on the ground again. "That and worse things best kept secret."

"Ah." I grimaced, having a brief flashback of my own experiences with the undead. "Necromancers... are unpleasant foes. Fought enough of them during during the siege to know that."

He grunted, giving me a sharp nod before turning away and starting another conversation.

"Here. Some grub for ya," Clara said, offering me a skewer of meat and tubers roasted on the fire, "we can talk more after you eat."

-oOoOo-

Clara proved herself both an able and willing teacher as the hours passed, telling me a great deal about the Thornspeaker traditions and their history as we sat by the fire and ate. I got to hear in more detail how they had survived, and thrived, for so long in Drustvar – keeping the woods safe from encroachment just as they kept the lingering darkness of the Drust sealed away in its depths.

Their take on death was a respectable one, Clara even reciting for me the death poem of Arom Waycrest himself – whom the Thornspeakers held in high regard, as they'd fought beside him against the Drust. Memorialising in rhyme not only his slaying of the Drust King, Gorak Tul, but also his later meeting and rescue of Athair.

I couldn't help but wonder if some of their practices with the dead, something they had long experience with, could be used to aid my grave groves. To help protect the fallen against the Scourge.

But not all of what I learned was so comfortable to hear. The sacrifices they performed, the Hunt for the Heart, where in the middle of each autumn a chosen Thornspeaker would enter the forests and hunt down a stag, dragging it back to an ancient alter to be sacrificed to Athair. I could understand their practices of culling, of hunting animals that overburdened the land and ensuring some old trees fell so new growth could rise, but sacrifice?

Taking lives, sacrificing them, and drawing power from their deaths... "It's not something we do." I said uneasily. "Some of us wear pelts and furs, leathers and so on, but... we don't sacrifice animals." The thought alone made me queasy; made me think of necromancy.

"All of us do it." Clara said, a concerned frown mingling with the confusion in her voice. "Some of the first rites we are taught are to make use of everything the world offers us. To make something from even the death of animals we must kill to live." She reached into her furs and pulled out a scrimshaw pendant, a small one barely a finger's length in size. "Pa' helped me make this when I was a little girl. Fleecer couldn't see anymore, couldn't even eat. Her time was up and had me stay by her as she went on. Helped me put her to rest and take part of her with me and make something of her passing."

Looking at the bone, the piece of cat skull she was holding, I felt the magic in it. That same tingle running through my own as I had passed the effigies. The same undercurrent that had fed the Life in Athair's forest which I hadn't been able to place.

Death.

It was Death. Death magic, the power of Death, just like the Scourge, the undead, Necromancy, but it wasn't like it at all–

I took a deep breath, banishing the hordes of ravenous undead in my mind and the stinking rot of the Scourge from my thoughts. "It's... different." I said nervously, still staring at the pendant like it might bite me. "Very different from what I know." Cautiously I reached beneath my blouse and pulled out the Amber token Lord Renard had returned to me. "We shape the trees and Life to reach similar results."

The grace of a cat, their swiftness, bestowed upon her. Celestine had taught me to guide a tree into the right symbolism for achieve the same enchantment, Dalaran had taught me how to achieve the right frame of mind to weave it into fabric; Clara had straight up cut out the middleman and used a dead cat to get there.

Clara tilted her head as she looked at my pendant. "It's very pretty." She voiced, not able to feel the significance of it.

It took a great deal of effort, but I forced a smile on my face and tried to ignore the bone carving dangling from her neck. I wasn't terribly successful, especially as she seemed intent on making sure I understood why it was okay.

Maybe it was.

Maybe it wasn't.

Maybe I would get over the unease it left me with.

But it sure as hell wouldn't happen today.

I felt inordinately lucky as the latest arriving Thornspeaker sidled up to us and interrupted her lecture while staring at me like I didn't belong. "So, what's the city girl doing here?" He asked bluntly, voice laden with thinly veiled suspicion. "Barely looks fit to camp in the woods." He sniffed, looking me up and down slowly. "Let alone climb a mountain. Who dragged her out of some bar to bring her here?"

"She's a guest, Tav." Clara glowered at him. "High Ulfar himself said to expect her, and you're interrupting the task he set me." Which I was glad for right now, even if he was an arse. "And she got here herself, no one brought her!"

Tav scoffed. "Sure, Clara. The girl dressed like a bar's eye candy is a guest. Bet 'cause you don't want to get yerself a husband to put kids in you, you went and grabbed some city brat to adopt. Sorry to say but they ain't gonna–"

Clara leapt to her feet, fist flying and catching him on the jaw and knocking him flat. "What I do is my fucking business, you ass! Just 'cause I won't fuck you and carry your wickerspawn like you want don't mean you get to insult me! Or our guest!"

I frowned at them both. There was clear history here that I wasn't privy too – and I really wasn't interested in jumping into a fight between two... possible... I stopped and shook myself.

They weren't. They weren't necromancers. I'd seen enough, even felt enough, to know that; there was too much Life here, too much vigour, too much plenty for them to be at all like the Scourge or the Cult of the Damned. Nor did it even feel like the fetid, putrid, sickening rot of the undead or Plague.

I wasn't comfortable with it. I wasn't sure if I trusted their practices. But they weren't monsters... I was reasonably sure of that.

"Bitch." He hissed, nursing his jaw with a wince of pain, but made no move to stand.

"Is there really something wrong with how I dress?" I asked drily, forcing my emotions aside and making use of all of Darius' political teachings. I could figure out how I felt later, I didn't need to express it now. This also made for a convenient change it topic. "What I wear is almost–" emphasis on the almost, even if it was cuter "–normal back home."

"He ain't wrong that you dress like a city girl." Someone said, their voice rumbling out of an anonymous crowd. "Not that I mind! Lotta leg you got there." He laughed.

Shooting a glare in their direction I huffed. "Yes, and my girlfriend appreciates them very much."

That sent him, and a bunch of his fellows laughing and whistling. I'd object tot he objectification but I had literally asked for their opinion... if they kept it up we'd have words, but I'd leave it be for now.

Burton snorted as he moved past me to check on Tav where he lay prone. "It's odder than odd. But you ain't shivered once, so it works." He shot me a look. "Somehow, but it works. All that matters; clothes are for keeping warm and little else."

"Looking and feeling pretty." I retorted, though I could see reason in his practical point of view.

"Like I said." He drawled. "Little else."

Clara waved her hand about, a flourish of wildflowers and moss marking any harm she'd taken fading away, before holding it out to me. "C'mon, let's go somewhere quieter." She glowered at the stiller hollering, possibly drunk, Thornspeakers. "Leave them to their carousing. Not gonna be able to teach you a thing here."

I hesitated for a moment, my hand hovering in the air. Did I want to go with her to somewhere more private? After what she'd shown me?

Her face wavered, rejection bringing forth a sudden sadness.

Making my decision I took a breath, grabbed her hand, and pulled myself upright. "Sure. I've got something more private I wanted to ask anyway," I said with a smile, trying to wave off why I'd stalled for a moment, "the other reason I came looking."

"Oh!" She brightened immediately. "Well, if it's something I can help with, I will. You remind me a lot of my siblings, you know."

We had to trudge through snow as she led me past the pool and menhirs, her suddenly chattering away about her younger brother and sister – how she'd spent years helping her ma' and pa' raise them to be Thornspeakers. The teaching experience showed in the way she told the stories and explained things to me, never once going ahead of where my understanding seemed to be.

I just wished some of it wasn't so bloody unnerving.

"Do you think my clothes are weird?" I asked abruptly as she started on the power of bones again. "It's just wool for the most part, nothing exotic."

She paused for a moment, then waggled a hand in front of her. "Well, you see, it's how we make our clothes? You've nothing wrong for cityfolk, or even towns folk. Bit short of skirt, but plenty girls hike theirs up working on a farm if their pa's don't let 'em wear pants." She rubbed the back of her head. "We're involved in the whole process. Hunting the beast, tanning the leather, hewing the buttons, stitching it all together. It's part of being a Thornspeaker and makes 'em special."

Oh, so it was a crafting thing? Well then. "So, let's see..." I pulled at the collar of my blouse. "Helped raise and sheer the sheep that made the fleece, which I carded myself," albeit with the help of a machine, "spun the thread, wove the thread into cloth, and cut it myself. Same for the rest of it."

I prodded at the clasp of my cloak. "Had some help with forging this, my girlfriend, but we made it together in my forge. I didn't hunt or tan the hides for my boots, but I was there when they were made." Getting properly magical boots in Gilneas didn't work otherwise, and the cobbler had owed me enough to deal with me taking part. "My ribbon..." I touched the ribbon tying up my hair. "Mama and I made it with wool we earned with our magic, helping a farmer with his flock. I've a connection to everything on me, even my silk underclothes."

Much less of one, 'cause sod going chasing spiders in person to get their silk – I still stood by it not being arachnophobia when they were bigger than you – but I'd still spun and woven them myself.

"Alright, alright! Not just a city girl, just a girl who likes nice things" Clara smiled widely, throwing an arm around my shoulder and pulling me into her side for a hug. "Shoulda figured someone who High Ulfar vouched for would know as much as that, even if you do it different than we do. Now..." She paused, slowly grinning. "What's this about silk underclothes?"

-oOoOo-

"–and that's why proper underwear is important." I finished, Clara nodding along seriously to my words. She'd listened attentively as I explained, well, the need for proper support – especially when it came to combat – and why I chose silk not just for its softness and comfort, but also because it was wonderfully absorbent and breathable. It was hard to get a better fabric without straight up making it magical – and even then, many of the baselines were silk, like Mageweave.

"Might have to get myself some." She said before sighing. "Doubt it'll be easy though, never heard of anybody harvesting spider silk in Kul Tiras." Shaking her head she smiled. "But enough of that! You wanted to ask something private?"

I hummed, feeling my mood drop again. "Right, well... ugh. There is no good way to start this, is there?" I sighed. "Mama, my mother, she met someone I'm more or less certain was a Thornspeaker years and years ago, a bit over a year before I was born." I said and she immediately realised where I was going, grimacing and glowering angrily. "Him leaving, abandoning, my mother broke her. She never respected herself again."

Clara gasped in shock as my hands clenched in the snow, the bite of the cold nothing compared to the confused anger I was feeling as just how close I might be to the mother-fucker really settled home.

"Honestly?" I said, the wind picking up and whipping my words away into a howl even as it whispered calmingly into my ears. "I don't care about him, about meeting him, about knowing him. He can rot for all I care. But for Mama?" I looked back at the gathering, wondering if he was there. I'd not heard the name Gunther, I'd not been listening as hard as I maybe should, but I hadn't. "I want– I want– I don't bloody know what I want!"

Closure for Mama, so she could move on. To see the arsehole and know that I wanted nothing to do with him so I could forget about him. To have a father, even a shit one, that I could turn to for help. To meet the man Mama had fallen for and know why she'd given up so much to go with him.

It was all such a stupid mess. "Fucking Gunther doesn't deserve to be my father." The brewing storm petered out as I pulled back my magic, regaining control of myself. I'd save the display for when I found him.

Clara took in a sharp breath. "Gwen, how old are you?" She asked, voice piercingly cold.

I glanced at her, my brows furrowing. "Eighteen." She had a guess, didn't she? She knew who he was. "My birthday's a little before Winterveil."

"Ayep. That'd fit, wouldn't it. Fuck." She cursed, turning her glare westward with a deeply brewing fury. "Gunther, yeah, I know who it is. Shit. I'll make sure you meet him before you go–" She winced. "Damn it, if he doesn't get here I'll even take you to– his house. Whatever you want to do to him... I'll help." Falling back into the snow she put a hand to her head, looking deeply tired. "Abyss take you, you bastard."

Hesitating I held up a hand, my eyes drifting to her cat-bone pendant, then a let out a breath. "Thank you." I put my hand on her arm. "I think I'm... done for the night. Talk more in the morning, before the ceremony?"

She nodded tiredly, here eyes still glaring west, and I stood. I was going to meet the man who'd sired me – and for all the anger I felt, I wasn't sure how it was going to go.