Even outside the systematized consequences of such a vast ranking difference, the “soft” social ramifications would be extreme for both sides.
Oddvar Stag, highest-ranked druid among those presiding over Ginnungagap, let out a long sigh as he went about his business. Working to protect the Honor System was his chosen task in life, that was true, but he was nevertheless a man.
“Direct the traffic flow to the Soland and Mathre clans’ districts. Station additional guards, ensure any conflicts are de-escalated to one-on-one submission duels,” he ordered.
Such was the lot in life for the Revenant King’s mortal eyes and hands. He couldn’t complain; Boreans were, in truth, exceedingly good at self-moderation, by comparison to other cultures of the continent. This was why the druids could act as subtly as they did.
The spectators, though gripped by fiery debate and occasional spats of interpersonal violence, filtered out of the Ginnungagap at a steady rate, while both the Ramdall and Hulson groups were ushered into their respective backstage areas by druids. As they did, Zel noticed a druid handing several things over to Rikke.
“Er… Is it always this formal?” Victor piped up as they walked.
“Only when the druids deem it necessary,” answered Yvonne, barely concealing the overflowing pride in her voice, while Gunnar’s pride overflowed in an altogether more physical manner. It overflowed down his face, chest, and onto the ground, trailing behind him.
Zel understood the reasoning - they all did. Such an event would be a riot risk even in a country without something like the Honor System. Her and Jorfr’s holmgangs hadn’t merely been mutual combat, they were a shift of political power.
“Aunt Kristina will go mad when she returns,” Rikke said in a deadpan manner that suggested she didn’t even want to imagine what she was describing. “She may even try to start a blood-feud over this.”
“She will not dare if she has her wits about her… Of which I am not entirely sure,” Fryg responded coldly.
A short while passed while the druids went over Jorfr’s injuries, doing so in a separate, isolated room. Much of the harm he had suffered was reversed, but they warned that the injuries would open up again if they were not allowed to heal at least for a few days.
In that time, Zel spoke with Rikke further: “What of your possessions?”
Rikke shrugged: “I have everything I own with me.”
The questioning scan Zel gave her was answered with her pointing to a small pouch on her belt; its material was iridescent lizard skin, its mouth closed by a two-part band of rune-shod skymetal, a long screw holding it together.
“Oh. A Borean storage artifact.”
Rikke nodded.
“I do not have much… But these trinkets will remind me of home, such as it is,” she said, her voice distinctly devoid of regret or sorrow at the prospect of leaving her home behind.
Some time passed in silence as they continued to wait.
Zel offhandedly brought up how Svend and Rikke closed their own injuries in battle, asking if it was common among Borean warriors.
Rikke gave it some thought, explaining: “Every ranked clan has their own means of closing wounds in battle.”
“Most of them have the same flaw; you can only prevent the injury from impeding you more than it already is,” Jorfr added.
Nodding in agreement, Rikke continued: “Wounds closed by such means always reopen, they must be healed properly. My true regeneration flows from the Springspitter, it is not the norm… Though it has its own flaws, as you can see. I can transmute my own flesh, but not generate it anew from nothing. It will take me weeks or perhaps months to return to full strength, only through building muscle rather than recovering from an injury.”
“And here I was hoping to steal Borean techniques for my own.”
“I will readily share what I know,” Rikke shrugged.
“There will be plenty of time. Later. I suspect that celebration will be in order upon our return to the longhouse. Speaking of techniques, though… Here, go through this,” Zel said, retrieving and handing Rikke a copy of Sturmblitz Kunst 0.
Rikke seemed a bit doubtful at first, though that vanished when the pamphlet revealed just how densely-packed with information it really was.
Zel’s prediction rang true; the Hulson property, surrounding houses, and a substantial portion of the local area were consumed by revelry long into the morning hours. As a new member of the Newman Clan, and perhaps in part because of how very different she appeared with so little body fat, Rikke was treated the same as any other Hulson. Taken aback by such hospitality, she nonetheless spent most of the feast quietly drinking and reading. Zel took this opportunity to brief her on what would take place in the coming days, at least as far as she was concerned.
She told Rikke that while herself, Zefaris, and Victor would all depart to survey the potential site of a starfall, Jorfr would remain at the longhouse and look into the option of suppressing Rikke’s Beast Selves. Zel knew that it was a practice used to assuage the control issues faced by many berserkers and spiritwalkers in the course of their training. Rikke admitted that the “Rite of Beast Chaining” didn’t work on her.
“As I understand it, when one Beast was chained, the others would always break the fetters. There was… one time they managed to fetter the Springspitter and Razorflayer at once. It woke the Brambleback. I killed several of our clan’s shamans before they subdued me,” she explained, staring off into the middle-distance near the end before she pulled her attention back down to the pamphlet.
“We’ll figure something out, just need to get our hands on the ritual to start reworking it,” Zel reassured, taking care not to mention Zef’s antediluvian glyphs.
A drunken man clearly from a different clan accosted Zelsys later that night, as she and Zefaris made their way through the city to get some peace and quiet.
He challenged her to a fight.
Zel smiled at him.
Akaso
If you’d like to read ahead, consider heading on over to the Patreon! Patrons gain access to up to 20 days of advance content, with further expansion planned for the future. So if you want to help fund my crippling addiction to commissioning art, consider reading a couple chaps ahead.
I’d also greatly appreciate it if you could rate my story, or even leave a review. Reviews and ratings alike weigh heavily in the eyes of the algorithm (not to mention prospective new readers), so that pretty much means they determine the success of my work. A single review or even just a rating can noticeably influence the novel’s performance, especially when it has few ratings overall like this one does as of me posting this.
Same goes for review voting - the reviews with the most upvotes are the ones that most people will see, so you as readers decide which reviews are legitimate.
For a link to the discord, check the synopsis.
Even outside the systematized consequences of such a vast ranking difference, the “soft” social ramifications would be extreme for both sides.
Oddvar Stag, highest-ranked druid among those presiding over Ginnungagap, let out a long sigh as he went about his business. Working to protect the Honor System was his chosen task in life, that was true, but he was nevertheless a man.
“Direct the traffic flow to the Soland and Mathre clans’ districts. Station additional guards, ensure any conflicts are de-escalated to one-on-one submission duels,” he ordered.
Such was the lot in life for the Revenant King’s mortal eyes and hands. He couldn’t complain; Boreans were, in truth, exceedingly good at self-moderation, by comparison to other cultures of the continent. This was why the druids could act as subtly as they did.
The spectators, though gripped by fiery debate and occasional spats of interpersonal violence, filtered out of the Ginnungagap at a steady rate, while both the Ramdall and Hulson groups were ushered into their respective backstage areas by druids. As they did, Zel noticed a druid handing several things over to Rikke.
“Er… Is it always this formal?” Victor piped up as they walked.
“Only when the druids deem it necessary,” answered Yvonne, barely concealing the overflowing pride in her voice, while Gunnar’s pride overflowed in an altogether more physical manner. It overflowed down his face, chest, and onto the ground, trailing behind him.
Zel understood the reasoning - they all did. Such an event would be a riot risk even in a country without something like the Honor System. Her and Jorfr’s holmgangs hadn’t merely been mutual combat, they were a shift of political power.
“Aunt Kristina will go mad when she returns,” Rikke said in a deadpan manner that suggested she didn’t even want to imagine what she was describing. “She may even try to start a blood-feud over this.”
“She will not dare if she has her wits about her… Of which I am not entirely sure,” Fryg responded coldly.
A short while passed while the druids went over Jorfr’s injuries, doing so in a separate, isolated room. Much of the harm he had suffered was reversed, but they warned that the injuries would open up again if they were not allowed to heal at least for a few days.
In that time, Zel spoke with Rikke further: “What of your possessions?”
Rikke shrugged: “I have everything I own with me.”
The questioning scan Zel gave her was answered with her pointing to a small pouch on her belt; its material was iridescent lizard skin, its mouth closed by a two-part band of rune-shod skymetal, a long screw holding it together.
“Oh. A Borean storage artifact.”
Rikke nodded.
“I do not have much… But these trinkets will remind me of home, such as it is,” she said, her voice distinctly devoid of regret or sorrow at the prospect of leaving her home behind.
Some time passed in silence as they continued to wait.
Zel offhandedly brought up how Svend and Rikke closed their own injuries in battle, asking if it was common among Borean warriors.
Rikke gave it some thought, explaining: “Every ranked clan has their own means of closing wounds in battle.”
“Most of them have the same flaw; you can only prevent the injury from impeding you more than it already is,” Jorfr added.
Nodding in agreement, Rikke continued: “Wounds closed by such means always reopen, they must be healed properly. My true regeneration flows from the Springspitter, it is not the norm… Though it has its own flaws, as you can see. I can transmute my own flesh, but not generate it anew from nothing. It will take me weeks or perhaps months to return to full strength, only through building muscle rather than recovering from an injury.”
“And here I was hoping to steal Borean techniques for my own.”
“I will readily share what I know,” Rikke shrugged.
“There will be plenty of time. Later. I suspect that celebration will be in order upon our return to the longhouse. Speaking of techniques, though… Here, go through this,” Zel said, retrieving and handing Rikke a copy of Sturmblitz Kunst 0.
Rikke seemed a bit doubtful at first, though that vanished when the pamphlet revealed just how densely-packed with information it really was.
Zel’s prediction rang true; the Hulson property, surrounding houses, and a substantial portion of the local area were consumed by revelry long into the morning hours. As a new member of the Newman Clan, and perhaps in part because of how very different she appeared with so little body fat, Rikke was treated the same as any other Hulson. Taken aback by such hospitality, she nonetheless spent most of the feast quietly drinking and reading. Zel took this opportunity to brief her on what would take place in the coming days, at least as far as she was concerned.
She told Rikke that while herself, Zefaris, and Victor would all depart to survey the potential site of a starfall, Jorfr would remain at the longhouse and look into the option of suppressing Rikke’s Beast Selves. Zel knew that it was a practice used to assuage the control issues faced by many berserkers and spiritwalkers in the course of their training. Rikke admitted that the “Rite of Beast Chaining” didn’t work on her.
“As I understand it, when one Beast was chained, the others would always break the fetters. There was… one time they managed to fetter the Springspitter and Razorflayer at once. It woke the Brambleback. I killed several of our clan’s shamans before they subdued me,” she explained, staring off into the middle-distance near the end before she pulled her attention back down to the pamphlet.
“We’ll figure something out, just need to get our hands on the ritual to start reworking it,” Zel reassured, taking care not to mention Zef’s antediluvian glyphs.
A drunken man clearly from a different clan accosted Zelsys later that night, as she and Zefaris made their way through the city to get some peace and quiet.
He challenged her to a fight.
Zel smiled at him.
Akaso
If you’d like to read ahead, consider heading on over to the Patreon! Patrons gain access to up to 20 days of advance content, with further expansion planned for the future. So if you want to help fund my crippling addiction to commissioning art, consider reading a couple chaps ahead.
I’d also greatly appreciate it if you could rate my story, or even leave a review. Reviews and ratings alike weigh heavily in the eyes of the algorithm (not to mention prospective new readers), so that pretty much means they determine the success of my work. A single review or even just a rating can noticeably influence the novel’s performance, especially when it has few ratings overall like this one does as of me posting this.
Same goes for review voting - the reviews with the most upvotes are the ones that most people will see, so you as readers decide which reviews are legitimate.
For a link to the discord, check the synopsis.
