"It's not an easy choice " replies Thurston to Brundir in low voice. "But we do need to undone what has been done to them... our enemies not only use swords, spears and witchcraft against us, but more insidous weapons, like lies and deception. Look at them my friend, most of them are probably farmers back in their country, recluted by the whims of a corrupt noble to fight their wars. And they probably are told that we are nothing but ruthless monsters. " Thurston make a pause " Let's prove them wrong. Show mercy. Give them a choice. They can go back to Cambria, with their families but knowing how twisted and corrupt are their nobles,be sure to note them the horror that Marcellus was, or how he wanted to use that monsters, the gnolls, to prey on women and children,  or they can stay in Sheercleft, be part of our community even if they had to work hard to gain a place among us... don't look me that way, I know it's risky and some people will have a hard time not to hold a grudge. But either way we win. If they return they will tell their neighbors hat happened here, of our strength in the battlefield, but also your mercy and wisdom. That will make their lies harder to believe next time. If they decide to stay... we can find good use to hardworking people and perhaps bring a little more of freedom to their souls... " he looks over his shoulder to the prisioners. "Whatever you decide though, you have my back. " 

"I don' know if I should thank ya, or hit ya." The dwarf beams a smile to his Norscan ally, "If I wanted t'hear myself talk, I'd just say it instead o' wastin' yer time an' mine. We're thinkin' th' same."

Brundir gives Thurston a reassuring pat on the shoulder, then turns Stonebrow around to face the crowd. "A'right, listen up!" His words wash over the mass of foreign soldiers, carried by the old magic he'd without knowing over years before. The crowd dipped to a murmur, probably the best he could hope for. "My name's Brundir Halfshield. If ye heard o' me, it's pro'bly been from someone lordin' over ye, right? I am lord of Sheercleft, Inheritor by Craft of High King Erik Spangelhelm, an' I'm not one fer long speeches or puttin' myself above ye. We're gon'a take ye in, put a cover over yer heads, give ye food, then send ye on yer way. We're not slavers, we're not murderers," Brundir turned and pointed back towards where the Acharnost had destroyed Marcellus' eldritch form, "An' we're not whatever in all Hells that thing was! When we break camp, ye can go home, ye can come home with us, or ye can go get bent in a snow bank. I'll only ask ye take what ye seen an' done 'ere, and never be scared o' tellin' anybody about it. I don' know what Marcellus was, but he was a small rock on a whole mountain. His masters are bigger'n you can imagine, so don' try bein' a damned hero fer stories. Just remember'em when ye feel like somethin's not right, and remember ye got people in these mountains against'em."

Brundir took one more long look over the faces in the crowd. He was both unsurprised and disappointed that they were all mostly impassive, but he left that up to fear. "I've said more'n enough fer now. If ye see me around camp, an' ye got bad blood fer me, I'll be there t'talk in any way it suits ye. If it's my head ye want, though, jus' remember this Norscan 'ere's my friend, an' Norscan's got a funny way o' mournin' murdered friends.

Val comes up behind Brundir, towering over his short frame as he gives his impassioned speech to the prisoners. She folds her arms as she glares down at the men, she did not agree with their decision to simply let them go, but it was not entirely her decision so she steps over to the surviving soldiers that had fought with them. She recalled seeing Larkin do such a thing after skirmishes with giants and orcs back home. Speaking to their tribal warriors afterward to make them feel seen and acknowledged. As she walks over, she can feel his spectral forming nodding at her decision from the outer edges of her vision. She begins moving from cluster to cluster of troops huddling around fires, pouring them drinks and encouraging them to tell their stories of victory and loss. She listens to everyone the wishes to speak, clapping them heartily on the backs and laughing with them, holding a moment respectful quiet for others, and whispering promises of vengeance against those who took their loved ones with others. She would meet up with her people later; the Acharnost could take care of themselves for now. These troops needed something more than the rousing speeches that Brundir and Thurston were so good at delivering; sometimes they just need to be spoken to as an equal. She had no idea where these thoughts were coming from, but she suspected they were intrusive ideas from Larkin. Well, if that was what they needed from her, then that is what they would get. 

Bründir's speech leaves a tension in the air so thick that you could cut it with a knife. The dwarf's words have struck with a power that even Thurston's mighty Rikkazarik cannot muster - doubt. Many of Sheercleft's own are moved to treat the captured with a sense of humanity. The prisoners are provided with food and shelter and some even engage in dialogue with them, hoping to understand the motives behind the invasion. Plans are made for the Cambrians' impending release.

As Sheercleft's victorious defenders prepare to march back to the village from the slopes of Mount Judgement, a solemn, yet triumphant procession takes shape. Assembled in formation, Thurston and Valaith's mithril armour gleams in the soft afternoon sunlight. The banners of Hyarantar and Khaz a Grungron flutter in the breeze, proudly displaying their unity with the people of Sheercleft. At the forefront of the procession, solemnly carried on litters, are the village's fallen. Their comrades, heads bowed in reverence, carry them with utmost care. Most of the wounded are drawn on wagons, while those less severely injured march proudly alongside. Healers accompany them, ensuring their comfort and well-being on the journey home.

At the outskirts of Sheercleft, the defenders are met by a gathering crowd of villagers. The sound of drums and flutes fills the air, and children wave mountain flowers and branches in jubilation. The villagers, young and old alike, hold torches, casting a warm, flickering light that bathes the returning heroes in a golden glow. Tearful reunions take place as those who fought are welcomed by their families. Parents embrace their sons and daughters, spouses hold each other close and children rush into the arms of their returning parents. Intense emotions can be seen all across the village square, the relief of seeing loved ones again mingling with the sorrow of those who lost family.

Aiden is quiet, walking with the healers as the army makes its way back to Sheercleft. He had considered raising his voice in support of mercy for Marcellus' men -- they were just men, after all. Conscripts and pawns fighting for a man who had used them and failed, in the end. They did not deserve death. But Thurston was growing wiser, certainly. Thor's champion took the words from Aiden's mouth. And with Lord Halfshield in agreement, Aiden smiled to himself and continued along, tending to the wounded men as best he could.

Watching the reunions at the army's arrival back at Sheercleft left a strange feeling of emptiness tugging at Aiden's heart. These people, this place. The cold mountain air and the warm hearthfires. Joy and sorrow. Reunions and farewells. The glory of battle and the grief for the loss. It all felt so...familiar...and yet so alien. It reminded him at once of Eikthyrnir -- his home. His father's grim humor and his mother's tough love. The cruelty of the sea and the other boys in the village. It had been home, certainly, despite its flaws...and despite how he had come to be there. But still, he had left for a reason. To seek his home. Atohallan had been a ruin. But maybe this could be home.

Even as he thought of home, an all-too-familiar aria sounded in the back of his mind. He felt his knuckle pop, and he glanced down to find himself gripping the hilt of his sword as if it were the halyard on a longship. Shaking his head, he forces his hand to relax. Even so, the haunting aria sings across his mind again, drawing his gaze to the east. 

Vark marches alongside the procession, worn from the battle but feeling triumphant. Sheercleft had been saved, his friends were well, and at last his oldest friends’ freedom was on the horizon. But as the Acharnost and the rest of Sheercleft’s forces pull within sight of their home, their is only one person on Vark’s mind.

“Seid!” Vark calls out as the wizard comes into view, standing amongst the town’s citizens to welcome their heroes home. He weaves through the crowd, drifting above the ground for the last few feet before embracing his beau. He wraps both arms around the man and plants a kiss on his neck before releasing him.

“We did it!” he breathes, voice full of relief to be back home and safe. “Marcellus was really something, terrifying, but everyone fought so well! You should have seen Thurston, it was like Thor was there fighting with us himself! And Bründir…” the young mage continues to regale Seid with exploits from the battle as the pair makes their way further into town to prepare for the night’s festivities.

Once they are back in the study which the two mages have made their own, Vark begins the process of unmaking the runes which bind the ruby and Pathmaker into the same form. The codex rises from the cross guard of the magical spear, the sharp crystalline angles receding from the delicately sculpted feather details of its wings. He now has full access to its facilities, and though it’s always tempting to sink into the codex’s depths to research, Vark resigns himself to using the artifact to scan the two magical pieces of equipment which Marcellus left behind. It’s only now that he notices how familiar the metal of the Star Knight’s armor is, and as he gets up to return to the others he takes one of the plate mail gauntlets with him to show to Val.

Brundir marched at the fore of his army with the rest of his comrades nearby. When Sheercleft's walls came to view, a horn rose up followed by the deafening cry of a city cheering. Hundreds of yards before reaching the gate, runners sprinted the gap to receive the good news and hurry it back to the waiting crowd. The atmosphere was electric, and many threw themselves among the wagons of the wounded to offer heartfelt thanks, or lament at the loss of their families. Once comfortably in the city, the procession works through streets until it came to a central square where the army could collect. Brundir waved for quiet among those nearby, knowing full well the whole town couldn't follow such an order. The dwarf climbed down from Stonebrow's saddle and called for Captain Ironheel of the Khaz a Gungron Highshields. The officer stepped forward readily and took an enthusiastic hand from Brundir, "LIsten up! We broke a force far above us, an' in no small part t'Captain Ironheel an' his comp'ny!" A cheer rose from the army, and Brundir continued when it subsided, "If any of'em so much as sees th' gates o' Sheercleft in their lifetimes, they need only say this: 'I served with Captain Ironheel as a Highshield in th' Stone Walls', then they'll have bed n' board given freely. If any o' ye hear someone too young t'know give'em lip, you set'em right an' welcome these heroes to our home!" Another roar rises from the crowd as the Captain thanks Brundir. 

"Not one o' ye've done less'n ye needed. I stand in honor of all of ye! Fer our fallen, I'll see a great stone set outside our gate fer'em, so everyone knows what we gave t'be free. Fer those 'ere, celebrate! Th' city owes a debt it'll ne'er repay." The crowd starts another cheer when Brundir's yell takes the wind from it, "Lastly!...Lastly. Few know it, might be even none, but we Acharnost aren't much t'speak on. We're outcasts, we're orphans, we're simple folk called t'do great things. That's why I'm callin' fer three of ye t' come forward fer each of'em but me. Ye'll be sent t' homelands of my friends, carryin' their stories. Not one of'em comes 'ere without bad blood from 'ome. I mean t' clean that blood an' give'em two homes that call'em heroes!" The pent-up crowd once again roars to life as Brundir waves and dismissed the amassed army. 

While Brundir took in the joyful scene, a sudden burst of violence grabbed the dwarf and pulled him back. A pair of arms spun him around and pinned him before he could register the familiar brown hair covering his face, "Ya damned fool! Yer 'ead get knocked out there an' turn yer brain t'sludge?! Dammit, ye had me worried, but lookit ya now!" Brynja pushed Brundir out until her arms were stretched between them, "Where's it? Where's the sword?" Brundir forgot himself in the sudden wave of emotions, then fumbled at Dumdrengi's hilt. He drew the blade forth, and presented it to his mother who accepted it and stared closely at the blade, "Runes n' all, it still holds strong." The dwarven matron returned the blade as she received it, then grabbed her son again once the blade was sheathed. "He'd be proud, I know it. It killed 'im t'leave us, so much it broke my heart knowin' whatever did 'im in might as well've been puttin' down a corpse. He left that fer us, though. I ne'er knew if ye'd do anythin' with it, but it's too important t' let go. But 'ere ya are, spittin' image of 'im as a fresh stone." As much as she tried until now, Brynja couldn't resist anymore as tears flowed and she hugged Brundir again.

A memory flashed back, pulling Brundir away from such a joyful reunion. A dwarf with dark hair and shining eyes, wearing the crown of a king. Dumdrengi burned white-hot in his hand as he leveled it to Brundir's wounded form. Then, the shimmering dwarf raised the blade to the sky and cut through a canopy of evil clouds encroaching from all sides.

Matteo rises quietly on the return, perhaps a leftover part of Jex that prefers to live anonymously in the background, perhaps just feeling that he isn't a part of what is going on, having been trapped witnessing it through Jex's eyes as the assassin worked. Perhaps just not feeling the same conflicting emotions as the others. He remains withdrawn and silent on the return, taking himself off to pray at his new alter. He comes out to hear Brundir's speech, though he can only shake his head at the promise to send people to Jex's homeland to speak if his exploits. The half-elf had been reborn so many times in his mind, and yet had a way to go.

That evening, Sheercleft comes together to lay the fallen to rest. As is custom amongst their people, the men are interred in coffins to be entombed within the earth, while pyres are lit for the dwarven warriors. Ringrut offers a solemn eulogy, recounting the bravery and sacrifice of those who gave their lives, and a hushed silence falls over the crowd. With bowed heads and whispered words of gratitude, the villagers come to pay their respects.

Despite the sombre undertones, the evening transitions into a night of celebration. Fires are lit and stories of valour and camaraderie are shared over tables that groan under the weight of the bountiful feast prepared by the villagers. The community, bound by the shared experience of battle, grows stronger in unity.  Songs and music fill the night sky, providing a balm for the wounds of war.

"...halda svá til hafnar//hǫggva mann ok annan//hǫggva mann ok annan."

Aiden finishes belting out the Norscan song with Thurston and the pair smash their tankards together. "Skål!" Aiden shouts, downing half his tankard. He wipes the froth from his short beard and grins, looking around at the celebrations. "I only hope our fallen men are celebrating in Valhalla as well."

Thurston nods to Aiden

"I am sure of it. I could hear the Valkyljur carrying them back in the battlefield. " while they dring, Aiden could tell that Thurston's humor is nos as joyful as it should be. No one could tell, being so overwhelmed by the events of the night, but he could see the hints, like that tankard was only the sixth of the great norscan and he should had at least double that by this hour. 

Aiden studies his friend's face. The paladin was doing his best to act his normal, boisterous self, but Aiden knew him well enough to see through it. 

"What ails you, Thurston?" he asks. "You seem...well, you seem not yourself. Don't tell me that Valaith has broken things off between you. That would be a true tragedy."

The eyes of the paladin turns towards the warrior woman that was enjoying herself not far away and smirks.

"No... thanks to Freyja... at least not yet hahah" at least that laugh felt more real than others. Thurston took his attention back to his drink, staring for a few moments before trying to drink again from it, and noticing he just had it finished. He then looked up to his friend and spoke in his mother tongue. 

"I am... angry Aiden. Yes we fought well, we won and saved the city from this attack... and yes... I was able to beat that cursed... thing that was Sir Marcellus and everyone talks about it but... " he lowers his voice "But I didn't do it because I am brave... but because I was afraid... afraid of what he was and what he could do... and... and what worries me most is that his masters,this.. Mabinogi or Maginobi or whatever they call themselves, the ones that conspired to free Matthew here, are still at large, probably already making plans to bring us down again. " Thurston doesn't stops now that he has begun to talk " And that puts all of Sheercleft in danger again. And Vark... I am worried as hell about the boy. He keeps talking about this Mathew and his plans to free the others... and the poor boy has no chocie but to comply... " he is tightening his grip to the tankard " And he is just a boy, too naive to think he can oustmart the Prince of Lies... worried about his foster father, a giant nonetheless!! and that demon is going to manipulate him again to help him... you see my dilemma here? I must fight a demon's influence to free a giant... a giant... Loki must be laughing at me right now. I should be bashing giant's heads, not releasing them... and lightining up that demon ass to send him back to Jottunheim!! " the tankard is already  bent under Thurston's grasp. " All this.. the praise to my valor when I was so afraid, my doubts, and this whole Vark situation... makes me.. angry!" he looks up to Aiden and notice what had happened to his drink " . But look at me... whinning over things I cannot change like an old crone! I've spent too much time among them" he says refering to those of not norscan ascendecy but with a clear hint of humor " Do not pay attention to me my friend! " he says feeling much better and becoming a little more of himself " I will take this anger and direct it towards our enemies, no matter how numerous or hidden they are! Now... allow me to bring you another drink... and I will procure myself a new one too... and I will honor the fallen in the proper way!!" 

"Thurston, a moment," Aiden says before the paladin can leave to procure another set of tankards. "Your worries are well founded. I agree, it's ironic that we would save a Jotun. But I think...well, Vark is just as conflicted at all this as you are. I believe you discredit him, calling him a naive boy. We must trust him, and we must find a way to help him without Matthew...Loki...sinking his claws deeper. If we do not trust him, give him the benefit of the doubt, we may push him all the more into Loki's embrace." 

Aiden looks over at where Vark is talking to Valaith about something. "I am not saying we let him be manipulated. But if he feels he cannot trust us, I fear where he will turn to. He needs our support -- perhaps now more than ever."

“Val!” Vark calls out, stumbling a bit as he makes his way over to the goliath woman. He’s clearly allowed himself to roped into several rounds of celebratory drinks and is feeling the effects despite his relatively hardy constitution. He plops down beside her, managing to only spill a little of the ale in his cup as he does so. There’s the usual excited look on his face as if he is about to start yammering on about something, but he settles as he looks up at his comrade. He’d seen how Marcellus had twisted Val’s mind in the fight, and realizes the proud warrior may be feeling some type of way about being sidelined against her will. The thing he’d brought to show her can wait for a moment.

”We did it, huh?” he asks with a warm smile, raising his mug to hers in cheers. “How are you feeling now that it’s all done?”

Thurston stops and looks at Aiden 

“Your words are full of wisdom. I know… It is not that I understimate him, he is a capable and powerful sorcerer, or wizard I don’t really know the difference… but he is powerful and resourceful. No matter how much power Loki gives to him, it is up to him to wield it…” he notices that he is derailing “Thing is you are right. I do tend to see him as a misguided little brother but I agree with you and he has my full support. It’s just I do not see how we could help him, not with that thing of getting that artifact. Let’s free this Jottun and hope he could bring more light on this Matthew. I trust Vark but Ibdo mistrust the King of Lies… “ 

"Nor would I ask you to," Aiden says. "I am sorry, I'm not good at...at this." He gestures at the invisible words coming out of his mouth. "I am glad you find wisdom in the things I say."

After a moment of silence, Aiden lets out a slightly drunken laugh. "Freeing a giant...Thurston, you are bedding a half-giant! Or perhaps she is bedding you. There's the real irony. Thor's champion, laid low by a giantess. The gods are all laughing at us."

“Hahaha even Thor fell upon the charms of Järnsaxa once my friend… and she was a Jottun!. But I will keep my word and bring some drinks for us and then I will go and celebrate with her our victory. If the aesir are looking at us, let’s laugh together!@ 

"Just bring me a drink before fall into her arms," Aiden laughs, slapping the Norscan on the shoulder. His smile fades a bit as the Norscan walks away, as the sword's aria fills his head once again.

Thuston laughs and nods "I'll never let a friend down!!" and goes for a couple of drinks for him and Aiden