The child awoke shivering. She had curled herself, in her sleep, into a tight ball that held what little heat she had as efficiently as possible. She had built herself a nest of snow, as she had been shown, but none of this much helped. Or perhaps it did. Perhaps, if not for these measures, she would have died in the night, the cold creeping slowly from her extremities and in towards her young heart until she took a final, shuddering breath without ever realizing it was her last.

Regardless, her whole body was gnarled now, her muscles so tight from clenching that her limbs refused to straighten. I am a giant, she told herself, though the small tusks protruding from her mouth suggested otherwise. I am a giant at heart, and a giant is never cold.

"Hyah!" she shouted, for the muscles of her lungs seemed the only ones willing to obey her command. It was a feeble shout, but it gave her strength and began to warm her from the inside out, as her mentor had promised it would.

She could have slept in a warming hut with the others. It was what any sensible little friend (this was the only word her mentor had ever used for those who were not goliaths, and so the only word she knew) would have done. The goliaths who had been kind enough to erect such shelters for the guests had expressed no small amount of concern for the orcish girl who had insisted on sleeping in the snow as they did.

"Hyah!" the shout was louder this time, echoing through the ancient peaks and startling nearby birds into taking wing. Warmth surged through her body now, so that she could straighten, stand, and stretch her tight muscles.

"Hyah!" answered a goliath voice, the speaker too distant to be seen. "Bright skies to you."

Only then did the girl realize just how bright the skies were.

"Shit!" she swore in her native tongue. Now heedless of the cold, she threw off the furs in which she had slept and forced her large arms through the sleeves of the uniform she'd been given. The dress blues of a Franco soldier was strange attire for a Luthic orc, but she had outright refused the floral dress the goliaths had offered. She despised frillery, and this had clearly been designed for a girl half her age, she being the size of a goliath child. After much pouting and bickering, Cora had come through with the compromise, offering up her own uniform which was small on the girl, who was a full-blooded orc, but aesthetically a better fit than the flowery dress.

It was also betting for running, climbing, and leaping, which was convenient, as she was surely very late. She bounded down the mountaintop toward the village below, with its rocky huts surrounding a stone circle at its center. Sure enough, she could see the others gathered there, the Quinchiat, the dwarves, the two half-orcs standing out amidst a sea of goliaths. The Northman stood nervously in the enter of the circle, whispering with her mentor's mother, the one who had insisted she wear the dress. The girl did not doubt that her absence was the object of their concern.

She practically flew down the cliff in her haste, hands and feet finding holds that would have been invisible to any other little friend. Her mentor had taught her well, and good that she had. This was the mentor's special day, and the girl refused to ruin it with her lateness.

"Lucagash!" the elder goliath snapped as the breathless girl entered the circle. "You are much-late!"

"On the contrary, Mother Olva," the girl insisted. "I am just in time."

"On time is much-late for a big-special day!" Olva grumbled, but she did not argue further, thrusting instead a collection of colorful pebbles into Luca's small hand. "I do hope you remember-"

"Scatter the stones when the Sky King gives his blessing," Luca brushed away the reminder. "You have told me many times."

"Many times you must be told!" Olva said, but before she could complain further, a booming voice split the sky like thunder.

"Brothers-in-battle, sisters-in-stone, guests-in-honor," bellowed Dag Sixtones. "Much thanks to you for joining Dag and Olva Sixstones in celebration of nuptials of beloved daughter Opalia. Especial much big thanks to guests-in-honor who have far-traveled to join us. Though we once much worried we had lost a daughter, we now with big gratitude find we have gained many little children."

The goliaths cheered heartily at this, though the brothers who had been trounced by these "guests-in-honor" were a bit less vocal than the rest.

"Are there any who would speak now in honored blessing of the union that soon will bind beloved daughter to new man-bear-son?"

Arvid stamped his feet and wrung his wrists to ward off the stinging cold. He was grinning. In fact he'd been doing so much of it of late this his cheeks hurt, yet he couldn't help himself. A playful wind swirled between his legs, stirring the hem of the matrimonial coat his mother had sewn for him. It was knee length and made of the softest caribou skin. Picked out in delicate beadwork across the back Ildiko crossed the great river of the sky with her cubs in tow. It was the finest coat Arvid had ever seen and he was grateful not only for the gift, but for the presence of his mother herself.

Signe was a pillar of light at the circle's edge. Despite the cold she was radiant in her deerskin dress and fur stoll. Her face was more lined with worry than Arvid remembered but her eyes were bright and her shoulders were straight. Next to Dag and Olva she seemed like a child or perhaps a doll.

It was a far trek from the Kerit village to the roof of the world but Signe had walked every foot of every mile and she had not come alone. Sten Ivarson, handsome and stoic, stood by her side - there more for Signe, than for Arvid truthfully though Arvid was grateful for that as well - along with Brenna Tovesdottir.

Brenna was Arvid's oldest friend, but as the daughter of the new chief she embodied the village as a whole and Tove had made sure to provide for her accordingly. "Health and happiness," she had wished him when they first reached the summit. "Health and happiness," he'd replied, and hugged her fiercely.

There was a time after Ulf died when Arvid had wondered if he was ever destined for happiness. Now he knew no shortage of it. This was his village - the people right here. The future was bright and airy. And all of it was thanks to Opalia. His Opalia.

They'd been little more than children the first time Opalia had saved Arvid's life, climbing down into an ice crevasse to pull him to safety, and she'd made something of a concerning habit out of it since then. It would have been impossible to see the heights of the Skykeeper village from those lonely frigid depths. The road between those two points in time and space was long and winding and had carried them all the way across the face of the North and back again. To the Resting Place. To the depths of the earth. And now to the highest heights. Arvid resolved without question that he would walk it again a thousand times over, so long as Opalia was at his side.

She would be here soon. Arvid cast his gaze across the assembly as Dag enjoined the audience. His eyes found his mother and he smiled again.

And he waited.

Fergus stood amongst the guests, waiting for the ceremony to unfold. He walked with a cane now and the remaining red streaks in his beard had faded to a full silver. He had wondered if Opalia would still call him Firebeard (she did) and whether he would even be able enough to make the journey from Knutsdir (he was, thanks to the assistance of Cora and Farra... and Caell... and Keth).

He watched Arvid, handsomely dressed, as he awaited Opalia. The joy on the Northman's face was evident, and Fergus was glad for it. "He deserves nothing but happiness for all he has done for the Northlands." The dwarf considered his own journey since that fateful night at Jawbreakers. It wasn't that long ago, but it seemed like a lifetime. Still reeling from Darna's loss and adrift in Knutsdir at that time, he somehow managed to not only find his long lost daughter, but also to inherit a family larger than he could ever have imagined. "Never a dwarf richer than I," he mused.
This message was last edited by the player at 04:51, Mon 27 Mar 2023.

"Have you gotten all the COLORS?  Every much-nice color, like your hairs?"  Opalia fretted nervously to the orcess stood behind her, braiding her long and thick hair with the help of three younger orcish girls.  Her own students, in fact.  They would be good at fighting one day.  Raheera replied with a tusky grin, "All the colors, promise.  They match the iceblooms perfectly.  Just a little bit longer and you can see for yourself, big sister."  The giantess huffed out a big breath and checked the fastenings on the cloak again, just to be sure, her bead-decorated boot tapping upon the boards.  There was much commotion to be heard outside the preparation tent.  Many voices, jaunty music, the smell of roasted meats and hot toadies on the air.  So many little friends had come from far away places!  Opalia could hardly believe how many there were, and it was a number very-much more than all her fingers and toes together.  She fidgeted with the hem of her finely embroidered kilt and wished she could have a hot toadie just now.

Pensive, Opalia asked, "Little RAHEERA, were you, um... much-nervous when you did get bound to little LEIF?  I am NOT unsure of this, but it does seem very MUCH!"  Raheera laughed, "HE was the one that was nervous, big sister, and rightly so.  Maybe yours is, too.  Anyway, it's finished!  Let me put the last thing on, then you'll be ready."  Opalia considered that, but she didn't think Arvid could be scared.  Especially not of her!  He had good-wisdom to know better and a calm that always eased her worries.  He was calm even when they'd asked Mother Olva's blessing, unconcerned for BIG DANGER.  He'd been right that there had been nothing to worry about, however.  Thinking of him brought a silly grin to Opalia's broad features, and her nerves for the event were calmed just a bit when she remembered the event's purpose.  Raheera had already shooed away the gaggle of younger orcish girls, and as they fled Opi called after, "Make no troubles today, or else HALF-snacks after morning climb!"  A dire threat indeed, but sometimes the extra-little ones needed a firm hand.

Raheera beckoned Opalia to lean down so the orcess could reach high enough to place something upon her head.  Raheera held up an oval mirror traced in elegant silvery-blue filigree, a gift from little Quinichiat friends, and turned it toward Opalia.  The giantess gazed at herself in the reflective surface, turning her head side to side to let the colorful braids swing, then grinned widely.  Just then a familiar thundering voice called to the gathering outside.  Her father, Dag Sixstones, giving a grand welcome to all guests of all peoples.  Opalia clapped Raheera on the shoulder and they shared a grin.  She was ready, and it was nearly time!

After all who would speak upon their union had said their piece, the skyhorns were blown, their deep and silvery notes ringing out across the mountains.  That was the cue.  At the edge of the gathered circle, the tent flaps were drawn aside and Opalia strode out.  Auburn hair bound in colorful braids adorned with a crown of iceblooms, a sky-blue flower that only grew in the wintry Cragspur highlands.  A white fur mantle was drawn about her broad shoulders, the hide of the yeti that nearly took Arvid from her what seemed a lifetime ago.  Finely-beaded boots made by Mother Signe herself, beneath an embroidered greatkilt in blue and yellow tailored to accommodate a recent development.

Opalia stood tall, proud, and strong as ever in her finery, and also heavy with child.  A child of two peoples, a symbol of unity and hope for the future.  The giantess gazed across the vast gathering of friends and kin parting before her, and spotted Arvid standing in the stone circle wearing the most handsome coat and that boyish grin she loved, with Mothers Olva and Signe and Father Dag stood behind.  A sight that would have seemed unthinkable not so long ago.  Opalia's eyes twinkled with happy tears as they met those of the soon-to-be father of their child.

She strode out to meet him, and the gathering rose up in an uproarious cheer.
This message was last edited by the player at 16:37, Tue 07 Mar 2023.

Coraghak of Lawton's Glen stood proud beside her uncle Fergus, dressed in a merchant's best despite feeling a fool for packing such clothing. Only hours early she'd been labouring in breeches and a sturdy apron to see to food morsels which would liven the guests, to the decanting and pairing of wines and casks of ale brought for the occasion on sturdy wagons, trying to share space with the Kerit elders who cooked and held court of their own by the cookfires. It had been a long night before, staring out at the stars as she roasted a pig and drank kragg from Guthluthic, thinking of the almost impossible to grasp truths the Orc-Father had shown her years before. Now she stood with the others, cheering for Opalia as she strode to Arvid, knowing what came next would be a longer journey still.

Her commitment to Jawbreaker's was fulfilled, her time apprenticing and working was done, and Grina had spat at her feet when she made it clear she was leaving, having finally put her mother's ghost to rest in her heart, having finally reached the top of the hole she was digging herself out from. Only Fergus and Caell knew otherwise, only they knew what came next.

A lovely day, and who knows, maybe it will be Coraghak's turn some day?

The scars where her ear had been itched as she watched Arvid's face when Opalia appeared, and she felt a weft of power still in her breast at the thought of this being a marriage which now truly sealed the pact of the Northern Alliance. A dream born from the terrible war, two terrible wars. Against so much, the only thing Cora could do was smile as well, feel the joy of the crowd.

Several goliaths rose to speak, but most spoke only the language of the mountains - as Opalia had, when Arvid first met her - so that the import of their speeches were lost on the guests. The Northman had learned enough to catch words like "brave", "silly", "heart", and "reckless", but not even he could follow, and it seemed half the clan had something to say on the matter. He could only hope they were not objecting to the union.

The air was beyond cold, and hot toadies had not yet been served, though no one doubted they were waiting on hand. Even more tantalizing was the smell of the pig Cora had roasted. The thought of warm food made the incomprehensible speeches feel all the more interminable.

At last Father Dagg reclaimed the center of the circle. He bore a sly grin on his pale face as he laid a massive hand on his soon-to-be son-in-law's shoulder. "Mother Olva and I burdened our honored daughter with a name of our choosing. Opalia: it means she is beautiful, and also strong. We still think it well-suits her. But of course you are knowing honored-daughter would never be defined by another, not even by loving-parents. She took for her honor-name Boldfriend. If you intend to claim her - and you had better, having laid a burden of your own upon her," he added with a sharp squeeze of Arvid's shoulder. The goliaths laughed, evidently taking his innuendo even if they did not understand his every word. "Then you must prove yourself a bold friend as well."

He stood back, still smiling as Arvid looked around in confusion. Olva and Dagg had not much consulted him in the planning of the ceremony, telling him only where he needed to be and when. He had assumed Opalia would emerge at the appointed moment to join him in the circle, but he realized now no one had ever said this.

A familiar cry rang out across the notch in which the village of Domoen was nestled. Standing atop rocky outcropping some two hundred feet overhead was his bride, rubbing her round belly merrily as she called to him.

Arvid, it seems you're expected to scale this cliff and meet Opalia atop it. Unless you have any shenanigans to get up, go ahead and roll an Athletics check. You can roll with advantage or disadvantage if you see fit.

The thunderous roar of the village set Arvid's heart racing but did little to direct his attention. In his momentary confusion all eyes seemed to be turned to him expectantly. Perhaps it was the magnetism of Opalia's gaze, or the solace he often sought in the sky when life upon the ground seemed most overwhelming but at last he looked up - and there she stood, silhouetted against the brilliant blue vault of the sky. All at once the world came into focus.

Arvid took a step towards the base of the summit. He was ill dressed for the endeavor but it hardly mattered - he didn't climb with his arms so much as his spirit and nothing could constrain the light within, least of all on this day of all days.

He reached for Ildiko and felt Motherbear effortlessly pour Her grace into his imperfect vessel. Man-bear-son, Dagg had called him. Ildiko's light wreathed his arms and anointed his crown, imbuing him with Her strength but the courage to climb - to strive towards the heavens - that came from him alone. One hand over the next, one sure foot after the other, Arvid climbed up to the precipice and his waiting bride.

When at last he reached the top he smiled and reached for her, unable to keep his hand from the swell of her belly. Secretly he hoped for a girl - all of the best people in Arvid's life were women.

"Father Dagg told me I must claim you," he said quietly, looking up into Opalia's eyes. "That I must prove myself a bold friend. I rather think you're the one who claimed me."

Arvid gets advantage from his boots. 26.
14:38, Today: Secret Roll: Arvid Signeson rolled 26 using 2d20+9, dropping the lowest dice only.  Athletics.