A few years ago, we posted the story "What is Told" to share more about the setting, history and key concepts of the world. We have made some minor edits and updates to the the story and present it to you now as "What is Re-told". Please enjoy.
Part 1:
A lot of things were on Hafr’s mind.
Foremost was an ache that worked its way into his feet, unaccustomed to pounding hard rock in thin leather shoes. The intricately carved walking stick in his hand had become more of an anchor than an aid. Aside from that, there was the complex pattern he had been failing to memorize for a week, a cumbersome bundle of books and scrolls carving into his shoulders and the irksome memory of an awkward and eventually embarrassing conversation he had with a girl before he left. It chafed, looping over and over in his head with nothing but repetitive back-country paths to distract from it, and no recourse to be taken. At least, not until he was done with this, another pointless errand.
This is why when a bag slipped over his face, and an enormous force throttled him by the neck toward the ground, Hafr had no idea it was coming. He wasn’t certain whether he was blacking out or it was just the bag, but his fight or flight instincts had opted for a third option: embrace death. The decision may have already been out of his hands. Muffled voices made casual agreements, to take something or go somewhere. Laughter. Then there was the heaviness of being hoisted by one’s mid-section, the irregular bounce of a long stride, and finally a quick descent into unconsciousness.
Hafr awoke to ebbing daylight and an intense throbbing behind the eyes, undecided whether his head or fragile self-worth had been more wounded. He found himself propped up in an obscuring thicket that had been nowhere in sight when last he retained his senses.
Across from him sat a giant. To be clear- not a tall or muscular man, but a creature sporting thick charcoal horns from his head, curved like a yox, and an abundant mane and beard equal parts braid and knot. It’s cumbrous arms extended far beyond the reach of any man, using them now to hold one of Hafr’s books at an uncomfortable reading distance, thumbing through the pages with thick fingers unsuited to the task. Hafr realized he was alone with a varl, and it was not a comforting thought. He knew of varl, but had never been in the company of one, relatively sheltered as he was by the walls of Manaharr. Eventually the giant noticed that his captive had begun to stir.
“I wasn’t looking for pictures, if that’s what you’re thinking,” said the varl with the sort of low growl you’d expect from a horned giant. He pushed off one knee to launch himself up to a full height, at least twelve feet. “You know what I was looking for?”
Hafr remained silent, not only because he was terrified, but because he had no idea.
“Something of value!” The varl guffawed, gesturing to the contents of Hafr’s pack, splayed across the dirt around them. “Instead, just books full of things I already knew. So I started to worry that we had wasted your time, friend.” He frowned. “I’m sorry, what’s your name?”
Hafr quickly weighed his options. He had no idea who he was speaking to or how much they knew, and more importantly, what might happen if he was caught in a lie. “Hafr,” he finally mumbled.
“Hafr?” replied the varl. “Boy, your daddy named you “Goat”? Was he disappointed when he saw you squirt forth? Hah! Goat it is. Mine’s Bersi.” He tossed the book in a pile with the rest. “Anyway, as I was saying, my companion and I were distraught thinking that we had throttled you for no good reason, but then we got a good look at that walking stick.”
Hafr did his best to show no reaction.
“Despite appearances,” continued Bersi, “You’re the most valuable thing in the bunch! It’s a rare occasion we have a mender tied to a tree. He’s gone off to show your wet nurses that stick of yours, and see how much they’d like to have the owner back. Until then, we’ll be spending some time together. How does that sound?”
“The Guild’s more likely to drop him off a cliff than pay him,” Hafr managed to squeak.
“Listen, Goat, your concern is truly touching, but let me worry over the details. Just relax and we’ll all go on our way if I don’t yawn myself to an early grave first. Agreed?”
Oddly enough, Hafr did relax a bit knowing that the menders would be involved. However they chose to deal with this, things would probably end poorly for these brigands.
“Goats stay out in the yard,” announced Bersi, who was disappearing off into the bracken. “We’ll speak again tomorrow.”
The rope around Hafr’s neck chafed as he shifted his weight against the tree, his bound hands and feet making it more difficult than it should have been. Aside from his strewn pack and books, the small clearing was featureless. So Hafr sat and fretted. The night descended quickly, like a bag over his face.