Thunder Bear

Part 2 of Vegapath's Heroes

In any other city, passersby would rarely take notice of the elderly man seated on a short wooden stool along the edge of a large wood and stone wharf. Upon which ships of many sizes remained tied off, and crews of dock workers began their day’s labor. His tattered and worn, salt crusted sailor’s clothing weighed heavily upon his withered frame. Hemp sandals adorned calloused feet with jagged and broken toenails. The elder’s bald head reflected the sunlight, and his gray beard covered a mouth with several missing teeth. The only item of note on his person was a distinctive silver pendant in the shape of a harp, with golden strings.

This day, however, an unusually large crowd was gathered on the street of the wharf. Causing quite the disruption to the comings and goings of ship and dock crews alike, and with this man as its focus.

Children were seated on the cobblestones of the street, their large eyes fixated on him. Several had deposited small trinkets, baubles, or pieces of fruit into an empty potato sack at the man’s feet. Several adults, parents of the children and otherwise, were also arranged facing the old timer. Many after depositing coins of various denominations into the same sack.

The man sat upon his stool, long legs bent with knobby knees pointing towards the sky. He rested his crossed arms upon those knees, and his head rested in the crook his arms created. His eyes were closed, as though he were asleep.

Slowly, ever so slowly, the sun rose over the tops of the surrounding buildings. The bustle of the street grew, and so did the gathered crowd. Nearby, a vendor, having seen the gathering people, set up his cart and began to sell grilled fish and roasted root vegetables with a spicy sauce.

Still, the elder remained unmoving until the sun had risen to its zenith. Then, with the baking sun shining down upon his bared and sunburnt shoulders, he opened his eyes and uncoiled himself. Raising his head to look out upon those around him. Eyes that had seen the passing of decades met those of children who hadn’t yet met their first.

Nudging the sack at his feet with a bare toe, he casually glanced over the offerings. He bent low from his seat to grab up a plum. Taking a bite, he let the purple tinted juice run down the long hairs on his chin. Making overly exaggerated appreciative noises as he did so.

“Ah, this’ll do I suppose.”

The sound of the man’s voice seemed to wheeze out of him like a strong breeze through slashed sails. Hard years and harder winds had shredded it to an agony laced whisper. That’s not to say it was unclear. Everyone gathered understood his words as they were intended. Something about the pain in it, however, seemed to draw the ear and prime the mind for a story.

Tossing the pit of the plum over his shoulder and into the waters below, he would meticulously suck each finger clean. Intentionally drawing out the agonizing wait the children were subjected to.

“Right then, how about a story of the Three’s Herald, hmm, or perhaps the Hell Child of Light. No? Maybe of the new Lord of Ogden then. The old horror reborn?”

Sounds from the children told him he hadn’t quite landed on what they were hoping for.

“Well, perhaps you decide for me, huh? I haven’t got all day to waste guessing.”

Immediately several children cried out in unison.

“The Bear, Salm, the Bear. The Bear, the Bear. We want to hear about the Bear.”

“Hmm, the Bear today? It does seem fitting given where we are. Though, are you sure? The Bear’s stories aren’t normally for children’s ears.”

This drew excited murmurs from the seated children and grins from the gathered adults at their enthusiasm.

“The Bear it is then, but don’t say I didn’t warn you. Now, silence. No interruptions. It wouldn’t do for you to miss what I have to tell. I’ll not repeat myself today.”

Vigorous nods set the children’s heads bobbing as the old man began.

“Where should we start today? Hmm, not his early years of adventure. Too normal for this crowd, I think. Perhaps how he earned his cloak? No, too dangerous a tale to put into the heads of children.”

Winking towards the gathered adults he would suggest.

“Perhaps a tale of romance? How he earned the favor of his arrow-maiden, and stole her love away from what she had sworn it to before him.”

Groans of childish disgust chorused around him, followed by good natured chuckles from the parents.

“No? Well then, hmm.” Running the fingers of one hand through his long scraggly beard he suddenly perked up. “Ah. I know just the one.”

Settling his old frame more comfortably on his stool, he spread his hands out wide to the sides as though to gather the crowd in closer.

“This is the story of how the young Northman earned the favor of a wrathful god. How this brave giant of a man faced off against foes outmatching even his own strength, and he overcame them. Of how he earned his true name. This is the tale of the last stand of Aithilar, and the rise of Thunder Bear”

The eyes of the gathered children grew large in the full brightness of the day, and they remained transfixed upon the suddenly animated old man.

“Erik Thunder Bear. Scion of Rogarsheim to the north and west. Son of Jarl Roland of Rogarsheim, a powerful man in his own right. A perfect choice for Captain Telissmol, the Sweet Drake, to select as the leader for one of the most daring missions the brave soldiers of Fort Vegapath have ever undertaken.”

So entrancing was the tone of Salm’s voice, that those gathered would later swear that they had seen the image of an old port town reflected upon the waters of the ocean behind the old man as he spoke.

“On the western shore of Alaron once lay the port town of Aithilar, and there was not much of import to the town. It was a fairly peaceful place, like much of Alaron in the old times. But that was before the war began. Now, oh, now the town is gone. Sank into the sea like a castle made of sand upon the shore.”

Over Salm’s shoulder, lights sparkled off the waves of the Sea of Swords. Within those glimmering lights, the likeness of a young warrior could be imagined. Strong jawed and golden haired, with eyes the color of storm clouds.

“It was 1492, the 29thof Eleint to be precise. An important date in the life and history of Erik Thunder Bear. Not long ago by the reckoning of Ffolk. As I said, the legendary Captain of the Fort, Telissmol herself, chose four brave soldiers for that mission. Aithilar was on its last legs even then. The town had been battered and beaten by monsters from the sea, and abominations dredged from ancient times by one of Elriza’s vile companions, Halcion the Torturer. Our stouthearted Ffolk soldiers, sent by the king to guard safe the western shore, had been sorely taxed. Attacked daily and driven to the edge of exhaustion by the unending tide of Halcion’s monstrosities. Led by Erik, these four soldiers arrived in Aithilar amidst the crashing of a mighty thunderstorm, and the chaos of yet another battle within the walls and streets of that town. Ffolk lay dead and dying under the ravaging claws of unimagined horrors as rain poured from the heavens. The town was overrun. What its people needed most was time. Time enough to flee to safety, and that time would be bought with blood and pain willingly given by the four heroes.”

At the apex of the tension within Salm’s telling, he paused and began ruffling within the sack of trinkets and fruit once more. The gathered children waited, many leaning forward nearly to toppling, for the story to continue. Many of the parents were likewise drawn in, though a few held worried looks upon their faces for the gruesome aspects of Salm’s tale.

After a few moments, Salm drew forth a wizened looking apple. Gave it a look over and a sniff, before crunching into it. The wet smacking of his lips drowned out by the bustle of the wharf around them. Then, apple still in hand, he arched his arms above his head like some great beast and continued speaking.

“Towering head and shoulders above the next largest man, Erik charged forth into battle, the others close on his heals. Flowing golden hair streamed behind him in his rush to bring swift death to the enemies of Alaron. And many there were that fell to his mighty hammer. An heirloom of great worth to his family with a legend all its own, and one only made more grand within Thunder Bear’s hands. The force from Vegapath slammed into the attacking enemies, and the horde shuddered and broke from their charge. Putrid blood flew out to spatter the walls of homes and shops recently evacuated by the Ffolk of Aithilar. Many were the wounds suffered by Erik and his allies. More wounds to add to the scars the young warrior already bears. But this did not deter him. It pushed him forward, ever forward to drive the enemy back to the sea.”

Looking a small girl with short cut dark hair in the eyes, his tone would drop low as he would break from his story to speak directly to the girl.

“He bears these scars so that you, and those you love, will not need to, child.”

The girl, with hardened eyes older than her years would suggest, would nod to Salm before he would continue.

“Soon, there were no enemies before them. Thunder Bear and his companions looked out upon streets empty of all but the dying. A man named Adrian Varon, a leader within Aithilar, found them then and told them of the evacuation his people were undertaking. The last remnants of the town were leaving Aithilar behind. However, something new was coming. Something truly horrible, even to those men and women who had suffered the enemy’s onslaught so far. Adrian explained that a towering horror, a monstrosity of impossible height and size, a spider-like beast that touched the sky, was approaching the fleeing survivors and nothing could stop it. Buildings crumbled before it. Strong walls fell to mighty blows from its many arms and legs. Adrian led the heroes to another street, and there, for the first time, they saw the creature amidst flashes of lightning from the storm above. Once again, without thought for their own safety, the four charged into battle. This time with an impossible foe. Hearing the bellowing war cry of their charge, the remaining soldiers of Alaron stationed within the town joined them in their mad rush. As they drew near, they were met by still more of the enemy who had sought the protection of their own champion beast. The battle was fierce upon the ground. The fiercest it had ever been. The enemy was bolstered by the presence of their unbeatable champion. One who was not constrained by the walls and streets of the town. Our four were on the verge of collapse from the strain of combat. The Ffolk soldiers were bloodied and exhausted. They had made an impressive showing, one that even these heroes of Fort Vegapath would acknowledge in songs of their own. How many of the enemy had they killed? Dozens? Hundreds? It was impossible to say, and still more came to the bellowing call of the giant.”

Salm would pause, his whole body going rigid, and the old man’s eyes would take on a far away look. He held that position long enough that some of the surrounding adults began to look around for what Salm was seeing, but they saw nothing unusual. A shudder ran through the old man’s boney frame before he came back to himself. As though he had witnessed a horror that those gathered could not see. He began speaking once more, and those gathered would later swear that they saw towering flames and images of collapsed buildings within the outstretched sea beyond Salm’s shoulders.

“As is typical of Elriza’s dark forces, they cared nothing for their own losses. Destruction and death are their weapons. What they constantly carry. For us. For themselves. For the land itself. It does not matter so long as the desires of Elriza the Defiler are met. She desired the collapse of Aithilar, so that is what Halcion and his minions would give her. No matter the cost. The rain of the raging storm above washed rivers of blood from the streets and out into the storm-tossed sea. Lightning flashed constantly, the only illumination on the battlefield, and thunder beat a constant war drum above the fight. Above this, the call of Halcion’s champion could be heard, and the pounding of its mighty limbs could be felt in the ground as it lay waste to everything in its path. Though bravely fought, the four heroes and Alaron’s soldiers were slowly being driven back. They did not give ground easily, and many of the Ffolk’s bravest men and women paid for that ground with their lives. All seemed on the verge of being lost. That is when it happened. That is when Erik. The great warrior of Rogarsheim. The man who would become Thunder Bear. Ran.”

There was a collective gasp from those gathered. Both children and adults alike. The crowd had swelled during the old man’s story. Dock workers, vendors, sailors, and their captains. All who strayed close enough to hear were entranced with the telling. Many looked to those at their sides, as though for confirmation of what they had just heard. This was to be the story of Erik’s greatest achievement, and he had fled. As the silence went on, the tension within the crowd grew. A fight broke out between two sailors, and they were quickly separated from where the children sat. A small boy began to cry at the sound, and soon several more joined in as an overwhelming feeling of betrayal and loss they didn’t understand took hold. Some parents began to glare at the old man seated on the low stool before them, and he met their eyes and shrugged.

“I told you at the beginning that the Bear’s stories aren’t normally for children’s ears. However…” at that word, the burgeoning noise from the crowd suddenly stopped, and Salm repeated. “However, that is not where the story ends.”

Standing up from his stool for the first time, Salm’s joints crackled and popped, reminiscent of the lightning above Aithilar. As he rose, his full height was revealed, and he seemed to tower over even the tallest sailor. His long spindly limbs, barely covered by his tattered clothing, resembled nothing so much as a monstrously large spider crab.

“Yes, Erik ran. And his companions reacted much as you did. Astonishment. Fear. Confusion and loathing. But, you see, Erik had seen something that the others had not. He had seen where Halcion’s champion was heading, and he had decided to meet it face to face.”

The crowd settled in once more as Salm’s words brought them back into the battle for Aithilar.

“There stood a particular building in Aithilar. A belltower from old times. A place to watch for approaching enemies, and to quickly alert the town. It had stood dormant and unused for as long as people could remember. Most had never even heard the bell tolled, though a few of the oldest townsfolk may have heard it as a child. The stones of its construction were large and rough. Its mortar was pitted with age and neglect, but still it held strong. Its wood framed top, from which the bell still hung, was covered by old worn shingles that leaked in many places. And it stood directly in the path of the beast. As Erik arrived at the tower, he found the strong oaken door locked shut and swollen within its frame from the rain. Even with his incredible strength, it would take too long to open. Instead, Erik looked to those tall, rain slicked walls, and began to climb. Up into the lightning filled sky he rose. He soon scaled the side and found himself in the relative dry of the bell housing. the bell’s clapper had been removed at some point, and the winds from the storm were strong enough to swing the massive bell, silently, from side to side. And there, framed by the light of countless bolts of lightning, he watched the champion approach. Inspired by the heavenly display, Erik lifted his mighty hammer and struck the bell three times. Above the clamor he bellowed out a call of challenge. ’Face me, ye damned coward, and know y’er end.'"

Quiet thunder seemed to rumble in the wake of Thunder Bear’s words spoken through Salm’s lips. Many in the still growing crowd turned their heads to look this way and that for any reason such noise should occur in the bright noonday sun. The children, however, remained transfixed by the continuing story and pantomime actions of its teller.

“As the towering creature approached, even the light of the flashing sky was blotted out by its size. A darkness so full it could be felt upon Erik’s skin like clinging spider webs. Suddenly, one of the creature’s mighty limbs struck out and sent the roof of the bell tower flying out into the storm. Cold rain slammed into Erik, but he only grinned. This cold was nothing compared to the spray off northern seas. ‘Oh, mate, ye shouldna done that.’ Erik said, and he prepared himself. You see, its attack had finally brought the creature close enough. With a mighty roar, the great northern warrior sprinted to the edge of the tall tower and leapt. As he did so, white radiance burst out from his eyes, burning away the surrounding darkness. You see, Erik is angel born, and no darkness can stand before the divine radiance of his heritage. Out he sailed, a blazing beckon to enemies and allies alike. Up went his hammer over his head in preparation to deliver a mighty blow. The creature, so much larger than Erik, did not pull back. It did not fear even this roaring warrior. However, there was another witnessing this fight. A powerful god, Erik’s god. A god of war and warriors. A god of brave acts and the thrill of mighty battles fought. Tempus, the Foehammer had rarely seen such an act as this. He heard as Erik called out his name in celebration of what would surely be the man’s last act in life, and Tempus knew then that he had a worthy worshiper indeed.”

A flash of light bright even in the sunlit day startled the crowd and made the children gasp. Likely it had been a reflection off the ocean, but many were confused by the intensity of it, and its perfect timing with the continuing story.

“The Lord of Battles sent forth a powerful divine gift. A bolt of purest blue lightning. It slithered and snaked through a sky already filled with such displays and dwarfed them all. It streaked directly for Halcion’s creature, but before it could strike, it instead met the uplifted head of Erik’s ancestral hammer. In a flash, the weapon transformed. Blessed by the god of war, it held within it the same devastating bolt of lightning. And the creature, bathed in Erik’s white radiance, and the blue glow from the Foehammer’s new relic, screamed in fear. Still with his god’s name on his lips, Erik brought down his mighty weapon to connect with the creature’s chest. Lightning exploded into the creature, and his own radiance seemed to be pulled from him in its wake to burn into the creature as well. Where the hammer struck, bones broke and flesh tore, and with that single strike the life of Halcion’s champion ended. It fell, and Erik, steady on his feet from a life at sea, rode the creature’s corpse to the ground with a monstrous boom.”

The gathered children let out a cry of triumph, and several adults joined with them. Smiles were shared between sailors who moments earlier were fighting one another. New comradery found within the actions of a shared hero.

“The remaining enemy watched their champion fall and fled in terror. Many were cut down as they tried, but the surviving defenders of Aithilar did not give chase. Their duty, that night, was not complete. Though the enemy had been pushed back, the town lay in ruins. The last of the ffolk of Aithilar had left and the soldiers were needed to ensure their safe travel to their new home in Ogden to the South and East. Their journey would not be easy, and would have its own dangers. So, gathering those who had survived, they began their own retreat from the city. As the column of soldiers passed near to the giant corpse they were greeted by the wide smile of a bearded blond Northman. Erik Thunder Bear. Wielder of the Foehammer’s Blessing took up the lead as he called out. ‘Alright lads, let’s get these people to safety.’”

As Salm fell silent, those gathered would turn to look at their neighbors, and down upon the seated children who hadn’t moved throughout the telling. The old man would gingerly stoop low to pick up his small stool, and to gather the sack of gifts. Standing to his full height once more, he would look out at the waiting crowd and speak.

“It is customary to end with a salute to the heroes of the Fort. Will you join me?”

Many in the crowd nodded, some looked confused, and still others would walk away. Though those who did, did so quietly. Without additional fanfare or ritual, Salm would lead the others in reciting their thanks.

“To the heroes of Vegapath. To those who stand before and for us. To the fallen who have died for us, to the injured who suffer for us, and to those who remain steadfast in their dedication to us. We offer our humble thanks in remembrance of your sacrifice.”

He would then turn from the crowd. Facing back towards the sea. He would stand, watching the waves of the ocean swell and sink while the crowd would slowly disperse. Long after the final child was led away by his parents, Salm would finally turn to face the city once more. He was ready to continue to the next destination. He had many more stories to tell.