67th Ymiden 717
Five trials. Five trials they had been on the road, passing through grasslands, forests and now the swamp. How many times had they been attacked by wild animals on their way here? More than average, though the hunter that supervised him claimed there to be far less than normal. It was Ymiden and they were headed to the most humid areas of Gauthrel; the swamps and bogs. Most creatures had migrated to the colder lands, or so the supervisor had claimed. He was one of the dire, fit to command a pack, though he was without for the time being, recently promoted.
He was a nice enough guy, named Halden, reborn. Halden stood roughly four inches below Fridgar, taller than the average Lothar, but not the tallest. His build was well defined, though not excessively bulky like Fridgar. He packed what he needed, no more no less. He was proportionate with his body thickness, in a way. His brown hair had been matted and tied into dreadlocks of all shapes and sizes, though all of a similar length. They were natural dreads, not forced or tied manually. They fit his facial features, somewhat resembling a tribesman. A stiff upper lip followed him through every conversation, never did he smile or laugh when Fridgar attempted humour, although, he was awfully enthusiastic about driving his daggers into the beasts that they fought.
Fridgar was expected to wield a real weapon to progress with the Jegers. His fists did not count. As such, he'd purchased a broad axe with nearly half of his remaining nel. The weapon he carried was heavy, even for him. No normal human could wield this weapon. The pole of the axe was six feet long, standing a good foot beneath him. The pole itself was oak, but had been bored through and filled with a reinforcing metal rod. It would have snapped in its own weight if not for the reinforcements, Fridgar was sure. The blade or head of the axe was somewhat square in appearance, curving at and angle only to continue straight as the blade narrowed at the bottom. The head was attached to the pole with two hinge-like holes that let the pole run through vertically, then bolted all the way through to ensure that the head didn't spin mid combat. In the head of the blade, a circular hole had been held with leather straps, tying it and holding it o the pole, this feature he believed was only aesthetic, but maybe it had some purpose?
They'd been travelling through the swampy bog for a good break. Fridgar's goal: find and kill a Grenwynn. The task had been appointed to him by a packmaster, Though Fridgar asked for a more challenging task, as the Grenwynn was described, all he had to do was not make eye contact and bludgeon it with his axe, it was a moderate level danger, ugly, malevolent creature. It had no use to him, being able to control another creature wasn't an interest that the Lotharro had.
"Hey, Halden," Fridgar spoke, trying to make conversation as they trudged through the marsh. "Shhh," Halden hushed him, earning a look of growing fury from the younger Lothar. "Don't fucking shush me, Halden," Fridgar barked, glaring at the other Lothar unimpressed. "Shhh!" Halden commanded once more, Fridgar saw red. "You want every monster know we here?" Halden whispered. Fridgar sighed, rolling his eyes. Attempting Haltunga, Fridgar spoke "Ga sed feradon landa..." meaning 'I just want make friend'. He was taking the piss, but Halden wouldn't recognise that. The male turned to him with a stern glare "Roc don galasha yun, barsa, col?" Now was Fridgar's time to translate.
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