Chronicles of Hedda Bardinsdottir — My Axe Has Spoken

Lohner may not be any closer (so he says) to finding Hedda Bardinsdottir, but his search has turned up pages from her journal.

From the Rhunikron of Hedda Bardinsdottir

I write these words while watchin’ the last rays of the setting sun turn Blood River as red as its name. My long hunt has ended.

I chased Gangplank Git up and down the Black Gulf, through storm and battle alike. Nearly had the varmint more’n once, but the grobi had the knack o’ slippin’ away. One by one we sank his fleet, ‘til he had but one craft left (still canna dignify them shoddy grobkaz rafts by callin’ ‘em ships).

I’ll give that thievin’ runt credit, he pushed his crew hard. They got so much speed outta that dilapidated hulk that bits n’ pieces broke off behind ‘em. They were hopin’ that the fragments would slow us down, but our ironclad smashed ‘em aside, leavin; only splintered ruin in our wake. The problem was, the smaller that floatin’ eyesore got, the faster it grew. I had no choice but to strain the Grungni’s Whisper’s engines to the fullest, hopin’ to catch our quarry.

But grobi are a crafty lot, and Git more’n most. When we matched his speed, Git’s craft turned to the coast, huggin’ the shore before headin’ up Blood River. Let me tell you, that’s no safe port. ‘Tis a notorious region, too changeable to be charted, and fulla shipwrecks and sand bars. No doubt that was his plan, to use his smaller draught to get away while we foundered onto scuttled ruins, or ground on some narrow shelf.

Tense moments followed. How tense? Well, my Endrinkuli were fair chewin’ their beards in anxiety, but I put my trust in our navigator, and in our steel-plated hull. Soon we closed within torpedo range, but alas, we had used our last to send off our mysterious follower. Closer n’ closer we got, ‘til we were just outside pistol range, when the devious imp tried a new tactic: he emerged on deck wavin’ one of his stolen treasures. The sight of that bat-eared wretch disrespectin’ the oathcup of Karak Azgaraz was stomach-churnin’, even worse as I’d pledged to King Thuringar I’d return that sacred vessel to his hold. After a few rude gestures I will’na describe, the grobi hurled the treasure overboard.

But I would’na be the daughter of Grelda and Bardin if I could not anticipate the plans of a desperate grobi. Divers were waiting to launch since we drew close, and the Grungni’s Whisper lost no time while they deployed.

And then it happened...

Steering in the dangerous passageways of the river’s mouth became too much, and the grobi either didn’t see the rocks, or could’na turn in time. With a timber-crashing impact, the Git’s shabby hulk collided onto rocky shoals. Without hesitation I sent our ironclad crashing after, and she stabbed straight through the remains of the broken timbers, grinding herself onto the rocks. The action that followed was as fast as it was bloody. Out of our hatches sprang axe-wielding dawi, hewing goblins and their broken craft alike. Many of the grobi, true to form, sought to flee rather than fight, and no few jumped into the river. The crack of Thunderers raining fire on the splashing foe was music to my ears as I searched amongst the wreckage for their leader.

There, amongst the broken timbers, rocks, and lapping current, I came upon Gangplank Git and what was left of his most ardent followers. It is said that we dawi never tire of talking about our craftsmanship, and I admit, ‘tis true. But the same can be said for our dammaz. The reclaiming of skakgal is a tale that can empty many a keg, and I can detail every axe blow and every squeal of pain. Suffice to say, when I finally lifted what cousin Okri calls ‘the Ancestral Eye’ from the severed hand of the remains of Gangplank Git, I felt a satisfaction no mere words can describe – the fierce pride from thousands of years of kith and kin breathin’ easier at the rightful restoration of a clan heirloom.

Soon enough divers returned bearing the recovered oathcup, but there the good news ended. Pulleys and the rising tide could float the Grungni’s Whisper off the shoals, but there was damage n’ dents aplenty. It will likely be a month of labour before that good vessel is ready to dive ‘neath the waves again.

But they’ll need a new Captain. With my vengeance completed, and my treasures recovered, I told my good crew that my sea-rovin’ days were over, at least for now. I will leave them on the morrow, beginning a journey that will take me across the Border Princes, over the Vaults, and back to the Grey Mountains. Indeed, the mountains call to me, and it will be good to have stone ‘neath me feet once more.