Location: Wodan’s Camp
“Many of my people are vegetarian. Me, I like a nice juicy haunch. Left leg?”
Wodan chuckled and nodded. Pulling out a large blade, he began carving both legs off and roasting them over the fire pit. As the meat began cooking Alras hoped that his companions were not waiting, cold and hungry, for his return.
“You said that there was a civilization of sorts out here. Care to share any details you may have?”
Looking up with his one good eye through his helmet, Wodan just shrugged. “As I stated, there are legends of other Elves out here that we call the Winterwolves, but I have never spoken to one personally. If they are here, I know they know of me for I spent many years in my youth struggling to live within this forest and it is my belief that they were testing me by making my existence here much tougher. At some point, I must have proven myself for life became normal, or as normal as one could guess it to be out here.”
He turned both pieces of meat over to cook evenly as he continued.
“I left my clan after failing in a challenge to become our chieftain. I could have stayed, but the loss of honor would have been more than I sought for my kin. I came here intent on surviving or dying, whichever Lord Dargon desired for me. As you can see, I have thrived and live well here now. Beyond this, there is little I know of your cousins, if they truly exist.”
He rose and walked over to his tent and returned with two large mugs. Setting one next to Alras he smiled and sat. As he did, he put his own mug down and removed his helmet. It was then that Alras could see the large scar that went from his hairline down and through where his right eye had been all the way to his jawline. Picking up his mug he nodded.
“I promised you an ale that would warm your body and I am a man of my word.”