The Hrafn: Oden’s Will

A man stumbled out of the inn, into the cold winter air, his legs barely cooperating as he swayed and staggered into the street. His drunken stupor carried him directly into the path of an oncoming carriage. The driver shouted in alarm, but it was the horse that reacted first, its keen eyes catching the man's clumsy figure. The beast let out a piercing whinny, its hooves skidding against the cobblestones as it reared up in fright. For a moment, the man's head was inches from being crushed by the powerful animal.

If he'd been sober, terror might have put the fear of the Divines in him, but in his current state, he merely muttered a string of slurred curses. The driver's angry reprimands went ignored as the man stumbled back to the safety of the sidewalk, muttering under his breath. Still grumbling, he veered into a nearby alley, the shadows swallowing him whole. After relieving himself against a damp wall, he turned and noticed a figure approaching—a woman, walking alone through the darkness. 

He squinted, trying to focus. What a shame, he thought, that she didn't know better than to wander these parts at night. Dangerous, really. His bleary gaze caught the faint glint of her jewelry, the fine cut of her clothes. She must have some coin. A lesson wouldn't hurt, he reasoned, to teach her the dangers of these streets. No point in letting a good opportunity slip by.

With a crooked grin, he reached for the knife tucked into his belt, keeping the blade hidden behind his back. The faint metallic scrape went unnoticed in the oppressive quiet of the alley. He staggered forward, attempting to whistle a tune—because casual people whistle, right? The sound that emerged was off-key and broken, but in his drunken state, it sounded just fine.

Once he was close enough, he lunged, grabbing for the woman's arm and brandishing the knife in her face. "Alright, lady, don't make a sound and you'll be just—" 

A sudden, blinding flash lit up the alley, accompanied by a muffled bang. The man froze, a strange sensation spreading through his arm—the one that should have been holding the knife. He glanced down, confusion giving way to horror as he realized his arm was gone, severed cleanly just below the elbow. Blood spurted from the stump, painting the cobblestones in thick crimson streaks.

Pain hit him like a thunderclap, and he let out a guttural scream, stumbling back and collapsing onto the filthy ground. His severed arm lay a few feet away, the hand still gripping the knife, its blade glinting mockingly in the faint light.

His wide, panicked eyes snapped back to the woman. She stood calmly, a strange metal wand in her hand, its end still smoking from the spell she weaved. Without a word, she stepped forward and kicked the severed limb toward him, the grotesque object landing with a sickening thud by his side.

She didn't even pause to look at him, didn't offer a word of warning or pity. Instead, she slipped the smoking wand back beneath her cloak and continued walking, her steps as measured and calm as when she first appeared.

***

Muninn stepped out of the alley, the man's wails of agony fading into the distance as he stumbled off into some unknown corner of the city. She barely spared him a second thought. He'd live—assuming he could find someone to stitch him up. Either way, her focus lay elsewhere. She had a mission to complete, and no pathetic alley thief was going to distract her from it.

The city of Mesha loomed around her, a labyrinth of stone and steel. The air reeked of smoke and filth, a far cry from the fragrant forests she called home. No greenery softened the harsh lines of the buildings, no trees whispered secrets in the wind. Here, nature was crushed beneath the weight of human ambition and decadence. It churned her stomach, but she pushed the disgust aside. She wasn't here to admire the view.

Huginn's voice came through clearly in her head, "Was that a gunshot, did you just kill someone?"

"Calm down, he isn't dead, some human just tried to rob me or something." Muninn said dismissively with a smirk. "Well he will live if he knows someone that will give him a hand."

There was a slight pause, then Huginn's voice returned, tinged with exasperation. "I just played back the memory and that is a terrible joke."

"Hey after being stuck with you for a month I have to have some fun down here." Muninn said with a shrug. "You can be too uptight, Huginn. Anyway, relax. I didn't shoot him for no reason, only because he forced my… hand."

"Stop. Lets not do this with the puns right now." Huginn sounded like he was already exasperated. "Just try not to draw too much attention to yourself. We need people to help us so try not to shoot anyone else."

"I wouldn't have to use these dreadful things if I could use my electrokinesis." She said with an eye roll. "But can't do that because of the properties it gained from that hydra and—"

"Muninn… We have been over that. For the time being you are not a magic caster."

"Yes sir." she said with mock obedience. "No shooting people. Unless they have it coming."

"For the love of the Forest Father," Huginn said. "No shooting people unless I approve!"

"I am joking… look it's just been a while since I've been on solid ground." She said seriously. "I will get it out of my system. Honestly, I know both of us have been stressed. When is the last time you've been down here?"

Huginn was quiet for long enough for Muninn to think he disconnected. She was going to call him again but before she did he responded.

"I guess it's been about two hundred sixty years." Huginn said. "As the Memory, I don't leave the station unless absolutely necessary. That's why the Forest Father has two ravens."

Muninn pushed open the inn's heavy door, stepping into a cacophony of sound and scent. A bard perched near the hearth strummed his lute, his voice weaving through the tale of some local hero's triumph. The mingled aromas of spiced mead, roasted meats, and vegetables with a hint of smoke filled the air, creating a warm, bustling atmosphere.

She felt the weight of eyes turn toward her. Most were from men, emboldened by their drinks, exchanging nudges and grins as they eyed her solitary figure. The common feature amongst them was their fiery red hair, a common trait of the humans from this country. They were hyping themselves up to approach, eager to impress. 

Muninn sighed inwardly. Thanks to Huginn's constant data feed, she was all too familiar with human mating behavior. Humans were peculiarly horny creatures, their fleeting lifespans driving an almost comical urgency in their carnal desires. For them, seventy years was a stretch. She rolled her eyes at their antics.

Her new body was undeniably alluring, and she was already starting to see both the benefits and pitfalls of this fact. Several men called out, offering to buy her a drink. She ignored them, pulling down her dark purple scarf as the warmth of the blazing hearth began to seep in. She strolled over to the bar and tapped her gloved fingers against the counter until the barkeep finally turned his attention to her.

"What can I get for you, beautiful?" he asked, flashing a practiced smile.

"Just a room, and whatever that guy's drinking," she replied, nodding toward a man sitting alone in the shadowy corner of the room. His distant gaze marked him as someone who'd had a rough day—or perhaps a rough life. "If it's keeping him afloat, it must be strong."

The barkeep chuckled. "Sure thing. Room's thirty-five copper, no haggling. As for the drink, that's Spider's Nest bourbon. Strongest we've got. But," he added with a sly glance toward a burly man across the room, "it's on your admirer over there."

Muninn followed his gaze and immediately grimaced. The large man was already leering at her, standing with a group of his equally brutish friends. She reached into her satchel and pulled out a silver coin, placing it firmly on the counter.

She groaned. "Ugh, no thanks. I'll pay for myself. And put the man in the corner's drinks on my tab. What's his story?"

The barkeep's hand darted out to snatch the coin, his movements so quick they left no room for second thoughts. When he opened his hand again, a key appeared seemingly from nowhere. Muninn caught the faint shimmer of magic. The key had come from a storage item—a ring, judging by the glow on the barkeep's finger.

Cognitive Data Relay… Scanning… Object Description

Item: Storage Ring

Quality: Poor

Magic Potential: Prana Conductive Medium, Mana Conductive Poor

Composition: 65% silver, 35% blue-steel core

Description: This ring can store up to 3 pounds of material in a small, magically compressed space.

Muninn nodded approvingly. Huginn's analysis was finally becoming succinct. She'd have to remember to commend him later. Taking the offered key, she returned her attention to the barkeep.

"My name's Johnny," he said, pocketing the silver. 

"Muninn." She responded as it seemed appropriate.

"Huh, foreign name, no wonder I've never seen you before." Johnny said as he poured her drink. "The man you're asking about—he's a dwarf. Bit tall for his kind. Name's Rockmaul but goes by Orin. Rumor has it he got himself kicked out of the Artificer's Guild. Whatever he did, it must've been bad. No one in this town wants to cross the guild, so they're giving him a wide berth."

Muninn raised an eyebrow. "Interesting. Good to know." 

Johnny left her to tend to other customers, and Muninn didn't mind. She'd found her mark—a disgraced artificer with no ties, perfect for her mission. If he vanished, no one would ask questions. She swirled her drink, savoring the unexpectedly rich flavor. Human beverages had a reputation for excellence, but she hadn't expected this level of quality. Her only regret was that she couldn't experience the buzz. 

She turned from the bar and made her way toward her soon-to-be business partner. Before she could close the distance, the large man from earlier intercepted her. His buddies leaned in, laughing and nudging each other, clearly egging him on. He was built like a smith, his broad shoulders and rough hands marking him as a laborer. Attractive for a human, perhaps, but utterly irrelevant to Muninn. She had no need for a bricklayer to execute the Forest Father's will.

"Hey, name's Dev—" he began, voice full of unwarranted confidence.

Muninn walked right past him without so much as a glance. Behind her, the man's friends erupted in jeers and laughter as he sulked back to his table. She reached the dwarf's corner, where he sat alone despite the many empty tankards scattered before him. His gaze locked onto her the moment she approached, his expression shifting from curiosity to guarded suspicion.

"This seat taken?" Muninn asked, her tone casual.

"I don't own the inn. Sit where you like," he replied, his voice a deep rumble, rough as stone.

Muninn slid into the seat across from him, taking a moment to study him more closely. He was stocky, as dwarves often were, with broad, powerful shoulders. His thick, enchanted apron bore the telltale marks of an artificer: scorched edges, metal shavings, and faint magical residue. Tools dangled from his belt, ready for use. His beard was magnificent, longer and thicker than the hair on her head, a clear point of pride. Despite the wear of his profession, he looked young for a dwarf—probably in his seventies, the prime of his craft.

Cognitive Data Relay… Scanning… Entity Description

Name: Rockmaul

Species: Dwarf

Magical Condition: Spellcraft Mage, Specialty: Artificer

Body Condition: Healthy

Muninn's smirk widened. Perfect.

"Looks like both of us came here alone," she remarked, her tone light.

"Yeah, looks that way," Rockmaul replied, his voice curt. "Look, lady, I don't play games. Who sent you? Coalshield? Steelgrip? Jadeleaf? I don't need any guild spy breathing down my neck. I know the rules. I'm not taking work from you or anyone else. So finish your drink and leave me be."

Muninn chuckled. "Artificer Guild enforcer, little me? That's rich. No, quite the opposite. I'm here to hire you for a job I don't want the guild knowing about."

Rockmaul scoffed, leaning back in his chair. "Not interested. If the guild catches wind, I'm done for. And I'm not building anything dangerous, so take your secret project and get lost."

Muninn leaned forward, her voice dropping to a near whisper. "Have you ever heard of an Angel Core?"

The dwarf rolled his eyes so hard they nearly fell from his head. "Who in the Infernal Planes hasn't, lady? If you think anyone can make one of those Divine objects you have lost your mind. If that is all you want I can't help crazy."

Muninn didn't answer immediately. Instead, she raised her hand, and a heavily damaged metallic sphere appeared in her palm. Its surface was charred and fractured, one half entirely melted away to expose a labyrinth of intricate channels and runescript. Even in its ruined state, Rockmaul could see the promised secrets to immense power such a device held. The sphere vanished back into her own personal storage item.

Rockmaul nearly choked on his drink. "By the Great Ancestors! Where in the deep mines did you get that?"

Muninn's smile turned devilish. "That's not important. What is important is that you work for me. And your payment? A broken core to do whatever you want with. What do you say?"

The dwarf stared at her, torn between awe and disbelief. "You've got my attention, alright. But this isn't just any job, is it?"

Muninn leaned back, crossing her arms. "You have no idea. But before we talk details, I need your answer."

"The," Rockmaul glanced around the room, lowering his voice as he leaned in. "The core is good and all but I also need money, I have rent that's due and I kind of just spent my last few silver on this pigswill humans call alcohol."

Muninn chuckled softly. "Consider it an advance, then." She reached into her cloak, retrieving six gold coins and placing them on the table with a soft clink. "We'll discuss the specifics tomorrow. Meet me here at noon. Deal?"

The dwarf's hand hesitated only a moment before reaching out. "Deal. Name's Rockmaul, but most folks just call me Orin."

Muninn grasped his hand, her grip firm. "Charmed, Orin. Call me Muninn."

"With what you're paying me I'll call you whatever you like, Muninn." Orin said with the first smile she seen on the dwarf.