Gunnar's Quick History Lesson

Cain and Gunnar migrated to the cafeteria from the training chamber so that they could eat while they talked. It was something they’d done quite a bit over the past few weeks since training often left them hungry. They each grabbed hefty plates of food from the automaton tending the counter—who Cain had recently learned was affectionately called Izadora—and sat down at a table off to the side.

“Let’s see,” Gunnar pondered, taking a sip from a mug of…probably something alcoholic, “where do I begin? Well, it’s not a particularly long story, so I suppose I’ll try and pad it out a bit with some background about my people, the Yotun.”

Cain laid his utensils down and sat back in his chair, trying to get comfortable for Gunnar’s story. He didn’t really want his food to get cold, but he wanted to focus on the story, since it was pretty much the first time anyone at Last Bastion had opened up to him.

Gunnar cleared his throat, then began his story. “As you probably know by now, my folk are called Yotun. We’re descended from the giants of old so they say, but I ain’t ever seen proof of any giants out in the world anywhere, so I’m not too sure about all that. Anyway, the largest population of Yotun are split into three great nomadic tribes: The Songsmiths, the Pastfinders, and the Runecrafters. The Songsmiths are masters of an ancient smithing technique that involves imbuin’ things with a song during the forgin’ process.”

“Were my gauntlets made using that process? I could’ve sworn I heard them humming when I first put them on.” Cain asked with curiosity sparkling in his eyes.

“Good catch.” remarked Gunnar, “I remember I had an old war chant stuck in my head the day I made those, probably why they’re so effective. Anyway, where was I?”

“Telling me about the three tribes?”

“Right. The Pastfinders are relic seekers, scholars, and historians. They’re tasked with detailin’ the history of the three great tribes and recordin’ it for future generations, as well as the preservation of any artifacts that they happen upon during their travels. Finally, there’s the Runecrafters. They’re actually the ones that invented runeslates, since the gods decided to play favorites when it came to magic and gave us Yotun less innate magical capacity, generally speakin’. Though, we do have other stuff we can do. Now, the Runecrafters spend their time honin’ their craft and creatin’ new spells. At least, I hope the tribes are still out there. With the state of things, who knows whether or not they’ve managed to survive all this time.”

The way Gunnar spoke about the Yotun tribes so fondly, Cain could tell they meant a lot to him. It was clear that he took a great amount of pride in his heritage and enjoyed sharing it with someone. But that made Cain wonder even more: Why leave it all behind?

“Like I mentioned before, the three great tribes are nomadic, and they wander around the whole continent. They’re never too far apart from each other though, which lets them have a lot of cultural and social exchange. Most Yotun tend to stay in the tribe they’re born in or integrate into another tribe to follow their passions, though some may break off and try and settle down in places the tribes pass through. Others, however, may decide to exchange through each tribe through different periods in their life in order to learn and grow as individuals. I was one such Yotun.”

Cain took a gulp of water while Gunnar did the same for whatever he was drinking. Gunnar seemed to ruminate on something for a minute, whether it was reminiscing over fond memories or trying to push aside old regrets, Cain couldn’t read his stoic face to be able to tell.

After a few more moments, Gunnar began speaking again, now a bit more somber.

“I was born into the Songsmiths, where I would spend around 15 years learning to forge with song and honing my craft. Made hundreds of weapons, tools, sets of armor, and decorative pieces during that time, though most of ‘em weren’t worth the metal they were made from. Around the time I turned 16, the Pastfinders held a festival called the Elder’s Memory Festival, where they invited the other two tribes to come and see their relics, remember our ancestors, and make merry. During that festival, I was so captivated by their culture and their ideas that I decided I wanted to stay for a while to try and learn more about it all. ‘A while’ turned into ten years, where I was apprenticed to an archaeologist known as Neamar, who taught me all about the history of the world. As much as he could cram through my thick skull at least. I also met who I thought was the woman of my dreams during that time.”

Gunnar spoke those last words with a wistful smile that upturned his mustache slightly. He seemed to get distracted by the memory of whoever he was thinking about until Cain snapped him out of it.

“What was she like?” Cain asked

“Freida. She was as carefree as the wind, with golden hair that flowed like a river.” Gunnar sighed longingly, “Kind as could be, but at the same time, if you’d wronged her, she’d be sure you were the first to know. She had a laugh that could cure all your sorrows, not to mention be heard from the other side of an alehouse.”

“What happened?”

“Same old, unglorious endin’ to most relationships, kid. It just didn’t work out.”

“Is that why you left?”

Gunnar let out a short, incredulous laugh. “If only it was that simple. No, I didn’t leave the tribes for a long time yet. After Freida and I broke things off, I left the Pastfinders to train with the Runecrafters to try to get my mind off of things. Ended up devotin’ myself to the craft of learnin’ and makin’ runes for a solid 19 years. It sounds like a long time, but it seemed to fly by with how deep I was into my work. Spent most of that time comin’ up with a process that made makin’ runeslates more efficient, and the rest of that time puttin’ together that journal that I gave you. Finally, I decided to go back to the Songsmiths to try to patch together my relationship with the family I had left there.”

Cain was fascinated. This was the most he’d ever heard about the world outside of the MOLE. It made him experience the strange, excited feeling of being in a new world that he had missed out on all this time. His food was probably getting cold by now, but he didn’t really pay it any attention just because of his desire to hear more of Gunnar’s story.

“I spent the next seven years working with the Songsmiths, applyin’ everything I’d learned from each of the tribes, and rising through the ranks. Eventually, I somehow ended up in the runnin’ to be on the Council of Chieftains responsible for making decisions pertainin’ to the tribe. Despite never wantin’ the position nor doin’ anything worthy of it, I got it. And in addition to my normal work, I was also one of the chieftains, sworn to protect the tribe from threats both inside and out.”

“It sounds like things were going well for you, what happened that made you want to leave?” asked Cain, perhaps a bit too curious for his own good at this point.

Gunnar made a pained face as he seemed to recall the details of something, then took a long sip of whatever was in his mug.

“It was around two years after I’d become a chieftain, six after I’d come back from the Runecrafters. The tribe was scheduled to go through a particularly treacherous mountain range on the west side of the continent as a shortcut to try to catch up to the other two tribes. Night was comin’ fast and we had to make the decision to either make camp at the base of the mountains and make the trek the next day, riskin’ bein’ even further behind the other two tribes, or try to make it through the mountains that night. The Council of Chieftains was at a stalemate in the decision, with me as the decidin’ vote. And I…made the wrong choice. I voted that we try and make it through the mountains. Only, when we got up to the top, a blizzard rolled in. When all was said and done and we reached the other side, we’d lost around a quarter of the tribe on the mountain. I buckled under the guilt, resigned from my position, and left the tribe in voluntary exile. A few years later, the Bottomless invaded and my old friend Lionel who I’d met years ago contacted me to join Last Bastion, and here we are.”

Cain was somewhat stunned. He hadn’t expected such a heavy reason behind Gunnar’s exile, and frankly felt a little guilty for convincing him to talk about it.

Cain spoke up after a long silence. “Gunnar, I’m sorry, but you shouldn’t blame yourself for-”

Gunnar put up a hand, interrupting him. “Don’t give me platitudes, kid. I came to terms with it a long time ago. It’s somethin’ I’ll have to carry with me as long as I live, but as long as I can keep helpin’ folk overcome the Bottomless, I’ll carry it with pride.”

The two sat in silence for a while, eating their now lukewarm plates of food. Cain couldn’t help but feel bad after making Gunnar relive that just to sate his curiosity, but before he could apologize, Gunnar spoke up again.

“But movin’ on from all that, I wanted to tell you I’m proud of all the progress you’ve made, and in such a short amount of time too. To tell you the truth, I wasn’t sure if you’d be cut out for this when I first laid eyes on you, tremblin’ like a newborn calf as you were. But I’m glad you proved me wrong.”

Gunnar stood up after finishing both his meal and his drink. He put both of them where Izadora could clean them, then left the cafeteria with a wave to Cain.

“By the way, I’ve got one more gift to give you, a set of armor all your own.” He called back to Cain, “It’s high time we get you out of those flimsy clothes from your world that you’ve been fightin’ in. I’ll get it to you tomorrow evenin’, that way you’ll have it for the mission. We’re gonna take a break from training tomorrow to recover for the mission, so take it easy and enjoy your day off.”

As Gunnar left, Cain’s sense of unease from earlier returned. He couldn’t help but worry Gunnar was going to push himself too hard despite what he said, especially if he was just acting tough about that hit earlier. Cain finished his food alone, now more aware of the chill that pervaded it.