Hrun Dahl's Tears
After banishing the impure mystery, Paira started acting much chummier with Ian. It felt like some camaraderie had formed from facing the same enemy... From Ian's standpoint, there wasn't a single downside. Paira was the shaman of the Red Bear tribe, wielding a kind of influence that differed from the power players. If he pitched in, pulling Takarion out would be a hell of a lot smoother. So Ian made a point of chatting him up as much as possible.
"...So you really think the Elixir of Life is useless?"
Ian and Paira swapped knowledge about the mysteries.
"As far as I know, whatever power resides in a priest's heart belongs to the priest themselves, right?"
"Exactly."
"If the Elixir of Life works through some mystical force, I figure the lender's willing cooperation has to go hand in hand with it."
"Hmm..."
"Unless Takarion genuinely sacrifices himself to save the chieftain out of pure volition. But forcing him into Viking jerky? Good luck getting any real effect."
Paira nodded along to Ian's calm logic. Made sense when he thought about it. The original Elixir of Life, legend had it, was invented by a shaman who wanted to share his own life with another. After that, it was just passed mouth-to-mouth like "Hey, they did it, let's try!" Shamanic lore was full of shaky claims. If someone got results, it got packaged as "knowledge" and handed down, no questions asked.
Like that tale of a village shaman eating pear blossom for stomachache relief. Boom—suddenly pear blossoms cure stomachaches. Never mind verifying if the shaman actually recovered from the flowers. Most bellyaches clear up on their own with time, so you feed 'em blossoms, wait it out, and declare, "See? Pear blossoms work wonders!"
Ancient wisdom was mostly like that. No resources or manpower for rigorous testing, so hearsay became gospel: "I tried it, and here's what happened."
"Sigh... If you put it that way..."
Paira readily accepted Ian's view. He'd witnessed Ian's skills firsthand, and their deep talks revealed the guy's vast magical knowledge.
"Truth be told, I wasn't keen on brewing the Elixir of Life myself."
"...?"
"The omens kept coming up rotten."
Ian listened as Paira spilled the tale. Ragnar, the chieftain's son, had demanded it first.
"Chieftain's been losing steam, so he asks me for a tonic. But you saw the old man—you know he's just at that age. Not my wheelhouse."
"Yeah, looks that way."
Ian got it completely. In an era with crap medical tech, what could you do about an old guy fading? But that was rational thinking. Power-hungry types like Ragnar didn't get it. Shamans are super capable, right? Messing with mysteries and all that jazz? Can't heal a person? Bullshit! Classic: Expert says "Impossible," bigwig goes, "Why not? Not trying hard enough?"
As a fellow mystic scholar, Ian sympathized with Paira's exhaustion.
"Eh, back in the Empire, nobles hassle wizards for dumb reasons too."
The Empire had some Golden Empire-era "wizard rights protection law" (sort of), letting mages flip out for self-defense first. But this barbaric north? No such luck.
"...I didn't foresee the Great Hunt Festival's failure. Misread you as an ill omen, missed the impure mystery entirely."
"Paira."
Harsh but true. Still, it didn't make Paira a hack shaman. Mysteries were fickle and elusive by nature—especially the savage northern ones, a nightmare for humans to handle. A few misses? Par for the course.
The issue was the back-to-back blunders at critical moments.
"I... must own my actions. Or rather, knuckle under to Ragnar. In his eyes, I'm a fraud now."
"..."
"Even I think I've lost my edge. A shaman blinded by greed, twisting interpretations? Useless."
Ian started to console him, but that'd be underestimating a northern shaman. Paira... let out a bizarre cackle.
True masters drew inspiration even from their screw-ups.
"Kee-hee-heek! But Ian! You've opened my eyes!"
"Me?"
"Yes! Crashing down cleared the fog! I see my misreads, the warnings I ignored!"
Ian was genuinely impressed. Damn, tough mental armor on this guy. Most would've shattered from that streak of bad luck. But shamans like Paira? They framed fortune and misfortune alike through the mysteries.
"I was wrong! You were right! Crystal clear!"
"No, Paira... why say that..."
"The divination told me!"
Paira frantically laid out Arcana cards before Ian: Tower, Devil, and Death.
Tower! This means my wrong choice led to reflection—and it did!
Devil! I overtrusted my shamanism, fixated on one truth as the truth. The obsession? Me!
⟨ Death! But night yields to dawn—my folly died meeting you, Ian! A new future dawns! ⟩
Ian's vision swam.
"This is your divination?"
"Yes! Hrun Dahl foretold it all—I just didn't see! Ahh, what a glorious revelation!"
Paira stuck his head out the tent and bellowed.
"Hrun Dahl!!!"
"..."
Ian had pegged him for a dignified type. Nope—mad as any wizard. But he got it. Mystics always had quirks; he'd seen it plenty.
Guess I'm the sanest one here.
Ian nodded at Paira. Every mystic scholar in this world was nuts. Except him.
Before heading to meet Ragnar, Paira told Ian, "Let's fetch [Hrun Dahl's Tears]."
Legendary elixir of the north
Found in untouched icy caves, condensed essence of nature's power
"...Pardon?"
"My hard-won conclusion. You can do it."
Paira explained calmly. "[Hrun Dahl's Tears] is an elixir northerners can't touch."
"Like that Elixir of Life..."
"Don't compare! That's just tonic food—this is the real deal, rare as they come!"
From the rundown, it was Korea's wild ginseng equivalent.
"Deep in caves untouched by man, where nature's might pools into droplets—that's [Hrun Dahl's Tears]."
"Uh...?"
A thought zipped through Ian's mind. Cave? Nature's power condensed into liquid elixir? That screamed...
"Petroleum?"
"Petro-what? It's Hrun Dahl's Tears!"
"Does it supercharge your inner energy by decades or something?"
"Inner energy? What's that?"
Ian cut the nonsense there. No qigong breakfasts here, let alone petroleum. He didn't know squat about Hrun Dahl's Tears, but northerners treated it as premium treasure—like Koreans hoarding ginseng, science be damned.
"Ragnar wants a tonic for the chieftain, not that priest's heart you're after."
"Fair point."
If Ragnar had something better than Takarion's ticker, he'd skip the chest-cracking.
"Only one blessed by Hrun Dahl can find the Tears. Eredis's disciple, Ian! You can do it! Climb holy mountain Gramunt, get blessed at his temple! Then he'll grant the remaining Arcana cards—to locate the Tears!"
Ian hadn't said a word, but Paira acted like he'd already bagged the Tears (not petroleum).
Solid plan. He needed Hrun Dahl's temple for Arcana magic anyway. And it'd help snag Takarion for sure. Worst case: bust. But Paira's conviction sparked hope in Ian too.
Plus, now was prime time to extract Takarion.
"Deal. Let's hunt those Hrun Dahl's Tears."
"Knew it...!"
"One condition."
Ian laid it out clear: "Release Takarion first. I'll climb with him."
"The priest? Early release?"
Paira clocked Ian's angle instantly. Get Takarion out, Tears or no. Tough sell—warriors busted their asses capturing him.
But Paira didn't overthink.
"Fine. I'll tell Ragnar."
He was dead certain Ian would deliver. Why not release early?
"Ragnar won't buy letting the priest go, though."
"Leave that to me."
With Paira's promise locked, Ian sought Takarion. Good timing or bad? Tense vibes hung thick.
"Hey, outsiders. Hand over that pig nicely while I'm askin'."
Ragnar was MIA, but Red Bear warriors ringed Takarion.
Belenca and Kira faced them down.
"We saw how you treat him. And you want him back?"
"Hah! You morons, he's tribe property! You're thieves! Get it?"
Kira's brow twitched at the rough threats. Great actress, not so bold in a pinch.
Belenca? Unfazed.
"Protecting a Heavenly Faith priest is a knight's duty. Call it theft all you want—I'm shameless."
"What?"
"We were bein' nice callin' you guests...!"
Northerners raised axes. Here, fists ruled over law—or there was no law, just fists. Bash outsiders, no backlash.
Belenca drew sword, zero fear.
"Ah, uh... What if I just go over there... Would that work?"
"No reason to. Stand tall, Takarion."
Ian's head already throbbed. Knights or barbarians—both muscle-brains. How long was he gone? Already brawling.
Sole brainiac Kira mediated.
"Guys. Can't we check who's coming before scrapping?"
"...?"
Kira lobbed the setup. Ian's turn.
He breathed deep, steadied, then boomed with crisp projection:
"What outrage against Hrun Dahl's guest is this?!"
Oberon swooped to Ian's shoulder. Raven-toting mage's entrance made warriors flinch and step back.
"That's the guy..."
"Who chewed out Shaman Paira..."
Rumors flew: Ian "beat" Paira. No fight, but folks simplified. Yell louder, you win—instinct.
Crushing quirky Paira? Ian had to be somebody.
"Wh-what's that mean? This pig... Hrun Dahl's guest?"
"Pig, huh. Hrun Dahl'd love that phrasing. Nameless warrior."
Ian flashed an Arcana card from his pocket. Warriors knew shaman tools, ignorant of mysteries or not.
"Gasp! Hrun Dahl!"
The warrior paled, clapped hand over mouth. Too late—words weren't spit.
Ian rolled smoke screen smooth as silk.
"Listen up! This one's Hrun Dahl-approved—his guest!"
"That loser's... Hrun Dahl's guest?"
Why him? Because Ian said so now!
Ian knew mysteries cold; warriors didn't. No countering his bluff!
If Paira burst in yelling "Bullshit, sky-worshipper!"—different story. Sadly for northerners, their shaman was Team Ian now...
"Right! He's precious—treat him like it!"
Ian barked; warriors slunk off, eyeing each other. 100% tattling to Paira.
Waste of time. That shaman firmly believed Ian was Hrun Dahl's chosen.