Sudden Trial

Title: Sudden Trial
Time Period: August 11, 135 A.E.
Characters Appearing:

Summary: Jorn Warooth sends up a signal at the Eilean Donan Castle.

Four legs, while faster than two, provide an obstacle; Jorn can only get so close before an alarm is quietly let out to the castle itself. The white bear is lit by the lights of early nighttime as it gallops its way down the stretch of road, padding bodily along the mouth of Donan's bridge, letting out a baleful, low-pitched sound. It reverberates in the stone under his paws.

When the shift comes back around, the tall northerner nearly stumbles out of his fur. Full speed to a long legged bear is much too fast for hard boots and sapien legs; over thirty going abruptly to several leaves Jorn nearly flying a portion of the strip of land. Unfortunately for Wartooth, he has no quiet time to stop and be graceful on his feet.

"Flytte! I must speak with your lord!" The berserker snarls at the gate guards on his striding approach, and if he were less tame- he would very likely try to tear them out of his path. As it stands, he does not- Jorn simply comes roaring up to them, red-eyed, towering, and frankly- terrifying.

Hands go to guns but no one sounds off shots, even as guardsman shrink back. There's a crackle of radio, and after being told to simply stand and wait, there's an anxious, tense pause.

But it doesn't take very long for Edmund Rowntree to emerge or else he would have instructed differently, stepping into the courtyard that Jorn has been shown into. He only had to fling on a coat, already dressed and strapped into his boots from the day, a pistol hanging low at his hip and still being buckled by the time he's stepping into the cool air and approaching Jorn. It sounded urgent and so he doesn't make the mistake of being unarmed; being armed needlessly is worse than the reverse.

"You're tryin' to get yourself shot? Do you have want for my brother?"

The short time hasn't been enough for Jorn's seeming rage to subside, though his hands have smoothed his hair, knuckles white in the other hand, curled into a scarred fist. Nostrils flare in that same crisp summer air, and the Nord halts his pacing to seek out Edmund once the elder brother appears. The looming commences only for a moment or two, before Jorn gets close enough to speak in grave, low tones.

"No." As verbose as ever. "No, I came for you." Pale blue eyes break from the horse-lord, face jerking upward to scan the sky above the courtyard. His expression is suspicious, and harried. "Your lady is in danger. As are her sons." Both of them, potentially, however Jorn makes no such distinction between birth.

Edmund wasn't fidgetting before, but it's possible he grows more still at this news, barely a blink passing as his expression hardens. Men under the employ of the castle know to keep back, but remain in available earshot all the same. "My lady is in town as we speak, my sons in the castle." There's no sense in differing them, even if one is not of his get. They are his. "What danger?" he asks, and his tone could be interpretted as snappish, impatient, but those that know him best know it doesn't touch on the true potential of his temper.

It somehow relieves Wartooth to find that movement stills, and Edmund all but cranes an ear to the details. Jorn's jaw grits together when he hears that Aislinn is still somewhere in town, and it visibly squares his jaw.

"Jain MacCruimein is a mage, and he and his familiar seek to do damage. I only know that they need to be safe from him as soon as possible. He and his familiar have, to my recent knowledge, been one to harass and threaten your wife and sons for years. And that is to disregard the fact that his familiar has been committing crimes of its own free will." Jorn puts out his best effort with telling the tale; there are delicate details, and he hopes dearly not to splinter any of them. "Someone risked their safety to tell me of this, and my attempt to find a quiet solution appears to have backfired. MacCruimein now knows that I know, and he may mean to make a point."

"Gods only know where the familiar is. I am certain she is capable of terrible violence." Perhaps Edmund can now understand why, precisely, Jorn risked getting shot at when he made for the castle. Even if there is the off-chance that nothing will occur tonight, he cannot gamble something such as this.

Taking a step back as if to grant some distance not just from Jorn but from the situation, Edmund is silent as he thinks, attempting to do so swiftly without letting his thoughts fracture apart. There seem to be at least three imperative things that need to be done, and selecting which to do himself against those he can and must hand off to others is tripping him a little. 'Someone' is a mysterious source, but Jorn is a trusted figure of the community.

Finally; "If you know where he went, gather what men will go and seek him, and bring him in. I'll find Aislinn— shit." No, he can't immediately go off on horse back, not with leaving the castle ignorant, with his children inside of it, even if Jorn could relay everything back. "You," he says, to someone nearby who looks helpfully employed by his family, "bring about a horse for me, have to saddled."

And back to Jorn; "Are you able to lead a search?"

Trust is a rare commodity, and Jorn seems convinced by just word alone. It was as solid a tip as they'd ever get. Edmund's indecision does not catch him off guard, either. It is a sudden trial, personal and very present. There is room for it. When posed the question, Jorn's teeth flash, a feral smile and a growl of words.

"For the sake of this, absolutely." One hand goes up, thumb brushing to his nose. "Bears and dogs- best noses of the highlands. And the boys?"

"We've our own magics, in Tobin. I'll get 'em warded against the likes of a familiar, send word to the Ross place, and go bring Aislinn back here." He'll expect all that to take the time it does to get his horse prepared, and he doesn't trust the competence of others not to lead danger to his wife. Edmund claps a hand on Jorn's shoulder in a gesture that is both thanks and an urge to move. "Take yourself a receiver. You're to tell Duncan what's going on, if you run into him before me, but do nothing but what I've asked."

"All-Far se ryggen din." Jorn's hand on Edmund's shoulder is the moment's returning gesture of solidarity, the invocation one of luck. "Understood." Hitching up his belt preempts his beckoning of one of the guards in possession of a radio receiver. It is not often he is allotted use of one, but he is familiar enough. "I know where he was last, it is a fresh trail. If you've any favored, send them to me." If he's run, they may need riders later on.

With that, and a huff of air from his lungs, Jorn dips his head and turns sharply after the guard relinquishes the technology to the northman. His exit is blackened by heated silence, where his entrance was marked by furor. Wartooth has his marching orders. That's all he needs.