Dagheidar, knowing full well what the man was doing, was confused about the context of why, before hearing her teacher overhead shouting unintelligible rants. She slipped back from the crowd once more before it was dissipated by her teacher himself. This teacher, Olvedsen, was perhaps the only man who scared the absolute mess out of Dagheidar, ever since she had arrived, he was set on molding the group into the most fearsome and vicious warriors, at the expense of their emotions.
Throughout the scattered chaos, Dagheidar would focus on Olvedsen as he strode forward, pulling the Björntass Disciple from his student, and grabbing the now exhausted man from the floor. Having a few other classmates take him back to his cot, before his booming voice roared over the mutters of the separated groups.
"This is not how we handle things here. You will experience this once here, and once again in your lifetime. Twice if you're lucky enough to survive it. This will save you, but at a great cost none of you will be willing to accept after this day. It is now the turn of Berdalfsson."
Groups would sort themselves out into manageable lines for the man, as to make it easier for those to be picked next. Rain began to drizzle, not helping to soothe those already being hit with the freezing winds. The gravel on the ground was lined with various splatters of blood, some old and new paved the way for the others. A tall blonde fellow would be grabbed by Olvedsen, and taken to the center, a wooden bowl in one palm and the man's sleeve in another.
Another deaf spell would wash over the cold disciples, as the Björntass would join them once more, restraining the man called up for the safety of the others in the group. Soon Olvedsen would dip his thumb into the paste, spreading it on the underside of the man's nose before taking a few swift backwards steps. At first he was calm, though under clear dress from his visible panting. The veins would soon pop out on his neck and face, his eyes growing red as he proceeded to become a level of violent and crackheady not yet experienced by others who knew him beforehand.
Powerful cries erupted into the courtyard as he struggled to be released from the Björntass disciple. The man's face and eyes had gone red, his gaze empty and narrow though it was clear what would happen if he was released even for a second. Veins appearing all over the man's body as he continued his incessant cries, seething with rage and an unmatched fury. It took close to an hour before the Björntass and Olvedsen were able to calm the enraged man, and remove the paste from under his nose without their hands being mauled off.
Dagheidar was safe to say, scared shitless, and regretting waking up so early. More disciples piled into the yard, horrified, though quick to settle themselves in their own line groups without much questioning.
The pain that was later explained to her of her kin's weaning off of the trance was enough to further the point in her head that this was a very serious thing for her Discipline to do, and not to be done every three seconds against a single offender. The strain, and pure rage that foamed from the mouth of the man was enough to horrify her .
Dozens of students were called up to participate, it lasted well into the day, most students, like Dagheidar didn't eat from the stress and the entertainment of watching their fellow students go through this almost out-of-body experience. It seemed superstitious to Dagheidar, as if the god Varfal had invested himself in the very soul of the disciples. She stood still, but fear would well in her eyes everytime one disciple finished and another was called.
The once cold morning drizzle had turned into pouring rain, which beat rhythmically against the roof of the lodge, drizzle having turned to downfall, and wind cold enough to make a man's face turn red. But this was an important lesson, one they needed to learn before they could continue their training. It was something she needed to learn and experience for herself before she left the school, to know both the true power and the horrible repercussions of the trance.
Dagheidar felt a familiar pulsation in her heart, the skipping of beats. It took her a few moments to realize she had been called up by Olvedsen to be the next one up. She was terrified, for perhaps the first time in her life she regretted everything, taking what seemed like twenty minutes gathering herself, in what was reality only twenty seconds. She brushed the soaking wet locks from her face, jogging up to meet her trainer, and the Björntass disciple.
Soon she felt the warm grasp of the man behind her, securing her arms and shoulders in place so she couldn't get free, she couldn't keep herself from shuttering with fear. Though she made it a clear point to show no weakness in her expression, everyone who had gone up were scared in some capacity. Before she had too long to dwell, a sturdy wet paste was smeared under her nose, and down her cupids bow like the rest before her. This would be a moment of clarity before she began to hear the drums. The water which pounded against the lodge's roof began to sound like drums. Something she hadn't heard many years since the raider's siege of her village.
Her body felt light, but her feet were like bricks dragging against the gravel, the air being sucked from her lungs as she lost the ability to hear her instructor's advices. She felt as if she were merely watching herself from the inside, unable to control herself any longer. Her kin looked like enemies, and she could swear the gods spoke her name, saliva bubbled from her mouth before she began to scream and cry out with a fury she never knew to be inside of her. She felt the fury of her father, and her ancestors before her. Centuries it seemed passed of only seeing red, and wishing to break free and concentrate her rage upon a single person, but soon she would feel the same sharp pain as the others who struggled did. Her shoulder joint twisted from the immense struggle, and the calls from her instructor as well as the murmurs of her fellow disciples sunk back in.
Before she could really remember all that happened beyond the trance, she was being hauled off by her fellow disciples to her cot, away from the freezing rain. Even with the pain in her shoulder, she couldn't be happier to be done with it, even sharing a brief hug with the person who carried her. This was her family, and she loved them just as much as if they were birthed from the same maiden.
Hours later, after the trance was induced with every other disciple was processed through it, dinner was held in the great hall. A little more special than usual, due to the contents of that day's training, more mead poured, more crabs broken, more roasted apples to chow down on. Dagheidar indulged in all her favorites, laughing up a storm with her fellow kin, poking fun at some of the faces of the others earlier that day. She wiped her face, took a long soak in the bath, and proceeded to get ready for bed.
That night the rain poured on, should could hear it echo in her mind even as she slipped into a deep sleep. But the echo turned into the sound of distortion, and then drums once more. Pounding in a pattern that she had heard when she slipped into the trance. She heard her father speaking, and his old grizzled face scowling at her.
"My daughter, it is not yet your time to go. You only hear the crow, the gods have not come for you yet."
Before she could ask him something in return what sounded like the voices of gods rang in her ears, echoing over each other, fire lighting beneath her as she sprung from her bed, her board-mates were missing, and the sounds of screaming unlike the fearsome calls of her brethren filled the air. A deep voice reverberated in her ear.
"Go to your brethren. You hear them, you need to go to them. Foolish child."
She ran into the hall, wearing nothing more than her linen gown as she searched for the others which usually bustled and filled the halls. Slamming open the room of every door and peering inside only to find smoke and emptiness. Where did the smoke come? She felt the fire beneath her feet, but all she could see was smoke, and not flames licking the walls. Before long the screams of men and women singled out into the call of her father's wife, Elsa. Dagheidar ran as fast as she had ever imagined she could, moving to the great hall, and then out into the courtyard.
No one was in the courtyard, none besides Elsa, who laid in the gravel, unconscious. Dagheidar felt her vision blur, before she was yanked back into reality. Waking up to her roommate grabbing her and pulling her from the bed where she had sweat a small pool's worth. Her skin greasy and slick from the sweat. What had felt like only ten minutes was five hours stuck in a hellish nightmare, one she hadn't even had before.
Her roommate helped her change into a new gown, and peel off the bedding to be fixed in the morning. It was as if someone had poured a bucket on her in her sleep. But as soon as the memory of the dream slipped back to the depths of her mind, she was lulled back into a less disturbed sleep. In the morning, her roommate tried to get her to speak of the dream she had, but Dagheidar brushed it off, believing the dream to be nothing more than a light fever from the training of the day before.
The smoke would never come back.
