Pilgrim59
Bellua 1-4
KHRONIKON VÆBORGENSK
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Fantasy [cBn] KV_IC
- Thread starter Pilgrim59
- Start date
KV_Ep1_Intro
Pilgrim59
Bellua 1-4
Spring, 47 AC
Dawn
Tuta, a land of war and traditions, just like the rest. Shrouded by the burning umbral veils of the old ways, its inhabitants kept to the customs of their fore-bearers. Where their ambitions were kept unchecked, their obsolete hearts prevented them from obtaining the glories of the future, as they often looked to the past for guidance. As brothers and sons spill their own blood in the name of power and their gods, disunity consumed them, as the endless cycles of revenge and hatred continued to attach itself to these brave souls. Where the waves have yet to engulf the land whole, as the prophecy of old often suggested, the follies of their inward perception of the world ultimately became the very thing that they wished to avoid. Under Jarl Sten's governance, the people of Væborg have grown to appreciate the secure measures of their leader's providence. But one mind stood out among the rest, for they were not content with simply existing and breaking bread for another day. This soul, driven by the omens of the black ravens, was most eager to renounce her own faith, in order to realize her long-stowed ambitions to explore what awaited her beyond the endless azure main.
Having escaped into the night aboard a stolen longboat with the aid of the Jarl's trusted thane, Sigrid's promises of wealth and glory became that of an arduous but tempting call for those that were willing to believe in her. After days of rowing along the coast, they finally came upon Sven's Point, where the Tutan waters would end, and the seafaring adventurers would be facing the eternal blue beyond the scope of their imaginations. With barely a sun stone and a peculiar foreign device to navigate, even Sigrid's enthusiasm must be held accountable for her uncouth discrepancies. Alas, it was time for them to forage and rest before attempting to test Mitr's authority.
A dreary night caught them off-guard, as the warm fire lulled them to sleep upon the sandy shores of the tranquil landing. The shades of the tall evergreens and pines became hammocks for the gods, as they observed the mortals that now dwelled in absolute ignorance of what was to come. By dawn, the gods have grown tired of their watch, but remained where they were, for a wicked wind had whispered hostile intentions upon the Raven Child's ears. Metal feet and putrid breaths disturbed the scarlet warrior's respite. Rising to her feet, her irksome gaze reaffirmed her rude awakening's purpose.
Dawn
Tuta, a land of war and traditions, just like the rest. Shrouded by the burning umbral veils of the old ways, its inhabitants kept to the customs of their fore-bearers. Where their ambitions were kept unchecked, their obsolete hearts prevented them from obtaining the glories of the future, as they often looked to the past for guidance. As brothers and sons spill their own blood in the name of power and their gods, disunity consumed them, as the endless cycles of revenge and hatred continued to attach itself to these brave souls. Where the waves have yet to engulf the land whole, as the prophecy of old often suggested, the follies of their inward perception of the world ultimately became the very thing that they wished to avoid. Under Jarl Sten's governance, the people of Væborg have grown to appreciate the secure measures of their leader's providence. But one mind stood out among the rest, for they were not content with simply existing and breaking bread for another day. This soul, driven by the omens of the black ravens, was most eager to renounce her own faith, in order to realize her long-stowed ambitions to explore what awaited her beyond the endless azure main.
Having escaped into the night aboard a stolen longboat with the aid of the Jarl's trusted thane, Sigrid's promises of wealth and glory became that of an arduous but tempting call for those that were willing to believe in her. After days of rowing along the coast, they finally came upon Sven's Point, where the Tutan waters would end, and the seafaring adventurers would be facing the eternal blue beyond the scope of their imaginations. With barely a sun stone and a peculiar foreign device to navigate, even Sigrid's enthusiasm must be held accountable for her uncouth discrepancies. Alas, it was time for them to forage and rest before attempting to test Mitr's authority.
A dreary night caught them off-guard, as the warm fire lulled them to sleep upon the sandy shores of the tranquil landing. The shades of the tall evergreens and pines became hammocks for the gods, as they observed the mortals that now dwelled in absolute ignorance of what was to come. By dawn, the gods have grown tired of their watch, but remained where they were, for a wicked wind had whispered hostile intentions upon the Raven Child's ears. Metal feet and putrid breaths disturbed the scarlet warrior's respite. Rising to her feet, her irksome gaze reaffirmed her rude awakening's purpose.
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Pilgrim59
Bellua 1-4
Sigrid Ravenchild
Sven's Point, West Tuta
shadowz1995
Worthlessplebian
Arnalia
Soviet Panda
Remembrance
mewmilk
animegirl20
Huntertabbysandshark3
FiveElemental
Zombehs
Nessi
Sacrosanctis
"SKELDVAG!"
A loud voice roared across the thawed coastal point, echoing a thunderous command. The inhabitants of the resilient longboat began to quickly displace from their ongoing activities. Abandoning the comforts of the warm fire for the contentment of embracing a nearby shield bearer, the Raven Child’s chosen, adorning tattoos of ambitions and eyes of Syr, began to form up on their red-haired chaplain. Being the source of their joint efforts, the young warrior in black snatched a shield as she leapt forward with haste. Her feet stemmed firmly upon solid ground, where the muddy sands could no longer be felt by her weathered boots. Raising her shield, a few arrows would find its way towards the child of the ravens, only to be mitigated by the wooden apparatus.
The Stonewall was the first to shift from his comfortable seat upon the docked vessel, unlatching the rounded piece of sturdy wood on his side and leveled it by his chest. Facing the shrouded woods, the tall Tutan followed Sigrid’s voice, while he waddled his way ashore. The heavy warrior, donning his full set of armor was quick to adopt a controlled sprint as he finally paralleled himself beside the young woman. With both their backs towards the rest of their crew, Sigrid and Hargrimm stood their ground, catching any loose projectiles that would otherwise fall short of their unintended targets. As one of the arrows whistled past the tall warrior’s profile and grazed his helmet, he would turn to Sigrid with a miffed grunt.
Faceless assailants, armed with their personal pieces of war, began to shift, as their arrows were rendered ineffective by their prey’s overlapping screen of wood and metal. The shower of arrows would let up, as their own acquaintances began to close the distance. Having the advantage of numbers and surprise, the raiders broke loose, as the foremost chargers, inexperienced and impetuous, attempted to thrust their way past Sigrid and Hargrimm. The charge was mitigated by the Stonewall, as their firmly stemmed feet gave them the capability to perform a shieldbash as the first soldier closed their distance. Caught off-guard by their uncontrolled descent down the slopey landing, they were quickly knocked down by the tall Tutan. Before they could recover and retaliate, Hargrimm followed up with the edge of his shield being driven straight against the man’s throat. By the time the attackers made physical contact, the shield wall had already been fortified by Sigrid’s companions on both of her flanks, with the exception of those that specialized in arcane tactics.
"Hargrimm, displace to the left! Arni, stay with him and sweep your way right!" The woman sported a confident smile, despite their disadvantageous position. Her poised demeanor prompted the Stonewall to shift left. As he switched out of his spot, the shieldwall shortened, enabling him to brush left to clear the stragglers that attempted to flank them. A lone axeman swooped low, in an attempt to hack at the Tutan's calves, only to be brought up by Hargrimm's left arm hurling him back with raw strength stemming from his hearty grunt. With his shield still attached, Hargrimm shoved his entire weight upon the man on the ground, preventing him from trying to get back up. With his target pinned, the ruthless warrior began to bash the unarmored soldier's face with his shield's edges. After two redundant smashes, the soldier laid lifeless with his countenance no longer distinguishable by the bloody ligaments that lingered, riddled with sands like an ant hill that weathered a rainy day.
Dragging himself from the lifeless corpse, Hargrimm turned towards the Wolf-skinned warrior that was tasked with accompanying him to wheel right from the left. He growled lowly, pointing his shield towards their destination, as two more soldiers turned away from the shieldwall to face them. Hargrimm then stood forward, as one of them hurled an axe at Arni. His shield managed to intercept the metallic equipment, but not before sustaining some damage from the impact that lodged the axe within the wooden furniture. Dislodging the thrown-axe from his shield, Hargrimm wielded it forward to face the soldier with a drawn sword, while letting Arni deals with the axe-throwing trooper, of whom was attempting to draw his own sword.
Back at the shieldwall, Sigrid withdrew her axe from her belt, while maintaining her strong grip upon her weathered shield. "Otrygg, Kara, Solfrid, get ready to open on my signal!" She said to her fellow shieldbearers, before turning towards those behind her. "Aglain, Kaija, Anja, positions! Once we open, let them have it!" She announced, steadying her grips upon her drawn axe. Sigrid's crimson eyes were then cast upon the petite Solarian and the Astrian to her right, of whom were armed with a long axe and a hammer respectively. "Asta, Emily, wheel left and push your way towards Hargrimm and Arni. We'll box them in from three sides! Fold it fast!" She commanded, as the attackers were almost able to shove her back. The woman's eyes continued to scan her surroundings, as she spotted four archers within the woods above them.
"Archers, up on the rise! Warm them up, hexers!" She warned and prompted Harper and Eyvendur to deal with the skirmishers.
"Hakan! Make sure the hexers get their bearings right, if you please." Sigrid grinned, while still holding her own weight against the increasingly heavy push on the other side. Letting out a heavy sigh, Sigrid mustered up her strength and shouted once more.
"OPEN!" She would say, diverting her weighted strength to her hips, as she took a few steps back to let a few of their assailants stumble past the shieldwall.
"CLOSE!" She yelled out, closing distance with Otrygg, Solfrid and Kara once again to plug the temporary gap in their short line of defense.
As the troopers tried to recover from their hastened success at breaking through the wall, they were met by the White Fox, the Kraken Slayer and the Astrian blood drinker. The soldiers raised their weapons and met the three with the determination to kill.
A loud voice roared across the thawed coastal point, echoing a thunderous command. The inhabitants of the resilient longboat began to quickly displace from their ongoing activities. Abandoning the comforts of the warm fire for the contentment of embracing a nearby shield bearer, the Raven Child’s chosen, adorning tattoos of ambitions and eyes of Syr, began to form up on their red-haired chaplain. Being the source of their joint efforts, the young warrior in black snatched a shield as she leapt forward with haste. Her feet stemmed firmly upon solid ground, where the muddy sands could no longer be felt by her weathered boots. Raising her shield, a few arrows would find its way towards the child of the ravens, only to be mitigated by the wooden apparatus.
The Stonewall was the first to shift from his comfortable seat upon the docked vessel, unlatching the rounded piece of sturdy wood on his side and leveled it by his chest. Facing the shrouded woods, the tall Tutan followed Sigrid’s voice, while he waddled his way ashore. The heavy warrior, donning his full set of armor was quick to adopt a controlled sprint as he finally paralleled himself beside the young woman. With both their backs towards the rest of their crew, Sigrid and Hargrimm stood their ground, catching any loose projectiles that would otherwise fall short of their unintended targets. As one of the arrows whistled past the tall warrior’s profile and grazed his helmet, he would turn to Sigrid with a miffed grunt.
Faceless assailants, armed with their personal pieces of war, began to shift, as their arrows were rendered ineffective by their prey’s overlapping screen of wood and metal. The shower of arrows would let up, as their own acquaintances began to close the distance. Having the advantage of numbers and surprise, the raiders broke loose, as the foremost chargers, inexperienced and impetuous, attempted to thrust their way past Sigrid and Hargrimm. The charge was mitigated by the Stonewall, as their firmly stemmed feet gave them the capability to perform a shieldbash as the first soldier closed their distance. Caught off-guard by their uncontrolled descent down the slopey landing, they were quickly knocked down by the tall Tutan. Before they could recover and retaliate, Hargrimm followed up with the edge of his shield being driven straight against the man’s throat. By the time the attackers made physical contact, the shield wall had already been fortified by Sigrid’s companions on both of her flanks, with the exception of those that specialized in arcane tactics.
"Hargrimm, displace to the left! Arni, stay with him and sweep your way right!" The woman sported a confident smile, despite their disadvantageous position. Her poised demeanor prompted the Stonewall to shift left. As he switched out of his spot, the shieldwall shortened, enabling him to brush left to clear the stragglers that attempted to flank them. A lone axeman swooped low, in an attempt to hack at the Tutan's calves, only to be brought up by Hargrimm's left arm hurling him back with raw strength stemming from his hearty grunt. With his shield still attached, Hargrimm shoved his entire weight upon the man on the ground, preventing him from trying to get back up. With his target pinned, the ruthless warrior began to bash the unarmored soldier's face with his shield's edges. After two redundant smashes, the soldier laid lifeless with his countenance no longer distinguishable by the bloody ligaments that lingered, riddled with sands like an ant hill that weathered a rainy day.
Dragging himself from the lifeless corpse, Hargrimm turned towards the Wolf-skinned warrior that was tasked with accompanying him to wheel right from the left. He growled lowly, pointing his shield towards their destination, as two more soldiers turned away from the shieldwall to face them. Hargrimm then stood forward, as one of them hurled an axe at Arni. His shield managed to intercept the metallic equipment, but not before sustaining some damage from the impact that lodged the axe within the wooden furniture. Dislodging the thrown-axe from his shield, Hargrimm wielded it forward to face the soldier with a drawn sword, while letting Arni deals with the axe-throwing trooper, of whom was attempting to draw his own sword.
Back at the shieldwall, Sigrid withdrew her axe from her belt, while maintaining her strong grip upon her weathered shield. "Otrygg, Kara, Solfrid, get ready to open on my signal!" She said to her fellow shieldbearers, before turning towards those behind her. "Aglain, Kaija, Anja, positions! Once we open, let them have it!" She announced, steadying her grips upon her drawn axe. Sigrid's crimson eyes were then cast upon the petite Solarian and the Astrian to her right, of whom were armed with a long axe and a hammer respectively. "Asta, Emily, wheel left and push your way towards Hargrimm and Arni. We'll box them in from three sides! Fold it fast!" She commanded, as the attackers were almost able to shove her back. The woman's eyes continued to scan her surroundings, as she spotted four archers within the woods above them.
"Archers, up on the rise! Warm them up, hexers!" She warned and prompted Harper and Eyvendur to deal with the skirmishers.
"Hakan! Make sure the hexers get their bearings right, if you please." Sigrid grinned, while still holding her own weight against the increasingly heavy push on the other side. Letting out a heavy sigh, Sigrid mustered up her strength and shouted once more.
"OPEN!" She would say, diverting her weighted strength to her hips, as she took a few steps back to let a few of their assailants stumble past the shieldwall.
"CLOSE!" She yelled out, closing distance with Otrygg, Solfrid and Kara once again to plug the temporary gap in their short line of defense.
As the troopers tried to recover from their hastened success at breaking through the wall, they were met by the White Fox, the Kraken Slayer and the Astrian blood drinker. The soldiers raised their weapons and met the three with the determination to kill.
SVEN'S POINT AMBUSH, 47 AC
Location: Sven's Point, Western Tuta
Scale: Small Skirmish (Defense)
Belligerents: Sigrid Oathsworns against Tutan Raiders.
Rules & Conditions:
Sigrid and her companions are caught off-guard in a surprise attack by a non-arcane war band. Predisposed runes are unavailable, players must perform incantations and blood rituals manually from scratch. Players must also engage their opposition by depicting their character's intermediate actions. Consequences will be decided by GM.
Location: Sven's Point, Western Tuta
Scale: Small Skirmish (Defense)
Belligerents: Sigrid Oathsworns against Tutan Raiders.
Rules & Conditions:
Sigrid and her companions are caught off-guard in a surprise attack by a non-arcane war band. Predisposed runes are unavailable, players must perform incantations and blood rituals manually from scratch. Players must also engage their opposition by depicting their character's intermediate actions. Consequences will be decided by GM.
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Soviet Panda
Red Panda Commanda.
Otrygg Isernvargr
The first of the ravening raiders closed with Otrygg, he squared his stance in the surface and made ready to take him. Much like what Hargrimm had done, Otrygg met his assailant with a swift flick of his shield, smashing into the raider's face with a sickening crunch and coming away red as blood fountained from the now broken nose. With sword in hand, he quickly laid open the attacker's stomach before pushing him away with his shield. The scent of blood was now in the air, and Otrygg could feel the Berserkgangr beginning to take hold, but he bit back the urge to cast aside sword and shield in favor of his mighty axe, to run headlong into the foe that dared to think they could kill him. So great was his effort, that he began to gnaw at the leather lined rim of his shield. A well gnawed leather rim, some might notice.
Heeding Sigrid's orders, he waited for her word. At the shouted command, he swung his body to one side, pivoting on one foot, to let the surprised attackers through. And on her command, he began to attempt to plug the gap they had allowed to open. His sword swung in murderous arcs as it sought to carve a moment of reprieve from the madness. So great was the carnage, that Otrygg could not suppress the howl of rage that had been boiling in the back of his throat. But still he clung to his warrior's discipline to hold the line.
Remembrance
Nothing is louder than overthinking after midnight
Eyvendur had been largely slackened before the skirmish had brought him to his senses. He knew not most of the men and women accompanying the Raven Child and her grand quest for exploration. Though there were some he had heard tell of, it amounted to no more than rumors or surface-level details. Eyvendur could not extract further information from any of his reliable sources. Whether that was good or bad was yet to be fully determined. Near the time he had allowed his awareness to diminish, footsteps awoke his boosted mind to action. The metal tapping upon the grass and the clinking of weaponry was a sound he wouldn't have thought to encounter so swiftly in their short travels. Perhaps it was meant to be as Eyvendur was informed that the ship the Raven Child boasted of was stolen from the Jarl of Vaeborg. Jarl Sten held rule over a township far more publicly known and secure than Eyvendur's; such an act of theft could not go unpunished. Eyvendur had made predictions on the matter, expecting retaliation after they had made landfall when returning from their journey. That is to say if they made it back.
By judgment of the footfalls, Eyvendur could surmise that the warriors approaching them had a slight advantage in terms of numbers. However, such a thing as numbers is no good way to describe fighting strength when instead comparing the quality of each soldier present. Eyvendur's strength was lacking in this scenario. It was a pitched battle in terms of how he could handle himself. Preparation on sacrifices and runes had not yet been taken and his gear was particularly sparse-looking when juxtaposed to how the enemies were fitted. Eyvendur would count himself lucky due to his position in the backlines as a Hexer, yet even in such a position, he could not do much except protect those that could. It wasn't a matter of frustration for him but as he learned that the companion Árni, who specialized both in melee and long-range, was serving within the Hersirs, it brought him great confusion and worry. Doubt was placed within the chambers of his mind as he considered the strategical mastery, or lack thereof, of the Raven Child. It would serve the group better if Árni had been swapped with him, given the former can both guard and keep on the offensive.
His conscious efforts to ponder the actions taken at the beginning of this journey had been pulled as the Raven Child yelled out a formation. Given the terrain, the journeymen accompanying Eyvendur were once again at a disadvantage. Terrain could solidify or break the chances of victory for either side of the conflict. That much, he knew was true. Eyvendur stayed in the rearguard, watching over the heads of his compatriots in their fight. It would be correct to say that he was envious but he could not deny the safety that being a Hexer provided him. Arguably, he was the most distinguished amongst them in terms of social status. It was unlikely that even the followers of the Fate Raven Hrafn held a higher title than him.
As the fighting continued, Eyvendur was made clued to the fact that enemy archers were active and ready to fire, it was at such a bad time as the shield wall opened and then further closed. In this spot, with neither shield nor bow, he was incapable of even the most basic defense and attack. It was then he decided to take action. The aforementioned Árni was his target, aiming to switch positions and allow the improvement of the whole party's structure.
Eyvendur squeezed between his brothers and sisters in arms, hastily making his way to the Hersirs and subsequently Árni. The half-blooded Earl shouldered an opponent attempting to break the shield formation before swinging his father's ax high and true, cutting down the center of the girthy man. The ax he had inherited from his father made a clear cut through the armored fiend and blood gushed out of the open wound. Eyvendur was disappointed that he could not use the foe as a sacrifice for he would have been truly delightful to have but in matters as dire as these, such wants could not be fulfilled. "Árni! Head to the Hexers, I am incapable of much there, you must go in my stead!"
All Eyvendur could hope for was for Árni to accept his request as Eyvendur had already placed himself where Wolf's Axe was. In this position and with his assortment of weaponry, Eyvendur would be greatly afforded the distance and reprisal required in being a Hersir. He pushed opponents into better reach with the length of his great ax, it was swung in such tight arcs that it would be almost correct to assume the strength required would be great. Eyvendur could only do such feats due to the great ax's surprisingly lack of heft. With each arc, he cleaved and cut into any who dared attempt to close the gap, such was now his duty as a Hersir.
Even with the devastation occurring before his eyes, Eyvendur swore upon his heart and name to reprimand the Raven Child in her foolishness of placing him with the Hexers. His mind questioned whether it would be wiser for him to lead the venture into unknown waters and lands but he was no genius in strategy either, much less raiding. Such was his lack of formal education in life; an education that could not so easily be attained now. It was no matter, he thought to himself, devoting his mind to the battle that would determine his life's course and whether or not he would see himself fall on this very night.
Nessi
slut for slushies
Everyday felt like a test upon the patience of Solfrid. She was a blacksmith first and foremost, and while she had the combat experience, Solfrid had hoped that she'd be able to sit quietly and watch the battle from afar, a fools dream, she now realized. When arrows begun to rain down upon them, Solfrid grabbed a shield, and protected herself from the iron tipped projectiles. As Solfrid lowered her shield to reach for her helmet and spear, she heard a single command shouted from the redhead leader of the ragtag group she decided to accompany.
"SKELDVAG!"
Solfrid was no soldier, but she knew exactly what needed to be done. She rushed to the forefront, and placed herself next to the mass of muscle known as Otrygg. As Solfrid grit her teeth and held the line, she watched as Otrygg quickly cut a mans stomach open before pulling his shield up. Solfrid wasn't as strong as he was, but she held her own, pushing back as hard as she could, waiting for Sigfrid to give her the command to open the shield wall. And when Sigrid yelled, Solfrid did as commanded, moving herself to the side as to let soldiers pass the shield wall.
Sigfrid yelled for the shield wall to be closed, and Solfrid sprang into action, her spear becoming soaked with the blood of her enemies. "Back, you flithy sielundr!" Solfrid roared as she pushed the raiders back on the outside of the shield wall. She turned to her comrade Otrygg, and while she wasn't very familiar with him outside of his failed attempts to flirt with the blacksmith, she could see that he held back a rage so fierce that he chewed the leather that adorned his shield.
"Steel yourself, Otrygg! Do not fall victim to the rage that brews inside ye!" Solfrid shouted. "All we must do is hold the line a little longer!"
"SKELDVAG!"
Solfrid was no soldier, but she knew exactly what needed to be done. She rushed to the forefront, and placed herself next to the mass of muscle known as Otrygg. As Solfrid grit her teeth and held the line, she watched as Otrygg quickly cut a mans stomach open before pulling his shield up. Solfrid wasn't as strong as he was, but she held her own, pushing back as hard as she could, waiting for Sigfrid to give her the command to open the shield wall. And when Sigrid yelled, Solfrid did as commanded, moving herself to the side as to let soldiers pass the shield wall.
Sigfrid yelled for the shield wall to be closed, and Solfrid sprang into action, her spear becoming soaked with the blood of her enemies. "Back, you flithy sielundr!" Solfrid roared as she pushed the raiders back on the outside of the shield wall. She turned to her comrade Otrygg, and while she wasn't very familiar with him outside of his failed attempts to flirt with the blacksmith, she could see that he held back a rage so fierce that he chewed the leather that adorned his shield.
"Steel yourself, Otrygg! Do not fall victim to the rage that brews inside ye!" Solfrid shouted. "All we must do is hold the line a little longer!"
shadowz1995
Amoeba of Wisdom
Hakan Ingolf
Sven's Point, West Tuta
Interaction:
Remembrance
FiveElemental
Worthlessplebian
Pilgrim59
Mentioned:
Soviet Panda
The blind sage had not expected things to go south quite as quickly as they did but things like this almost always do. The healer stood behind their vanguard, serving as the rear guard and standing just in front of the Hexers should push come to shove. Hakan understood that he was something of an enigma, a scholar of sorts that never neglected his physical training and combat sense. If things got close, he could defend his fellow magic users until someone came to assist.
Hakan's fur cowl was pulled over his head. The very slight muffling effect it had to one's hearing did wonders for the healer's sense of hearing. Even if a little, it helped him filter out the cacophony of grunts, bangs, breaths, and clashing metal enough to at least focus on the specific voices of the people he knew were his allies. Otrygg's grunts of battle and heavy breathing were unique to him and by the grating sound of bone on wood, he surmised he was biting his shield again out of anger and battle lust. He wanted to go calm the warrior down but he had to trust in his ability handle himself.
It wasn't long until Sigrid started belting out orders and as soon as the words left her fair lips, the voyager had a knife in hand. The mage's arms were more scar than skin, years of blood letting for spells criss crossed his skin in a strange patchwork of scar cuts, both old and new. Without hesitation, Hakan slashed the knife vertically down his left forearm before trading hands and doing the same to the other. He knew one of the men behind him was a well versed rune mage, like he was, and immediately got to work on creating a blood rune that would allow him to use Hakan's aetherium instead of his own. The healer had a larger tank of magical juice than most others and could spare some for whatever spell Harper could cook up.
Hakan had years upon years of practice to his craft and much experience in having to draw runes in the heat of battle. His well-practiced, now bloodied hand inscribed the Rune on Harper's shoulder, allowing the scholar to cast whatever spell he pleased with minimal cost to him. Hakan gripped the shoulder tightly and compelled the aetherium to bend to his will.
"Draw your Rune quickly. Give it as much energy as necessary."
The Blind One was about to inscribe another for Evyendur until he heard his voice, further now, telling Anri to switch with him. Hakan recognized who Anri was through hearsay since they came from the same town. While potentially exaggerated, he was familiar with the man's skill set.
The mender switched gears and began inscribing a Rune that would grant the man the coordination of legend. His aim would be truer than ever and his eyes would allow him to locate the archers that Sigrid had called out with relative ease. Once drawn, the Mender held out his hand, blood still weeping rivers of crimson from his open wound. His palm was outstretched to the empty blackness of the void to his left, waiting for Anri.
"Come Anri! This will help!" He urged with conviction, his teeth grit in concentration.
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Worthlessplebian
Worthless pleb
The ear-shattering war-cry had signaled the dispersity of their situation. But who are these people whose fates led up to this moment? While the Wolf's Axe did not know his newly-acquired companion in-depth, his mind did possess knowledge of two people. Himself and the Raven-borne. Of himself, a question hovered above his wolf-covered head: By the wolves, how did this pipsqueak convince him to assist in thievery of an entire boat? Was it the allure of a grand tour? Or the succulent promise of wealth and adventure?
Árni Nyhus dashed for his especial, eradicator. The Bearded Axe of the Nyhus household! His bow already rested on his back, quiver on hip. And as he assumed the leathery vizard over his youthful yet untruthful face, the answer to his pondering had banged him over his head. The incentive had been the same thing for all of the Nyhus name, the preservation of Prestonorp. Even now, as Árni surveyed the assaulting wave, the thought of home lingered in his mind. A Tutan's last thoughts should be of home.
His face along with the mouth-sheath contorted in confusion. He did not come this far only to die at the journey's exordium! With a harrowing howl, the doubts melted away in the black sludge of Árni's mind, as he raised his axe high in front of all who watched him.
But before he took action, Sigrid's words penetrated the wolf's ears. Her barked orders gave him purpose. His feet crushed the dirt as he followed towards Hargrimm. In this chaotic battle, it did not take him long. But just as Árni arrived, a shield obscured his sight! It was Hargrimm's shield who stopped an axe-thrower's axe from splitting Árni's head in twain. That would be migraine-inducing. Hargrimm sought battle with another with his newly acquired axe, leaving Árni alone to deal with the would-be marksman. The distance between them was great. And exposing! With quick decisiveness, Árni's fingers unclutched the handle of his axe but before it could even hit the dirt, the Wolf had already drawn his bow!
Strained thread yanked on worn wood as Árni notched an arrow. His eyes aimed, his body followed, his hands trembled. Then bow twanged and the arrow swished. A whistling noise penetrated the air as it flew to find its' target. A successful insertion as the arrow parted skin, muscle, and sinew. The axe-thrower roared in pain, but continued his charge. Another arrow was already notched, then released by steady hands this time. This one flew truer than the last.
The arrowhead crushed through the attacker's teeth, sliced through his mouth, and ended up behind his skull. Blood dripped through his mouth as the attacker slumped like a stump. His carcass fell forward, pushing the arrow through as his cranium hit pavement.
Árni nestled a foot underneath his axe and kicked it up to grab it. He moved to assist Hargrimm, but was stopped by the timely arrival of the snake Earl who bid his services in his place. "If you so wish!" Disappointed, but not dismayed. Árni moved with quickness as he parted through Sigrid's few warriors. The hexers required his aid!
And not too soon, the Wolf's Axe found his way beside them! It seemed they prepared, or at least the blind Scholar prepared an enhancing rune for him. "Fasten your breeches, Scholar, I am here!" Convinced by conviction, Árni stood where the Blind Scholar urged and it was true! His sight felt clearer than ever! His mind cajoled into greater confidence than ever!
With these newfound strengths, Árni hoisted his bow towards the archers and began loosing arrow after arrow to try and stop them!
Zombehs
Junior Member
What a shame. He licked his lips wetted with mead before he capped the waterskin and stowed it beneath his seat on the longboat. Their escape had gone off without any after all due to Stonewall's assistance, but such a humiliation could hardly go unpunished. It had just been a matter of if the trouble would catch them before they had left these shores. His ears twitched as the din of battle rose up in earnest, and Aglain did not resist the urge to sigh. With a languid sort of grace that ill suited the rush of the shieldbearers joining their leader's side, Aglain smoothly swung himself over the side of ship.
His knees barely bent as he landed with a small splash, and he strode forward to take his position behind the forming shieldwall. As the most eager of their foes rushed to their deaths, Aglain drew a dagger and sheathed it in one smooth motion. The cut to his side just deep enough to provide a slight welling of blood for his needs. Rather than drip or run, the crimson fluid pooled before it spread as a thin layer with every soft word he spoke. By the time he reached the shore, his spear had been turned around as if to impale himself. Gripped just below the head, he slowly dragged the steel over the film of bl-
"Tch." A bit distracted by his need to twist out of the way of an arrow, it seemed at least one of the enemy's archers had decided to stop wasting their arrows against the fully formed shieldwall. They'd be more likely to pincushion their own allies now that the shoving had commenced to see which side might fall. That was also his cue to hurry things up, and he finished up with his magic. A thin film of red now coated his spear; viscous strands snapping away as he pulled the weapon away and gripped it properly once more.
By the time Sigrid yelled out her order, Aglain was in position with the other ulfsarks and merely had the time to offer them a sharp nod. The polite gesture was followed by a sharp lunge that would have skewered one of the foes, had he not turned his stumble into a flat out fall that let him duck beneath the deadly tip. One of his comrades was quick to cover him as well; his sword catching the edge of Aglain's spear as he slashed it downwards. A quick flick of his wrist twisted the spear up and forced the man's shield to catch the slash. Aglain most certainly did not smile as he could see his opponent's eyes widen a bit at the splash of red that flew at the impact. Droplets of the Astrian's blood flicked off before they twisted unnaturally in the air and snapped back to the deadly spear tip.
With a sharp grunt of exertion, Aglain flexed his arms and he forced the raider back as he ripped his spear free of the shield. His target now determined, he only vaguely paid attention to the others around him; there was one of them to match each of the raiders after all. A flurry of thrusts kept the man at range with even the slightest of nicks promising a poisoned end.
His knees barely bent as he landed with a small splash, and he strode forward to take his position behind the forming shieldwall. As the most eager of their foes rushed to their deaths, Aglain drew a dagger and sheathed it in one smooth motion. The cut to his side just deep enough to provide a slight welling of blood for his needs. Rather than drip or run, the crimson fluid pooled before it spread as a thin layer with every soft word he spoke. By the time he reached the shore, his spear had been turned around as if to impale himself. Gripped just below the head, he slowly dragged the steel over the film of bl-
"Tch." A bit distracted by his need to twist out of the way of an arrow, it seemed at least one of the enemy's archers had decided to stop wasting their arrows against the fully formed shieldwall. They'd be more likely to pincushion their own allies now that the shoving had commenced to see which side might fall. That was also his cue to hurry things up, and he finished up with his magic. A thin film of red now coated his spear; viscous strands snapping away as he pulled the weapon away and gripped it properly once more.
By the time Sigrid yelled out her order, Aglain was in position with the other ulfsarks and merely had the time to offer them a sharp nod. The polite gesture was followed by a sharp lunge that would have skewered one of the foes, had he not turned his stumble into a flat out fall that let him duck beneath the deadly tip. One of his comrades was quick to cover him as well; his sword catching the edge of Aglain's spear as he slashed it downwards. A quick flick of his wrist twisted the spear up and forced the man's shield to catch the slash. Aglain most certainly did not smile as he could see his opponent's eyes widen a bit at the splash of red that flew at the impact. Droplets of the Astrian's blood flicked off before they twisted unnaturally in the air and snapped back to the deadly spear tip.
With a sharp grunt of exertion, Aglain flexed his arms and he forced the raider back as he ripped his spear free of the shield. His target now determined, he only vaguely paid attention to the others around him; there was one of them to match each of the raiders after all. A flurry of thrusts kept the man at range with even the slightest of nicks promising a poisoned end.
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Arnalia
Member
Kaija Laine
Sven's Point, West Tuta
Mentions :
Sven's Point, West Tuta
Zombehs
,
Sacrosanctis
,
Pilgrim59
She knew it. As soon as Kaija hear the footsteps and Sigrid waking them up roughly she knew what it was.
That damn boat. That damn boat she bickered with Sigrid about. It's the perfect plan ! She said. Don't worry about Jarl Sten she said !
As she jumped on her feet and rushed in formation, rapier ready, Kaija let out an annoyed sigh.
From all her years under the Jarl of Vaeborg she had a good grasp of his personality. The bastard was the embodiment of a snake. A vicious one at that. She told Sigrid that his vehement refusal about letting her explore beyond was an obvious sign that he would spy and watch her every moves. If he couldn't convince her to stay he would force her at best and kill her at worst. Unsurprisingly he chose the latter.
Heading Sigrid order she positioned herself behind the shieldbearers, ready. Kaija disliked fighting in human form. She felt restricted, forced to tame her beastly instincts that urged her to just leap for the sielunde throats. But shifting now would make her lose the benefit of surprise so she decided against it. Beside her "allies" were not one she had ever fought with before. She took note to speak with them later about coordinating their teams. If they were to fight together she would need to make sure she could count on them. She only saw the tall astrian, Aglain ? Was his name ? Lurk around Jarl Sten house a few time-and looking extremely shady doing it-but nothing more. In spite of her warning Sigrid decided to accept him, but she was set on keeping an eyes on this one. Certain that he had ulterior motives and was potentially a spy. At least he behaved normally around their leader.
Unlike the pink haired lesni girl who had sounded obsessed with her when they met her the first time. Beside this odd quirk the lesni, Anja ? She believed she was called, stood out to her as just another adventurer, which wasn't a compliment nor an insult really. They tended to be ambitious and bold but greedy and only out for themselves. In short another one she should not trust.
As Sigrid shouted for the wall to open, Kaija pounce at her enemy, targeting one that stumbled a bit by the sudden opening. Her rapier launching strikes after strikes at him, aiming for the weak spot in his armor. She dashed right and left, like an animal encircling her prey, assailing her opponent with blows after blows.
Ramjammer
Confirmed Memelord
A warm nap in the lands of Tuta was an earned privilege, not an indisputable right. Oh, you could take naps in the frozen north. Forever if you were unlucky. But a warm nap, one of which the sharp bite of the cold didn't gnaw constantly at the bones? That was a gift. A blessing sent down straight from the Gods. Jox, being the sort that had his own brand of fervent worship, knew a blessing when he saw one. And so he acted accordingly. In that, he'd gathered whatever unused furs that he could find and shoved them into the prow of the Longboat before curling up and falling asleep.
The Rat man would have stayed that way. Blissfully unaware of the frigid world he lived in had an abrupt roar of 'SKELDVAG' not shattered his peace like a hammer to glass.
Following the Raven Child while she gallivanted across the ocean had been his choice alone. Had Jox known that his decision would find him scrambling from a warm nest in a panic, he might have reconsidered.
Human dialects, while fascinating in their own right, were still a pain to learn. There were more of them than stars in the sky. Thus, the word 'Skeldvag' was lost on Jox. What he did know is that people didn't just start shrieking at the beach for no good reason. Fearing that something had dragged itself from the brine to start eating people, Jox cautiously poked his head over the boat's keel to get a better look at things.
An arrow whizzing dangerously close past his ear promptly rewarded his inquisitiveness. The Rat man sighed, a sound both relieved and irritated. It was nothing but a band of Raiders. Not that exciting given how many roamed the forests and mountains, but still quite an inconvenience.
A flash of pettiness cut through Jox just then. Returning to his nap and letting his companions deal with the issue seemed a better idea than dirtying his own paws. However, that was just not how a rat went about making friends. It was quite rude as well. And while Jox was a giant rat, he was no cad.
On the shore, just beyond the lapping waves, a pitched battle had begun. The names and nature of the belligerents were of no concern to the Astrian. They could sort it out while tossing their foe's corpses onto a pyre. Instead, Jox tried and failed to sort out Sigrid's commands from the rest of the cacophony. It was a lost cause. He was too late into the fray. He'd have to read the tides of battle himself and perform as best he could. Should he survive the skirmish, Jox felt that he'd be hearing about his lateness.
The rat clambered up and over the side of the longboat without further delay, deep in his own frustrations. The ire would serve him well, and he held tight to it. Jox had been minding his own business before the Brigands arrived. They had no one to blame but themselves for his foul mood.
His paws hit the cold water, and the Astrian scowled. The only thing he found worse than sand in his fur was wet sand in his fur. His day was shaping out to be a poor one, and he knew that he'd need to set aside time later for a proper sulk.
Dry land was but a stone's throw away and once he reached it, Jox dropped to all fours and galloped across the beach. His companions held the line admirably, though the chaos of battle made things a little confusing upon first arriving. He soon sorted out that the shield-bearers were the most immediate threat to them. Archers stood at the tree line of the forest and rained arrows down from their vantage at the top of the hill. The climb was impossible for them with the way thing were. Especially for a lone rat. Jox may have been a swift target, but he was not a small one.
The iron laden stench of blood newly spilled hung in the air, overriding even the sting of salt from the waves. The Astrian's whiskers quivered as he sought to make sense of the mess. His nose caught the scent of other Astrian's just above the smell of sweat, blood and wet sand. They were not rats; he knew that. But they knew what it was to hunt and so Jox followed, hot on their heels.
One of them, the man, he was a bat. Or so Jox thought. He certainly had the ears for it at least, and the rat man knew that he'd need to be as far away from him as possible should he choose to speak ill of the other Astrian. The smell of blood followed him, clinging tight to his skin and clothing. Not all of it was his. Jox avoided him for the time being. He seemed the sort to revel in bloodshed. And while Jox was no stranger to the thrill of hunting, the other Astrian struck him as someone that might view the Rat man's help as an attempt to steal his kill. It was an argument he'd rather avoid.
The fox, she was a better bet. Foxes were clever. Good at finding prey in the most inane places. Jox knew that if he ever wanted to find a meal, he'd follow the trail of a fox. If it was corpses he sought to feast on, the company of a Raven was better.
Just like her wild kin, the woman danced around her foes, circling them, biding her time. It was impressive, but Foxes were overly playful as well. None of them had the time to toy with their prey. Perhaps when they weren't trying to flee the country on a stolen ship.
Jox scuttled closer to the other Astrian's nose, twitching erratically as he sought for the most desirable prize. The Rat man found it in the form of a man who was wounded more than his fellows. Pained grunts erupted from his lips at each swing of his blade, and he favored his left leg slightly. It wasn't enough to stop him. Not yet. He was clearly a warrior used to being in the fray while injured. It was almost a shame to kill him. Almost.
The safety of the clan came before all else. And while Jox did not consider the people fighting alongside him to be clan mates, they were close enough. That alone warranted helping them. Jox watched the Fox woman herd the man around, and when he deemed her opponent to be in the right position, he struck.
Quick as a viper, the Rat man lunged forward on all fours. His jaws opened wide and without missing his stride he sunk his fangs into the man's wounded leg. Leather and cloth may as well have been gossamer to the rat's teeth. The man's armor and the flesh beneath were shredded in equal measure. Jox ignored the man's pained howls, undercut with rage. Jerking his head back, he toppled the other warrior and forced him to the ground in a spray of sand. His prey had been crippled. The kill came soon after.
A clawed hand slammed into the struggling man's chest, and he wheezed out a pained breath as the Astrian forced the air from his lungs. He could not and would not be allowed to get his bearings. Jox arched his body over the man's prone and struggling form and just as his jaws found the Raider's leg, so too did they find the poor fool's throat. The taste was awful. Prey though they were, they were not the kind for eating. Jox spat a mouthful of flesh and sinew onto the ground with an audible wretch. The man bled out before the Astrian had even gotten the taste of his blood out of his mouth.
The Rat man wasted no further time on a cooling corpse. He whirled around to face what Raiders remained with bared teeth and hateful snarls. Jox recognized the look in their eyes as they stared at him. Fearful, disgusted, furious. Each one thought themselves the one who'd vindicate their brother's undignified death. Culled like a lamb in the jaws of a wolf. They were men who saw not honor in killing the Astrian, but righteousness. A monster from the dark places, all gnashing teeth and beastly fur.
All the more a shame for them. Had they just left Jox to his nap, none of them would have been forced to stare death in the face.
Mentions:
Zombehs
Arnalia
The Rat man would have stayed that way. Blissfully unaware of the frigid world he lived in had an abrupt roar of 'SKELDVAG' not shattered his peace like a hammer to glass.
Following the Raven Child while she gallivanted across the ocean had been his choice alone. Had Jox known that his decision would find him scrambling from a warm nest in a panic, he might have reconsidered.
Human dialects, while fascinating in their own right, were still a pain to learn. There were more of them than stars in the sky. Thus, the word 'Skeldvag' was lost on Jox. What he did know is that people didn't just start shrieking at the beach for no good reason. Fearing that something had dragged itself from the brine to start eating people, Jox cautiously poked his head over the boat's keel to get a better look at things.
An arrow whizzing dangerously close past his ear promptly rewarded his inquisitiveness. The Rat man sighed, a sound both relieved and irritated. It was nothing but a band of Raiders. Not that exciting given how many roamed the forests and mountains, but still quite an inconvenience.
A flash of pettiness cut through Jox just then. Returning to his nap and letting his companions deal with the issue seemed a better idea than dirtying his own paws. However, that was just not how a rat went about making friends. It was quite rude as well. And while Jox was a giant rat, he was no cad.
On the shore, just beyond the lapping waves, a pitched battle had begun. The names and nature of the belligerents were of no concern to the Astrian. They could sort it out while tossing their foe's corpses onto a pyre. Instead, Jox tried and failed to sort out Sigrid's commands from the rest of the cacophony. It was a lost cause. He was too late into the fray. He'd have to read the tides of battle himself and perform as best he could. Should he survive the skirmish, Jox felt that he'd be hearing about his lateness.
The rat clambered up and over the side of the longboat without further delay, deep in his own frustrations. The ire would serve him well, and he held tight to it. Jox had been minding his own business before the Brigands arrived. They had no one to blame but themselves for his foul mood.
His paws hit the cold water, and the Astrian scowled. The only thing he found worse than sand in his fur was wet sand in his fur. His day was shaping out to be a poor one, and he knew that he'd need to set aside time later for a proper sulk.
Dry land was but a stone's throw away and once he reached it, Jox dropped to all fours and galloped across the beach. His companions held the line admirably, though the chaos of battle made things a little confusing upon first arriving. He soon sorted out that the shield-bearers were the most immediate threat to them. Archers stood at the tree line of the forest and rained arrows down from their vantage at the top of the hill. The climb was impossible for them with the way thing were. Especially for a lone rat. Jox may have been a swift target, but he was not a small one.
The iron laden stench of blood newly spilled hung in the air, overriding even the sting of salt from the waves. The Astrian's whiskers quivered as he sought to make sense of the mess. His nose caught the scent of other Astrian's just above the smell of sweat, blood and wet sand. They were not rats; he knew that. But they knew what it was to hunt and so Jox followed, hot on their heels.
One of them, the man, he was a bat. Or so Jox thought. He certainly had the ears for it at least, and the rat man knew that he'd need to be as far away from him as possible should he choose to speak ill of the other Astrian. The smell of blood followed him, clinging tight to his skin and clothing. Not all of it was his. Jox avoided him for the time being. He seemed the sort to revel in bloodshed. And while Jox was no stranger to the thrill of hunting, the other Astrian struck him as someone that might view the Rat man's help as an attempt to steal his kill. It was an argument he'd rather avoid.
The fox, she was a better bet. Foxes were clever. Good at finding prey in the most inane places. Jox knew that if he ever wanted to find a meal, he'd follow the trail of a fox. If it was corpses he sought to feast on, the company of a Raven was better.
Just like her wild kin, the woman danced around her foes, circling them, biding her time. It was impressive, but Foxes were overly playful as well. None of them had the time to toy with their prey. Perhaps when they weren't trying to flee the country on a stolen ship.
Jox scuttled closer to the other Astrian's nose, twitching erratically as he sought for the most desirable prize. The Rat man found it in the form of a man who was wounded more than his fellows. Pained grunts erupted from his lips at each swing of his blade, and he favored his left leg slightly. It wasn't enough to stop him. Not yet. He was clearly a warrior used to being in the fray while injured. It was almost a shame to kill him. Almost.
The safety of the clan came before all else. And while Jox did not consider the people fighting alongside him to be clan mates, they were close enough. That alone warranted helping them. Jox watched the Fox woman herd the man around, and when he deemed her opponent to be in the right position, he struck.
Quick as a viper, the Rat man lunged forward on all fours. His jaws opened wide and without missing his stride he sunk his fangs into the man's wounded leg. Leather and cloth may as well have been gossamer to the rat's teeth. The man's armor and the flesh beneath were shredded in equal measure. Jox ignored the man's pained howls, undercut with rage. Jerking his head back, he toppled the other warrior and forced him to the ground in a spray of sand. His prey had been crippled. The kill came soon after.
A clawed hand slammed into the struggling man's chest, and he wheezed out a pained breath as the Astrian forced the air from his lungs. He could not and would not be allowed to get his bearings. Jox arched his body over the man's prone and struggling form and just as his jaws found the Raider's leg, so too did they find the poor fool's throat. The taste was awful. Prey though they were, they were not the kind for eating. Jox spat a mouthful of flesh and sinew onto the ground with an audible wretch. The man bled out before the Astrian had even gotten the taste of his blood out of his mouth.
The Rat man wasted no further time on a cooling corpse. He whirled around to face what Raiders remained with bared teeth and hateful snarls. Jox recognized the look in their eyes as they stared at him. Fearful, disgusted, furious. Each one thought themselves the one who'd vindicate their brother's undignified death. Culled like a lamb in the jaws of a wolf. They were men who saw not honor in killing the Astrian, but righteousness. A monster from the dark places, all gnashing teeth and beastly fur.
All the more a shame for them. Had they just left Jox to his nap, none of them would have been forced to stare death in the face.
Mentions:
Zombehs
Arnalia
mewmilk
New Member
Asta could feel her heartbeat quicken, but it was not out of fear or trepidation. She was thrilled. The rowing and camping had been dull, and her axe was longing to be used. The sudden assault was a welcome change of pace. However, as much as she wented to run headlong into battle, she held herself back. It would be foolish.
She was decently armored, and had some confidence in her defence, but she also had no helmet on hand. An arrow to her unprotected head would be rather inconvenient, to say the least. Valiant warriors could feast in Solsgard to their hearts content, they would say. But she’d never heard of any fighting in those hallowed halls, and she always considered herself more of a warrior than a glutton.
Yet even as she was content to wait out the rain behind the skeldvag, she was itching for action. Something she made clear through the impatient tapping of feet as she waited for the arrows to let up.
At last, it did, and the moment Sigrid issued her commands, she bounded off like a hound set loose, eager to spill blood. Nor did she wait for her rabbit-eared companion, choosing to charge ahead first. Lightly clad as the astrian was, she didn’t expect her to have any difficulty catching up. Maybe she’d help that girl get a proper set of armor, once the warriors before her no longer required them.
Though her mind had fewer creases than most, Asta understood the Ravenchild’s instructions. Flank the opposition and pen them in like animals. Then, perhaps, she’d get to slaughter them like animals too. So it was with glee that she approached the warrior who blocked her path. A raider, armed with sword and shield.
Shields were troublesome. She knew that if she struck it headon, her axe could get stuck in the wood. The force of impact might still topple the man, but it was an inefficient course of action. There were better ways to get around a shield.
Stopping just beyond his sword’s reach, she feinted an overhead swing to make the man to raise his shield. Then, she used her powerful arms to redirect her weapon midswing into a low sweep at the legs. Her opponent was at least two heads taller, but she hoped to change that soon.
FiveElemental
The Pastamancer
Harper Isket
Sven's Point, West Tuta
Interactions:
Sigrid Ravenchild
Pilgrim59
Hakan Ingolf
shadowz1995
Árni Nyhus
Worthlessplebian
"There's no easy path to becoming an Magi."
"Still, I will find a better way..."
"SKELDVAG!"
My daydreaming, or nightdreaming, was cut short, as a thundeorus, yet enchanting voice called out, piercing through the cold winds of the North that carried itself off the roaring waves. Like parchment. Everyone immediately recognized the voice, especially me. It was the voice of our commander, the Raven Child’s chosen, that is what the locals called her, Sigrid Ravenchild. With the simple command set in stone, everyone around me rushed to their positions. As she began confidently laiding out more complex instuctions. I quickly came to understand what was occuring, We were under siege by marauding opportunists, thinking they've sieged a simple merchant's encampment, or perhaps bounty hunters sent by the Jarl. Whatever the case may be, it was unfortunate for them, they merely struck fool's gold.
Adrenaline surges into your veins, as tension thickens...
Quickly standing up, as Harper comprehending what was happening, he quickly analyzing band that heralded our way; thirty to fourty men. If this was a battle between equals, the Oathsworn would've been crushed outright. Fortunately for them, these survivors don't fight fair. His ears perked up as he heard Sigrid orders loud and clear. "Archers, up on the rise! Warm them up, hexers!" Nodding in general consesus, as he recalled the spells he had learned, and picked out a spell fit for the job. He needed three seconds. Three vital seconds to draw enough aether energy, to cast a spell that would make the archers a burden to the invaders.
Deciding to crouch down to make himself as small of a target as possible, behind the hastenly constructed Skeldvag, where he began to prepare his spell. In most cases, hexers would have to make a blood sacrifice to connect themselves to the Heavenly Realm, and to draw upon the Aether. As they allowed for the creation a temporary line of conduction. As if you are cutting a small nook into a grapevine, but instead of extracting the water, you instead inject that wound with alchohol. A crude representation of what is occurring when the Aetherium, utilizing the open wound, forcefully surges raw Aetherium energy into your body, as the energy is drawn to a unhindered connection between the Heavenly Realm, to your heart. Allowing for it to be used for spells, and runic infusions. It always made him wonder, how to make such a connection last, or to not require a sacrifice of one's own blood to create such a connection. To instead, make every fiber of my own being into a aetherium circuit. To retain such connection was almost impossible, however. Yet still, he always naively held the belief that the impossible, was just another possibility waiting to be discovered.
Watching the brigands, with murderous intent that gleamed their eyes, Harper raised one of his arms up, leaving it slightly exposed, presenting the pristine skin, with much less scarred tissue than the average Hexer. He quietly drew breathe, attracting the natural Aetherium in the winds, filling himself with the energized air, such a connection was not direct, yet still useful. Feeling the tangible, and familiar Aetherium coursing through his lungs, and processing through the heart, the veins, and into his noggin. For the weak, but permanent connection to the Aether drew the energy closer to his soul, his reservoir.
"Galeshield."
As Harper muttered the command, to inflict his will onto the greater world, as a slanted wall of supernatural winds blew off only a few meter away from the constructed human barrier, close enough to mostly defend the wall, and far enough to not hinder their advancements, as it immediately redirecting the incoming mundane arrows away from the Oathsworn, and towards the encroaching onslaught, as it managed to catch one of the raiders by surprise, where one of their own arrows penetrated their body. For him, it was a simple spell. As all that was needed was to redirect the strong winds that blew through the encampment upwards, and to amplify it enough to ward off the enemy arrows.
More arrows began to fall towards the shieldwall, and quickly was set off course, directed into a new path of whistling violence. As it occasionally struck, or outright killing one of the bandit, with Harper nodding in pure satisfaction at his craft, having sucessfully made sure that anyone in the Skeldvag, or the encampment would not be killed from a well placed arrow.
"Thirty seconds!" Harper yelled out. His voice rang loud, attempting to reach the ears of Sigrid. Before he began preparing another spell. This time, planning to go on the offensive, his ears picking up the silenced screams of the archers from far away. Slowly being picked off one by one, and the wind wall slowly becoming more of a hindrance than a blessing. Watching as arrows from our side flying across our encampment, penetrating the gale. Thankfully, only being slightly hindered, as it's velocity was fast enough to not lose its trajectory from the warding winds.
All according to plan. He would simply cancel the spell after all the archers were downed. An estimated thirty seconds, it would take. A conclusion drawn from the sheer speed and volume of arrows sent flying by one man, Árni Nyhus, He chuckled in amazement at the sheer skill that man had with a bow. As a spark of competition grew inside him. egan drawing upon the Aether, to prepare for another spell, before he felt a surge of foreign energy fill into his reservoir. Quickly looking back, he saw Hakan, a fellow practitioner of Aether Magic. A master in his own right, with decades of arcane experience, had just send his way a large amount of energy, with that amount of energy,, he would be able to cast any of his spells multiple times in rapid succession.
"Draw your Rune quickly. Give it as much energy as necessary." The Blind one stated. Filling Harper with pure glee, like a child being handed a sweetroll. As he was handed an opportunity he rarely gets.
"You got it! I got a great spell being cooked up right now, just need a bit of time!" Harper yelled out, the sound of battle slightly muffling his voice, which was now with brimming confidence. Quickly unslinging, and unraveling the sheathe on his spear. Gripping the oak shaft in a similar way to a staff, with the flat holding itself up by the earthen floor, he began quickly chanting in an incomprehensible language, each word spoken with pure intent, unhindered by the biting cold, the rising tension, as Harper waited, for the right opportinity to strike.
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Pilgrim59
Bellua 1-4
A tight grip upon his newly-obtained axe gave way to the silent warrior's next swing, prompting his opposition to raise their sword in an attempt to parry the blow. The iron-cladded juggernaut leveled his shield perpendicularly to his lower abdomen. His opponent, pre-occupied by the burden of the scrapings of sword and axe, that he was caught by surprised when an acute pain threw him off his balance. Hargrimm's steady right foot gave him a reinforced momentum, as he thrusted his shield against the soldier's lower torso, utilizing the torque of his overbearing profile to dispense a distinguished blunt blow. As his opponent's grip fell short of its former authority upon the worn hilt, Hargrimm's shielded arm reached past the man's countenance, grabbing the man by the back of his skull and pulling up closer to the edge of his axe. Yanking him in slowly, the blade tore through the soldier's collarbone, as Hargrimm lodged the weapon into their exposed neck. Screams of agony followed, as Hargrimm finally relieved the sword from their opponent's hand, yanking it roughly, before delivering the final strike upwards. As the soldier fell into the sand, Hargrimm then left the blade for his fallen victim - burying the weapon within their spilling sternum. His cold gaze shifted past the lifeless suit of armor, as he carried on with his shield.
Turning to his side to look for his assigned partner, he only realized that the Earl of Einsreach had already exchanged his position with the Wolf. While he could not discern It made the Stonewall wondered if Sigrid had intentionally gave the Earl a detail that did not fit their abilities. But the truth was that most of the enthusiastic journeymen that joined them were of varied origins. It was only a week or so ago that Sigrid tasked Hargrimm with the task of gathering whoever was interested in sailing with her. It could not be helped if certain expertise or lack thereof were kept from the Raven's Child. At least, that was one way of looking at Sigrid's decision to keep Eyvendur in the back with the hexers. Another was that Sigrid was well-aware of the Earl's abilities, simply by their choice of weaponry, but had chosen to give them a contradictory relay. A blunder for many that looks into the procedures of war, perhaps, but the Stonewall had his orders and he would not let it distract him from the task at hand.
Hargrimm gave the Earl a passing look, as he maneuvered towards the far left flank, urging them to turn and surround the enemy while Sigrid's center continues to hold. His heavy feet stirred the soil, as he charged into the enemy's exposed flank. Gathering his strength, he hurled himself into lightly-packed ranks, slowly pivoting their Skeldvag from a straight line to that of a curved horn - wheeling right. On the right flank, Sigrid's line also began to wheel left. At the same time, Asta's skillful manipulation of her swing managed to injure the raider's shins. Despite her small profile, her swing carried enough power to force the raider to bended knee, as their raised shield had temporarily obscured their line of sight against a shorter opponent. As she managed to dismember the unsuspecting warrior, they were now at her mercy, forsaking their weapons and arms to stem their bleeding leg. Their countenance was filled with various emotions, culminating in a grotesque amalgamation of agony and fright, as their hoarse voice began to slip into an audible pattern of whimpering.
Together, Hargrimm closed his distance in gradual unison with Asta. Eyvendur's swings managed to keep his opponents at bay. While the raiders were amassed, they knew better than to test the durability of their shields against that of a great axe. Rather, they were waiting for the Earl to tire himself out from the swings before closing their distance. Inadvertently, as they bid their time, the concentration was unaware of Hargrimm and Asta's combined efforts to surround and close the pocket. As the battle drew to an inevitable finale that was foreseen by the silent warrior, Hargrimm snapped his attention to the cry of the Ravenchild, as he made his way towards he center, with his splintered shield as both a weapon and an instrument of mitigation. Turning towards the Earl of Einsreach, Hargrimm growled as he pointed towards the rear of the enemy's line, of which was lightly defended. Without words to proffer, the Stonewall directed Eyvendur towards their far left, urging them to complete the encirclement.
Sigrid Ravenchild
Sven's Point, West Tuta
shadowz1995
Worthlessplebian
Arnalia
Soviet Panda
Ramjammer
FiveElemental
Zombehs
Nessi
Hakan's fluid actions gave way to an expedited shift in the back line, as the designated hexers were embraced by the swiftness of Syr's grips and the strength of Aedayn. The Wolf's arrows, augmented with the breath of the ancient gods, struck the closest archer's heart, as they tumbled over by the sheer momentum of the projectile. The second, further away let loose their own shot, only to be met by Arni's precise grouping - cushioning the bowman until he finally fell from the shrubs above and landed in the sands. The reciprocating arrow would whistle past the Wolf and landed near Hakan's feet that a reticent, but audible thump could be heard as it struck the wet sand. A close call, merely after the effects of Harper's Galeshield began to fade. Even so, much of the frontlines were kept in shape thanks to the mage's unnatural ability to harness the wind. Among faceless warriors and distinguished sailors, Harper stood out the most for their meekly aura by outward appearance. What made them even more a subject of speculation was their rare accent, of which was most ill to the native Tutan ears - already wary of the dangerous world that awaited them beyond the seas, let alone a mere voice. Alas, with the archers out of commission and his spells expedited by the Blind One, a great surge of aetherium coursed through his body - ready to be unleashed.
Sigrid's grips upon her shield tightened, as her crimson eyes darted back and forth between her left and right. Her optics scoured the ongoing battlefield like a hungry raven, poised on making her next move. Thanks to Solfrid and Otrygg's combined mights, the center was able to weather the initial impact of their opposition's charge. As the assault grinded down to sporadic shoving and pushing of shields, it gave Sigrid the chance to observe her surroundings better. Upon their latest opening, the selected warriors were quick to handle the unfortunate troopers that made it past the shield-wall.
The first soldier that stumbled forward fell quickly to the incessant lunges made by the Fox. His ringed armor sustained the heavier jabs, but nevertheless unable to mitigate the bruises that he sustained. Cleaving his axe upwards in retaliation, the man missed the woman's agile movement, as they dashed left. Having been placed behind the shieldwall, much of the ulfsarks, as they were called in the Tutan tongue, were fresh for the fight as opposed to their opponents, of whom had brought early fatigue upon themselves while amassing against Sigrid's center. Before long, the man swung his axe again, exposing his left torso while trying to recover for another strike.
For Aglain, their opposition managed to parry the blows, leveling the odds as cold sparks of amber shredded the shades of their matching irons. But the man was ill-prepared for the thrusts that followed. His shield began to cloud his immediate visibility at head level, despite his well-covered abdomen. They snapped back to the ongoings behind the shield-wall, realizing that their opponents were already carrying out a counter-attack. The sporadic drizzle of arrows had ceased, prompting the vanguard assailants to move with haste, lest they find themselves surrounded. In the heat of the moment, they made a blunder, exposing their right arm, as they swung wide to deflect Aglain's spear thrusts, in hopes of closing the distance.
A belated oathsworn would emerge from their disturbed slumber, tearing their way past the unsuspecting attackers and causing a certain amount of chaos that was difficult not to pay heed to. The battle began shift, as Sigrid's plan gradually fulfill itself at the behest of her followers' fighting abilities. With the arrival of Jox to wreak havoc upon their opposition to seal the fate of their enemies, the child of the raven had every shred of confidence in their scarlet soul. Unsheathing her axe from her belt, the redhead turned back towards her ulfsarks, hexers and then her parallel hersirs. She slit her palm, letting it taint her immaculate skin as she groaned slightly - letting the aetherium flow through her. Raising her bloody weapon into the air with a wicked smirk upon her fair countenance, Sigrid's sanguine expressions drew her warriors to her. Drawing a sharp breath, the woman would raise her piping chords with great vigor. "Solsgard awaits! Aedayn kichitan!"
The combined might of sailors and warriors would roar in unison, as the shield wall began to shift from a static stance to that of a reciprocating push. The front-most ranks of shield-bearers would loosen their overlapping formation to facilitate some room for retaliatory strikes.
"AEDAYN KICHITAN!"
The Raven would be the first to break out of the shield-wall, tossing her shield aside as she drew her Elvar's Bane to complement her first move. Neither burdened by the weight of the shield nor her role as a defender any longer, Sigrid swung short where she could and kept her offenses concise. Her feet skillfully danced upon the sands, while her firm arms pounced from one target to another. With an axe and a dagger in her hands, Sigrid felt liberated, as she weaved her way towards the center, first parrying, then closing her distance for a fatal blow. Driven by her spilled blood that now causes her blood to burn with aetherium welling up within her, Sigrid waded her way through, slashing and stabbing the lightly-armored foes first and foremost. She knew in her mind that her allies will catch up to her eventually. For now, honed instincts and the caustic effects of the aetherium in her body were the only thing she felt at the moment as her vision began to dim.
As the screams and shrieks finally ended, the Raven found herself embraced by the frigid grass. While she could no longer detect the serene sight of the blue horizons, she could certainly taste its salty breeze. Her arms were spread wide, as if welcoming the heavenly realm's arrival. Her bloody countenance faced the gloomy sky, as she tried to look for Solsgard. She was only met with the indifferent passing of the negligent clouds. Her brilliant pair of crimson optics remained as still as her lost breath. An Einherjar, cladded in full Tutan iron, then towered over her, on the verge of taking Sigrid to the perceived realm of Solsgard. The stinging sensation upon her slit palm could still be felt, however, along with her grumbling stomach. That was when she knew that the Einherjar was not real.
"Move, Hargrimm. You're stealing my sun, even though I can't see it." She smiled softly although with a hint of disappointment, prompting the tall shield-bearer to shift to the side as he sat down next to Sigrid, but not before drawing for himself a long groan. Within his grasp was a severed raider hand with a Tutan arm-ring with distinctive carvings upon its shine. Hargrimm studied the arm-ring briefly, before relinquishing it from the deceased's lost hand. Tossing the bloody hand aside, the man gave the piece of jewelry to Sigrid. His index and middle fingers pointed towards Sigrid, as the faceless sentinel blamed her nonverbally for bringing Jarl Sten's wrath with them.
"That's on me." She chuckled, acknowledging her own blunders. "But on the fair side, he gave us plenty of irons for the trip ahead, did he not?" She retorted, in regards to the fallen raiders that were being stripped of their weapons and armor, with a playful chortle, before biting the bottom of her lips. Tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ripened ear, Sigrid raised a brow as Hargrimm flicked his furcoat twice. "The Earl? What about him?" Sigrid inquired, as Hargrimm continued to use gestures to convey his absent words. "Well, he is an Earl. He's better to me alive than dead. Besides, we just met a few days ago. You told me he can fight with the hexers." She replied, waving the arm-ring in her hand back and forth. Hargrimm then shook his head with an audible grunt. "Well, I'm sure he would've found a way to remedy the situation. Which he did. Besides, it's better for me to decipher his thoughts now. Benefits me the trouble of rooting out skeptics." The Stonewall shook his head in disbelief, forcing the Raven to deliberate a genuine and warm smile at the man's silent gestures.
"I'm famished. Come on, let's head down to the boat." Sigrid's faint smile faded, as she quickly got up from the grassy soil and brushed herself off. Putting away the arm-ring, Sigrid patted Hargrimm on the back as she eyed the landing grounds, of which was littered with corpses and scavengers. Accompanied by Hargrimm, the Raven escaped the high clearing, and onto the sandy landing where the rest of her crew were either plucking valuables off of corpses or making sure they would not jump up at them when looted.
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Arnalia
Member
Kaija Laine
Sven's Point, West Tuta
Mentions :
Sven's Point, West Tuta
Pilgrim59
Ramjammer
At her incessant strike Kaija felt her opponent slow down a little. She pushed on and when the man exposed his left torso she plunged her rapier into him. The sielunde let out a scream, not wasting time she made him tumble down and pierced his throat. Switching target she focused on a tall sielunde. The man was holding on despite his wounds, for now Kaija lips curled.
Dancing around her new target, she stabbed and dashed at his side, on the left then on the right, each time he turned she stabbed the side where his shield did not protect him as much. This little game seemed to slowly infuriate the giant, vexed that he couldn't hit her. As she prepared to seal the deal, deeming him tired enough, the man screamed.
A giant rat bite the sielunde left legs, like a viper jaw it pierced the man's leg and made him fall down. The rat, Jox, she remembered his name well—Not every day you see an astrian like that— finished the man soon after. Kaija eyesbrows rose up a little and she then gave Jox a charming smile.
"Good work companion! Now let's make them regret dirtying ourselves !" she smirked and charged on to the next target, collaborating with Jox whenever the chance arose.
The battle soon went in their favor. Sensing the change Kaija retreated to a safe spot behind the shieldbearers and began to shift. The aeterium pumped through her veins, white fur soon covered her as her hands and feet changed to clawed paws. What was left of the woman was a white beast, large and almost half her size.
The smell of blood and the adrenaline of the fight made her animal instinct crave for more. Following Sigrid, she let out a loud growl and lauched herself into the fray, far from the shieldwall. Kaija tore through flesh and armor, biting and breaking bones and legs. Finishing them off by crushing their throats with her now razor sharp teeth. The rest of the battle passed by in a blur.
Still in fox form Kaija was meticulously biting every sielunde on the ground throat, making sure they were dead for good. Many of the crew members were more focused on pillaged. A fact she expected but still shaked her head at. Wasn't it better to make sure they were dead first ? She thought as she pierced the throat of a raider that was breathing faintly. Well, she did went back to the boat to take a little bag and put the gold ornaments she could find on them.....but unlike the others she was making SURE they could never get them back.
As she continued her work, Kaija smelled two familiar scents. Looking up she saw Sigrid and Hargrimm approaching toward the direction of the boat. Taking her little bag, she ran toward them and put her bag down as she reached Sigrid.
Kaija sat and looked at the ravenchild, the look in her eyes conveying a mildly annoyed "I told you" remarking the piece of jewelry in Sigrid hand, she let out one high pitched bark. And tapped on it with her paw, growling disapprovingly at her. If she was human the red haired knew she would be crossing her arms, one eyebrow raised while tapping her foot, waiting for her to explain —or rather admit— why she should have listened to Hargrimm and her. It was an annoyance she was all too familiar with, one born out of worry and concern, well meaning but still exasperated at her antics.
shadowz1995
Amoeba of Wisdom
Hakan Ingolf
Sven's Point, West Tuta
Mentioned:
Pilgrim59
Worthlessplebian
FiveElemental
"AEDAYN KICHITAN!"
And that was when Hakan knew it was time to back off. The real fighting was about to begin and in a fight with this many moving pieces, he was more of a detriment than an asset. His worth would show through once everything was said and done.
The Blind mender took a few steps back into the firmer, wet sand and reached out with his scarlet dyed right hand for the companion he knew to be there. His scarred fingers wrapped around the familiar wooden object, pulling it free from the sand where he had impaled it. The Sage's staff now sat comfortably with its owner. Hakan traced his fingers down its length, feeling all the familiar cuts, dents, and carved runes along its wooden surface.
It was the most faithful companion he ever had since he lost his sight. The Rune mage tightened his grip on the staff and took a loose but ready fighting stance. Anri and Harper were in front of him and if any enemies came their way, he would be able to know through them. So the mender concentrated his sense of hearing and smell on their forms. He allowed the sounds of the battle just ahead to fall away and focused on their breathing, their feet shifting in the sand underneath them, the rustling of their apparel rubbing against itself. They would be his anchors to the current fight whether they knew it or not.
........
The fighting died down after what felt like a few minutes. Their ragtag crew had managed to pull a decisive victory out from the jaws of defeat. Always an impressive feat, no matter how many times he "saw" it.
Hakan's stance softened. Eventually relaxing into a neutral, standing position, using his staff as a walking instrument now. He worked his way up the sandy shore to where his allies stood, the smell of iron and copper filling his nose even more than before.
He could hear the agonal gasps and guttural groans of the dying just ahead and he could only pray that there were not too many of their own allies that were in that symphony of the End.
"BRING ME THE INJURED SO I CAN MEND THEIR WOUNDS!"
Hakan was usually mild mannered and friendly, so it always came as a shock to those who didn't know him the strength and volume he could put into his voice. His shout could cut clear through a war zone's ambience and it was a blessing that had saved many lives.
Same as it did now as two of crew mates were hauled over to Hakan's feet, both of them groaning, yelling and gritting their teeth against the pain. The Sage immediately set down his staff began to examine the two men. The stench of blood practically oozed from their bodies and it was difficult to tell how much of it was theirs and how much was the enemies.
Once Hakan found the issues, his mind settled somewhat. The raider on his left had a deep gouge in his thigh that would leave him crippled and the one on the right was in a similar situation but at the left shoulder. He would lose the arm if left alone. All in all, not too bad. It was nothing he couldn't handle.
The sacrificial cuts down his forearms still weeped their crimson tears. Therefore, preventing the need to open new wounds on his flesh to perform his magic.
He outstretched both hands over the men, his hands still slick with his own scarlet liquid and began drawing the mending runes simultaneously over each of their wounds. An act that would take years of practice and concentration, yet Hakan did it as if it came naturally to him. The runes were perfect mirror images of each other and as he drew them, he could feel the draw of his magic leaving his body to complete the incantation.
Upon completion, the Blind One pressed his hands against their injuries and poured the healing magicks into their body. Before their eyes, the gashes that would have ended their careers as warriors and closed the gates of Valhalla to them forever, were being stitched back together. The severed sinews and estranged tendons found their ways back to each other and after a few seconds the skin had grown back. It left some rather nasty looking scars due to the accelerated healing but it restored full function to otherwise useless limbs.
The Sage sat back on his feet with a smile, "You'll be alright, Men. It'll look ugly but it can be a tall tale you tell in the taverns to the bar maids." He said with an almost childlike grin.
A grin that was quickly wiped away by the sounds of another panicked soldier. Dragging something behind him by the sounds of it.
"Healer! Please! My brother needs aid!"
Once they drew close enough, Hakan didn't need to feel around to understand what was happening.
The man's throat had been slashed open. The sound of the man trying to gasp, failing, and beginning to drown in his own life blood was a memory one could never get rid of. While he couldn't see anymore, the image of men and women he tried, and failed, to save with the same wound flooded his vision for a moment before he heard the panicking Tutan sibling plop his dying brother beside the, now recovered, vikings.
Hakan then sprung into action, digging in two of the pouches that adorned his belt. A well practiced hand felt the labeled vials inside and fished free a potion of some sort and a fist full of clean, cloth bandages.
The potion was in a thin, glass vial that seemed to cast a dim, green, ethereal light on the sand beneath their feet. A healing tonic that Hakan himself crafted and then poured aetherium into during the creation process to vastly enhance the potions potency.
The mender shoved the bandages into the healthy Tutan siblings hand, while using his teeth to pull the cork off the vial.
That seemed to get him in gear and he immediately got to work.
Hakan would need to use more effort for this level of wound. Again, his hand found his dagger and dragged another fresh ribbon of red down his left forearm. A pain he was highly accustomed to at this point. The smell of the potion being spilled let Hakan know it was time to begin.
The mender immediately circled around to the dying man's head and started drawing a far more intricate Runic symbol than the ones he used just before. A far more elegant and mentally demanding Rune, especially under pressure. A pressure Hakan was all too familiar with.
Every second Hakan used to draw this Rune was a second closer this man inched towards his death and he only had seconds left. The potion would buy him time and the bandages would help stem the bleeding to some degree. The Blind man just hoped it would be enough.
To those watching, it would seem like Hakan was a man possessed, moving his hands to form this Rune at an almost shocking speed, despite its intricacy. To Hakan, it felt like an eternity until the Rune was finally done and he spared no effort to now pour everything he had into saving this fellow Tutan's life.
A faint blueish glow emitted from Hakan's hands as he worked to mend the life ending wound and as the time went by, the fallen viking grew more and more still until he eventually stopped moving altogether. The Blind Healer instructed to pull the now blood soaked bandages free from the wounded man while he continued to work over him. Seconds turned to minutes and the man remained still.
It was only when the Sage fell back onto his feet with a satisfied sigh that people would realize the reason the Tutan went still was because he was breathing normally again. A terrible scar decorated the man's neck now and his voice would probably never sound the same again... but he was alive to tell the story now. A blessing many were never granted.
Hakan pulled the cowl off and let his head hang between his knees, trying to catch his own breath as beads of sweat traveled along his brow. The non-injured sibling thanked him profusely and the blind man waved it off as nothing. It was only natural for him to do this.
His hands now trembled with exhaustion and damn near depleted aetherium reserves. He sat quietly, panting, as he fished out another potion to help promote the regeneration of his magical reservoir.
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Sacrosanctis
Drifting between worlds
The methodical crash of waves against the shore were deceptively soothing. The sea beckoned with its gentle, constant movements, only to shock the skin with its biting cold. The ocean's depths were vast and uninhabitable; an intransigent barrier. Its power to set the limits of where men tread is no different than a god, and few would dare to challenge it.
A mere god would not be enough to set limits onto Anja.
Sigrid's command shook her from her thoughts, and despite the fact that they were on unfamiliar land she suddenly had the feeling she was at home. The urgency in the Ravenchild's voice immediately set her instincts off, and she uncoiled her whip as she positioned herself for combat. The ambush was thorough and she was quite impressed as she watched a flurry of arrows rain down upon them. Experienced as she was, her targets were frequently uncoordinated, and she never quite had the pleasure of witnessing such a large party of attackers.
Unfortunately, her role in the skirmish was conducted similarly to the attackers, and while she could praise the strategic genius of her commander she did not appreciate the idle time spent hiding behind a shield wall. Anja was no fool and would never risk charging into arrows with no protection, but she also had little patience for being treated as a pawn in someone else's game. Combat was supposed to be a dance. It was intimate, a collision of warriors each seeking to earn their place in Solsgard. The tactical maneuvering and the dependence on others did little to satiate her cravings.
Anja did not need to listen for Sigrid's commands, as she primed herself to get into the fight moments before the shield wall opened and their attackers stumbled forward. Quite unlike the unfamiliarity of following orders, her innate sense for the flow of a battle was unmatched, and she easily followed along with the chaos. As soon as her allies swept behind her, she lashed out her barbed whip before the assailant could catch his bearings, striking him directly in the eye with its range and precision.
The battle moved quickly, and her blood began to boil as her comrades cleaved through the vanguard. The excitement of battle quickened her breath and she began to feel her heart beat against her chest. That same breath was stolen away from her as Sigrid drew her blood and raised her axe into the air, calling out her warcry. For once, Anja did not grow impatient from her inability to have an all-out, one-on-one duel. Instead, she merely observed as Sigrid pushed her way through the shield wall, a vortex of gleeful carnage. She could feel every blow as though she made it herself, living vicariously through her as the orchestra of her tactical might reached a crescendo.
Getting her strings pulled would not be so bad after all, if she were the one doing it.
It took every bit of effort for Anja to stop herself from staring. She shifted gears and noticed some of her allies killing off any surviving assailants. Their groans were pitiful to listen to, and Anja swore to herself never to allow herself to enter such a sorry state. However, she was not so generous that she would simply extend the mercy of killing them just yet.
She approached an attacker that was in good enough condition to speak. "Start talking. Who sent you and why? Answer truthfully and I might even spare your life." She flashed a small smile that did not match her threatening tone of voice.
A mere god would not be enough to set limits onto Anja.
Sigrid's command shook her from her thoughts, and despite the fact that they were on unfamiliar land she suddenly had the feeling she was at home. The urgency in the Ravenchild's voice immediately set her instincts off, and she uncoiled her whip as she positioned herself for combat. The ambush was thorough and she was quite impressed as she watched a flurry of arrows rain down upon them. Experienced as she was, her targets were frequently uncoordinated, and she never quite had the pleasure of witnessing such a large party of attackers.
Unfortunately, her role in the skirmish was conducted similarly to the attackers, and while she could praise the strategic genius of her commander she did not appreciate the idle time spent hiding behind a shield wall. Anja was no fool and would never risk charging into arrows with no protection, but she also had little patience for being treated as a pawn in someone else's game. Combat was supposed to be a dance. It was intimate, a collision of warriors each seeking to earn their place in Solsgard. The tactical maneuvering and the dependence on others did little to satiate her cravings.
Anja did not need to listen for Sigrid's commands, as she primed herself to get into the fight moments before the shield wall opened and their attackers stumbled forward. Quite unlike the unfamiliarity of following orders, her innate sense for the flow of a battle was unmatched, and she easily followed along with the chaos. As soon as her allies swept behind her, she lashed out her barbed whip before the assailant could catch his bearings, striking him directly in the eye with its range and precision.
The battle moved quickly, and her blood began to boil as her comrades cleaved through the vanguard. The excitement of battle quickened her breath and she began to feel her heart beat against her chest. That same breath was stolen away from her as Sigrid drew her blood and raised her axe into the air, calling out her warcry. For once, Anja did not grow impatient from her inability to have an all-out, one-on-one duel. Instead, she merely observed as Sigrid pushed her way through the shield wall, a vortex of gleeful carnage. She could feel every blow as though she made it herself, living vicariously through her as the orchestra of her tactical might reached a crescendo.
Getting her strings pulled would not be so bad after all, if she were the one doing it.
It took every bit of effort for Anja to stop herself from staring. She shifted gears and noticed some of her allies killing off any surviving assailants. Their groans were pitiful to listen to, and Anja swore to herself never to allow herself to enter such a sorry state. However, she was not so generous that she would simply extend the mercy of killing them just yet.
She approached an attacker that was in good enough condition to speak. "Start talking. Who sent you and why? Answer truthfully and I might even spare your life." She flashed a small smile that did not match her threatening tone of voice.
Remembrance
Nothing is louder than overthinking after midnight
The battle ensued in a rhythmic pattern, each side fighting for dominance. Shields clashed with soil thrown from the rapid and heavy footsteps. Swords and other weaponry danced in what could have been assumed to be a choreographed showcase. Yet, when one or the other hit flesh or steel, the cries of men shook the very core of the earth. Eyvendur had surreptitiously become the flathead of the group, keeping distance from the armored fools who step too close. It was then, after not gathering the attention of his comrades, did Hargrimm give the Earl a look that was indescribable with words. There was no meaning to divine from it, no purpose to be sought, it was a look that transcended time and space in its voracity. It was an inquisitive hunger that filled the eyes of the burly man as if asking what Eyvendur's purpose was here. Questions arose and fell as Eyvendur considered the thought of Hargrimm knowing of his plight and deliberately making Eyvendur aware of that understanding.
In all the chaos, Eyvendur remained an unchanging variable. As the formation closed in upon the foemen like a snake unhinging its jaw, the Gods willed the battle wholeheartedly in the favor of the Raven Child. He rested his weary body, staking the sharp end of his ax into the unearthed ground. The topsoil had been utterly devastated and grass hung from its roots as if it were a keeling vessel. Perhaps or maybe certainly it was a sign from the Gods, that this journey would end in the deaths of many good men and women. It would be wrong to say that it did not affect his heart and that his mental defenses screamed at him to return to his lands and complete leftover rituals. The thought of death could scare any man straight but for Eyvendur, death would be mercy granted only to the faithful. If he were to die on this journey, it would prove his devotion to both the Gods and Alvis.
Eyvendur rested himself on a man he had cleaved vertically through the chest, his ribcage and inner workings laid bare for all to see. He sat on this more than dead body, not caring to wipe the grime and blood accumulated onto his body. His coat was stained brown and his chest bore minor cuts and injuries. They were not so pronounced to leave a scar on the many ostentatious tattoos drawn onto him but it brought him great sorrow to see them disconnected and ravaged. His ears perked as he noticed Hargrimm, a battle-brother of sorts, approach the leader of this expedition. Hargrimm, as far as Eyvendur knew, was a man of little words and bigger actions. Eyvendur turned his attention elsewhere as his hearing shifted and tuned to a correct bearing. He listened to the grunts of Hargrimm and the soft subtle speakings of the Raven Child. It was then that he had confirmed it, Jarl Sten had sent the foemen. A larger inquiry yet answered rang in his head that bore of what was their true purpose. Was it to kill the Raven Child? Abduct her? Or rather, was it a matter of humiliation? Eyvendur clicked his tongue and breathed out a soft exhale as he realized the Raven Child put these men and women into harm's way for a land that is yet to be seen.
The two conversed at short length on the topic of Eyvendur, a discussion he did not enjoy in the slightest. In Einsreach, even the act of a confidant or courtier talking behind his back, he would surely cut them down. This was not a luxury he could afford anymore. To put it simply; there was no power to be had. They were equals fighting for a similar goal. To cut down an equal comrade without the slightest of a just reason would be to court death for himself. He knew in his mind that it would fare him much better to ignore the wrongdoing and focus on the current situation.
Just as he rose, a soldier not too far from him groaned in pain. Eyvendur walked with slow and determined steps, the soldier laying before him uttered words of prayer. The soldier's eyes were held open by sheer will and his voice croaked with each word. Eyvendur kneeled down, placing his head inches away from the foeman's mouth. He rose his head as he realized no words now came out yet the foe still bore breath. "Do not stop," Eyvendur patted and stroked the head of the soldier. "You have gotten this far, please continue." The foeman continued in reluctance, his voice slowly escaping him. Each word grew fainter and quieter until only his mouth moved in reverence to Solsgard. It was then that Eyvendur groaned in displeasure.
"You're no fun."
Eyvendur stood up and stomped his foot down onto the man's throat. It collapsed under him, the spine left remaining in the gore. His footwear was marked with fresh blood, ripe from a killing. He wiped it down with the fallen man's tunic before departing. Eyvendur would've liked to spare the dying to serve as loyal sacrifices but if the group were to depart soon, there was no certainty that the effects of the runes would extend to the unknown lands. In his research, the array of runes could at times reach as far as the Northernmost parts of Tuta but that distance was yet to be fully measured, not to mention that fatigue and pain flooded him before he even reached distance. The array would require tinkering far beyond Eyvendur's own abilities. He would need a sage or someone worth their weight in the knowledge of runes. Coincidentally, there may be someone who fulfills such a purpose.
After taking the armor of the dead among them and wearing it for himself, Eyvendur approached a woman of similar make. He did not quite know her name but her ears told a story he knew far too well. "They say, a small bird makes for a small catch." His words were spoken softly however they had the conviction to be heard. "Do not burden yourself with him, who is to say he knows anything?" His smile bore a similar likeness to that of hers as she threatened the warrior but his was no smile, it was a grin that hid no more and grew to be shown to the world before it.
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Huntertabbysandshark3
The lord of randomness and the warp
Kara was never much of a heavy sleeper perhaps it was paranoia that some animal would rise from the snow to kill her or take vengeance for others slayed. Whatever the reason even in the company of others she’d still wake up every half hour or so before eventually drifting back off to sleep. so when the alarm was raised the draconian huntress jumped into action, forming up with the rest of the shield wall as ordered, kara face expression a look of grim concentration, shifting herself to the side allowing their attackers to stumble fourth those caught our by the closing of the shield wall where cut down the group, kara own contributions being the killing of one of those that didn’t make it through the gap tripped up by her large muscular tail shield slammed into the back of their skull moment later. thing continued in this way for some time shoves and pushes made, until the ravenchild indicated a counter charge and Kara wouldn’t be opposed to joining the fray whatsoever a shield dropped in place of a well worn longsword it was akin to fighting wolves the pack might have the number but surprise and shock where too the defenders advantage.
The carnage settling some time latter with the attack slain and kara sitting upon the ground blooded and wondering if looting the bodies would be considered within poor taste or not, her own moral compass deciding it would be perfectly fine to the victor go the spoils after all. “Prehaps this expedition of ours is already seeing profits a good thing I say“ Kara wasnt talking to anyone in particular simple voicing her thoughts out loud as she was accustomed to do. cutting some cleaner fabric off a dead body to use as a makeshift bandage for now she’d get the wound looked at a little later there was always a chance for a secondary wave of attackers afterall.
The carnage settling some time latter with the attack slain and kara sitting upon the ground blooded and wondering if looting the bodies would be considered within poor taste or not, her own moral compass deciding it would be perfectly fine to the victor go the spoils after all. “Prehaps this expedition of ours is already seeing profits a good thing I say“ Kara wasnt talking to anyone in particular simple voicing her thoughts out loud as she was accustomed to do. cutting some cleaner fabric off a dead body to use as a makeshift bandage for now she’d get the wound looked at a little later there was always a chance for a secondary wave of attackers afterall.
Zombehs
Junior Member
With a sharp twist of his arm, Aglain's spear weaved underneath his opponent's wide swing before he thrust it forward and scored a gash on the man's arm. A small wound that would have barely affected the man if not for the cursed blood that rushed inwards. It wasn't enough for him to rip his opponent's limb apart from within, but even a small spasm was enough. A slackened grip as his hand twitched uncontrollably and veins bulged from the foreign blood flowing through them. The shift to try and keep his weapon exposed another opening, and with it Aglain's spear tip found its way straight into the man's throat above a lowered shield. For a moment their eyes met before he nearly beheaded the man by ripping his spear out to the side.
With the momentum of their ambush bled dry and nothing to show for it, Aglain shook his head as the scales tipped against their opponents. The warcry that punctuated the point was reciprocated by many of their numbers, even without him joining in, and he did not charge into the fray for glory and bloodshed. His spear snaked out where it could among the melee, biting into limbs and creating openings for the others to exploit and finish off. It wouldn't be appreciated by some of them, especially coming from him, but what else was new?
As the fighting finally died down, Aglain planted his spear into one of the fallen bodies that littered the beach where most of the fighting had taken place. Piercing through armor and flesh until it touched the ground underneath, he crouched and slowly began to work his magic on the fresh corpse. Fingers dipped into the man's blood until it started to flow readily instead of drip. The crimson sphere gathered atop the man's chest, swelling in size as the body dried out, before it started to shrink and compress upon itself. The end result was a blood red orb that fit in the palm of Aglain's hand, and he pocketed it carefully before he stood.
Aglain left his spear where it was and strung his bow instead as he approached Sigrid and the other companions that had already joined her after the battle's end. Greeting them with yet another polite nod, he plucked the bowstring as a test before speaking. "By your leave Ravenchild, I'll be scouting our surroundings." It was unlikely any of the raiders would have decided to turn tail and run, but there was always possibility of a watcher in the shadows. Someone had managed to track their group down in short order and quickly position their ambushers for an attack.
With the momentum of their ambush bled dry and nothing to show for it, Aglain shook his head as the scales tipped against their opponents. The warcry that punctuated the point was reciprocated by many of their numbers, even without him joining in, and he did not charge into the fray for glory and bloodshed. His spear snaked out where it could among the melee, biting into limbs and creating openings for the others to exploit and finish off. It wouldn't be appreciated by some of them, especially coming from him, but what else was new?
As the fighting finally died down, Aglain planted his spear into one of the fallen bodies that littered the beach where most of the fighting had taken place. Piercing through armor and flesh until it touched the ground underneath, he crouched and slowly began to work his magic on the fresh corpse. Fingers dipped into the man's blood until it started to flow readily instead of drip. The crimson sphere gathered atop the man's chest, swelling in size as the body dried out, before it started to shrink and compress upon itself. The end result was a blood red orb that fit in the palm of Aglain's hand, and he pocketed it carefully before he stood.
Aglain left his spear where it was and strung his bow instead as he approached Sigrid and the other companions that had already joined her after the battle's end. Greeting them with yet another polite nod, he plucked the bowstring as a test before speaking. "By your leave Ravenchild, I'll be scouting our surroundings." It was unlikely any of the raiders would have decided to turn tail and run, but there was always possibility of a watcher in the shadows. Someone had managed to track their group down in short order and quickly position their ambushers for an attack.
Worthlessplebian
Worthless pleb
The explosive power of the rune-makers coursed through the vascularity of the wolf-hunter. Invigorated by these enhancing effects, the Archer loosed arrow after arrow. So quick was the draw and release, that his previous record was instantly shattered. The torrent of arrows tore through the enemy's bowmen. With each kill, a grin grew wider and wider on the hunter's sharp features. But he notched the last arrow, pulled it back then his fingers unclasped the nock, the arrow flew... But the bow splintered, the string snapped! It flew true, the last archer of the adversary's contingent choked on his own blood.
Time crawled as the weapon—that Árni forged himself—failed him. His brown orbs followed the fragments as they hit the deck, bouncing not too far from the warrior. His weapon arm shook with fatigue and fury, still holding onto the destroyed weapon's grip. His arrow digits were sore, shooting dull pain to his brain. A reminder that despite his skills, he is only a mortal. A man that could die, a body that could degrade. A grunt was released from the man, having been unexpectedly disappointed. The battle had soon ended, prompting Árni to gaze onto the field of corpses. Of friend and foe. It did not faze him, this picture of carnage. This was merely the prolegomenon of their journey towards distant lands. A journey of greed-imbibed plunder, cold wrath, and the promise of a better tomorrow.
The hunter decided to find Sigrid, report on his wellbeing. But as he spun around on his heel, the hunter lowered his lupine hood and looked over his shoulder to the rune-weavers. "You weave fantastic runes." He expressed his gratitude, but his tone had been low; restrained by his will.
His feet carried him through the viscera, avoiding the littered carcasses. Yet his boots became stained with bloodied mud anyway. His keen-eyed gaze found the red head leader, impossible to miss at this distance. Alongside her were Hargrimm, her right hand. A sly vixen danced with her paws near them too. Ah, this was Kaija. The Astrian from Distant Karelia. Árni sneakily approached the group, his sore fingers tapped Sigrid on her right shoulder. Once they turned around, he raised the broken bow to them and grunted disapprovingly. The message was clear, he'll get a new bow. Either from the forge-master or looted from the enemy. Preferably from the forge-master as he has specific needs from it. His black locks flew on the wind as he turned his head towards the little fox. "Good Girl." His last words before moving on.
The corpses were duds, nothing interesting or new. But through his searching, he found Solfrid Dahl. Ah, just the woman he was looking for! Ambling over to the woman, he raised the destroyed bow grip one last time. "Need a new bow. Heavy draw weight. Make the string stronger too. Thank you."
Ramjammer
Confirmed Memelord
Nature was but a never-ending cycle of life and death. A dance in which all parties knew the steps and took measures to trip anyone opposite of them. All to only extend their own dances just a little longer.
This is what Jox thought as he crouched over a body left to rot on the ground. Whoever they were, something had mauled them beyond all recognition. It was the Fox's doing. Spurred by the Raven's war cry, and the taste of impending victory, she'd shrugged off all remotely human aspects in favor of bestial wrath.
Though she'd been amicable to his help, and he glad to have hers, Jox couldn't but help to feel a sense of competition with her on the battlefield. Theirs was a prey that served no real purpose. And so culling them all was a matter of simple logic. Together, the Astrians had torn through the opposing ranks, giving little heed to both blade and arrow. Jox had earned a sizeable wound on his haunch for the negligence. Pain had bloomed in the wake of adrenaline fading away, and the Rat man winced at both the agony and his own foolishness.
Yet, the Astrian could not muster the desire to chide himself. They'd won the fight, after all. Messy as it had been, they'd found their footing even though their foes had the element of surprise. It was something to be proud of.
And hunting with the Fox had been fun in its own way. Amidst the carnage, Jox counted each Brigand he felled. A predator's competitiveness urged him to claw out a position for himself in their band as their mightiest beast. Unfortunately, he'd lost count somewhere along the way as the battle reached a fever pitch. He'd tossed aside the self-imposed challenge for the sake of hastening their victory along.
It certainly wasn't because the Fox seemed to be in the lead. To even think such a thing was absurd.
Besides, there were more important tasks at hand once the dust cleared. The corpse that he loomed over would not do for the ritual he intended. It was not his kill, so to use it was an unseemly and craven thing.
Jox did not have to search long for his efforts to yield fruit, though. He could recognize his own work on sight. The body was all but torn to shreds, the same as the last. Yet the Astrian knew the markings of his own teeth. All rats owed a great deal to the strength of their bite. A rat that did not know the imprint of their own teeth was no rat at all.
The Rat man made quick work of stripping the dead man of armor from the waist up. He carefully set aside what he could salvage to add to the band's ever growing hoard of spoils.
Prayers were not needed here. They were not deserved. Especially not from the lips of one of the Rostakor's children. The enemies of the Elder Flame's followers were denied its warmth in death. So too were they denied the glory of a death found in battle. It was stripped away from them and desecrated by cutting fangs. Though Jox himself detested the taste of Humans, it was an indignity that paled into comparison to the one he'd soon inflict. Thus, it was an indignity that he would suffer in the name of his faith. Rats were a meal of many things in life. In death, many things became a meal for rats. In the end, it was but a simple rebalancing of the scales. A maintaining of an order written into the Astrian's very bones.
He tried to be as quick as possible about the task. Offending his newfound companions wasn't something he relished. But it was also something that he knew could not be avoided. All that the Rat man could do was hope they didn't try taking his head over the matter.
Humans worshipped death in ways more than life itself. In their eyes, a good death was an honor great enough to absolve one from a lifetime of sins if it was done correctly. To the Rostakor, however, the state of one's life lived should determine the value of their passing. It was for that reason that any who would seek to draw the blood of the Rostakor would be denied an honored death. Their bodies were to be fed upon and desecrated, symbolically tainting their deaths. In the end, the warrior at Jox's feet had become nothing more than the Astrian's next meal.
Distasteful as he found the nameless soldier's flesh to be, Jox would be lying to say that the battle hadn't left him famished. Fighting for his life was difficult enough as it was. Doing so on an already empty stomach was downright unpleasant.
Once finished, the Astrain scrubbed the blood from his muzzle as best he could. He had stripped the body in front of him nearly down to the bone. He'd left the man's head and face intact, however. When the man stood before his makers to justify his miserable excuse for an existence, the Gods should have something to stare disappointedly into. It was a ghastly sight. One that Jox found good enough and could take some measure of pride in creating.
Furred ears pricked attentively as a sharp screech came from overhead. The Astrian's eyes drifted skyward and there he saw them. Innumerable ravens dotted the pale clouds like splashes of ink scattered carelessly across parchment. They din of battle had alerted them to a potential feast. And that is what they'd found as they circled overhead before alighting on the carrion strewed ground.
Jox left the feathered creatures to their work. Having taken his own ration of flesh and blood, there was no more use for his teeth and claws. He turned to more interesting things now that the promise of safety was assured. For him, looting was a chore when the victims possessed little in the way of interest him. But the Rat man did so anyway, efficiently stripping the fallen of anything that might be valuable to their group. The gains went towards the betterment of the collective, something that he understood and appreciated.
He found a few trinkets that caught his fancy and set them aside. Most were furs and soft materials that could be added to his nest. Jox felt that after all had been said and done, he'd earned another nap and he wanted it to be even more comfortable than the last.
Mentions:
Arnalia
This is what Jox thought as he crouched over a body left to rot on the ground. Whoever they were, something had mauled them beyond all recognition. It was the Fox's doing. Spurred by the Raven's war cry, and the taste of impending victory, she'd shrugged off all remotely human aspects in favor of bestial wrath.
Though she'd been amicable to his help, and he glad to have hers, Jox couldn't but help to feel a sense of competition with her on the battlefield. Theirs was a prey that served no real purpose. And so culling them all was a matter of simple logic. Together, the Astrians had torn through the opposing ranks, giving little heed to both blade and arrow. Jox had earned a sizeable wound on his haunch for the negligence. Pain had bloomed in the wake of adrenaline fading away, and the Rat man winced at both the agony and his own foolishness.
Yet, the Astrian could not muster the desire to chide himself. They'd won the fight, after all. Messy as it had been, they'd found their footing even though their foes had the element of surprise. It was something to be proud of.
And hunting with the Fox had been fun in its own way. Amidst the carnage, Jox counted each Brigand he felled. A predator's competitiveness urged him to claw out a position for himself in their band as their mightiest beast. Unfortunately, he'd lost count somewhere along the way as the battle reached a fever pitch. He'd tossed aside the self-imposed challenge for the sake of hastening their victory along.
It certainly wasn't because the Fox seemed to be in the lead. To even think such a thing was absurd.
Besides, there were more important tasks at hand once the dust cleared. The corpse that he loomed over would not do for the ritual he intended. It was not his kill, so to use it was an unseemly and craven thing.
Jox did not have to search long for his efforts to yield fruit, though. He could recognize his own work on sight. The body was all but torn to shreds, the same as the last. Yet the Astrian knew the markings of his own teeth. All rats owed a great deal to the strength of their bite. A rat that did not know the imprint of their own teeth was no rat at all.
The Rat man made quick work of stripping the dead man of armor from the waist up. He carefully set aside what he could salvage to add to the band's ever growing hoard of spoils.
Prayers were not needed here. They were not deserved. Especially not from the lips of one of the Rostakor's children. The enemies of the Elder Flame's followers were denied its warmth in death. So too were they denied the glory of a death found in battle. It was stripped away from them and desecrated by cutting fangs. Though Jox himself detested the taste of Humans, it was an indignity that paled into comparison to the one he'd soon inflict. Thus, it was an indignity that he would suffer in the name of his faith. Rats were a meal of many things in life. In death, many things became a meal for rats. In the end, it was but a simple rebalancing of the scales. A maintaining of an order written into the Astrian's very bones.
He tried to be as quick as possible about the task. Offending his newfound companions wasn't something he relished. But it was also something that he knew could not be avoided. All that the Rat man could do was hope they didn't try taking his head over the matter.
Humans worshipped death in ways more than life itself. In their eyes, a good death was an honor great enough to absolve one from a lifetime of sins if it was done correctly. To the Rostakor, however, the state of one's life lived should determine the value of their passing. It was for that reason that any who would seek to draw the blood of the Rostakor would be denied an honored death. Their bodies were to be fed upon and desecrated, symbolically tainting their deaths. In the end, the warrior at Jox's feet had become nothing more than the Astrian's next meal.
Distasteful as he found the nameless soldier's flesh to be, Jox would be lying to say that the battle hadn't left him famished. Fighting for his life was difficult enough as it was. Doing so on an already empty stomach was downright unpleasant.
Once finished, the Astrain scrubbed the blood from his muzzle as best he could. He had stripped the body in front of him nearly down to the bone. He'd left the man's head and face intact, however. When the man stood before his makers to justify his miserable excuse for an existence, the Gods should have something to stare disappointedly into. It was a ghastly sight. One that Jox found good enough and could take some measure of pride in creating.
Furred ears pricked attentively as a sharp screech came from overhead. The Astrian's eyes drifted skyward and there he saw them. Innumerable ravens dotted the pale clouds like splashes of ink scattered carelessly across parchment. They din of battle had alerted them to a potential feast. And that is what they'd found as they circled overhead before alighting on the carrion strewed ground.
Jox left the feathered creatures to their work. Having taken his own ration of flesh and blood, there was no more use for his teeth and claws. He turned to more interesting things now that the promise of safety was assured. For him, looting was a chore when the victims possessed little in the way of interest him. But the Rat man did so anyway, efficiently stripping the fallen of anything that might be valuable to their group. The gains went towards the betterment of the collective, something that he understood and appreciated.
He found a few trinkets that caught his fancy and set them aside. Most were furs and soft materials that could be added to his nest. Jox felt that after all had been said and done, he'd earned another nap and he wanted it to be even more comfortable than the last.
Mentions:
Arnalia
Pilgrim59
Bellua 1-4
Sigrid Ravenchild
Sven's Point, West Tuta
shadowz1995
Worthlessplebian
Arnalia
Zombehs
Remembrance
Hargrimm Stonewall
Sven's Point, West Tuta
Huntertabbysandshark3
The brilliant white Fox was quick to reprimand the scarlet Raven, despite their lack of words. Their glowing pair of optics were sufficient to convey their mild frustrations, of which was shared by Sigrid's inner contemplations. She felt the arm-ring rang more so than she would like to admit her clandestine method of escaping Vaeborg. While she would have loved to earn her freedom by combat, Sigrid did not wished to deal with the aftermath of slaying a Jarl. It would only served to bind her to the political upheavals that would inevitably keep her hostage to the old ways. On the other hand, she welcomed the Jarl's attempt to dispose of her. At least, from such actions, she was able to derive a sense of honor that the man felt inclined to grant her as a parting gift. In her eyes, he still viewed her as a capable warrior. In the end, she was still being used by the Jarl, for Sigrid knew that among the raiders that he sent to deal with her, many were ardent zealots of her role as a hired hand, unable to look beyond her murderous skills as well as their long-held contempt to usurp her position as a champion of Vaeborg. With this battle, Sten had gained a considerable amount of advantages with the warmongers at home. At least now, he was able to placate his advisors on the matters of Sigrid's departure, while freeing himself of her fame - furthering consolidating his rule over Vaeborg rather than being speculated with anticipated rivalries with Sigrid as the better candidate for the seat of power. The recent skirmish would mark the end of this unspoken debate, as the Raven now looks to the sea. But first, she had a certain misgiving to conceal behind her confident smile.
"Wallow not on your grievances. You and I both know that Sten would sooner see me depart. My presence only serves to threaten his authority. But you have a point..." Sigrid sighed, eyeing the longboat briefly, as she gave Kaija a witty smirk. "... we should have taken a bigger boat." She giggled, running her fair hand over the vixen's fine fur, before traversing down to the sandy landing, where other familiar faces were already gravitating towards her. Hargrimm on the other hand, would remain silent on the matter, as he gave Kaija a reticent look before stroking his unkempt beard as a gesture of assent to Sigrid's points albeit with reservations.
It did not take long for the Wolf to beckon her attention when he tapped her on her shoulder. "Anything's fragile in your hands, my strong Arni. Fortunately, we have Solfrid's hands. Seek her out. I'm sure she will be able to fashion for you a greater piece." She said, patting Arni on the back as he passed her to praise Kaija.
Passing by the Lesni that had made it her mission to wring an answer out of the dazed raider, Sigrid lent an ear to Anja's method of interrogation, before withdrawing the arm-ring that Hargrimm had relinquished to her care prior. At the same time, the very subject of discussion between Sigrid and Hargrimm prior had materialized beside Anja to broker forth his own opinion on the matter. Sigrid's eyes bounced back between the Lesni and the Earl, before tossing the arm-ring towards the renowned Kraken Slayer as her physical answer. "The Jarl sent his regards. We should thank him for keeping us alert." She answered, before diverting her gaze towards the Earl of Einsreach with a tactful look, as if she had deciphered his thoughts on the matter of her odd relay of orders during the skirmish prior. "Have you not had your fill of steel and blood, my brave Earl? Hargrimm and I were just talking about you..." The Raven blatantly remarked, as if indifferent to the outcome of her thoughts on subtlety - either an audacious feat of clarity or a foolish decision to deliberate a reaction from her companion. "Perhaps you find my previous orders of your disposition irrational? Truth be told, you do possess a forgettable face. No offense. Perhaps we'll rectify our alignments over supper." She chuckled to herself, before turning back towards Anja.
"Oh, and Anja, we have plenty of hands on oars. You may set him free or send him to Solsgard. At your discretion." Sigrid said to Anja, leaving the fate of the surviving hostile to the Lesni before moving on - only to be greeted by Aglain the bloody spearman.
Glancing past the shrouded woods upon the rising, and speculating their opponents' point of ambush, Sigrid concluded that it was a commendable effort deserving of praise coming from Aglain's voluntary proposal. She would nod in approval, before turning towards Hargrimm, who quickly understood Sigrid's unvoiced intentions. Withdrawing a pair of inscribed krozat stones from his belt-pouch, the tall sentinel handed the two rune-infused stones to Aglain. The two stones were identical in color, sporting a faint glow upon the Thurisaz marks - prepared before hand for signaling purposes, rather than combat. "Deploy them should you make contact. Beast or men. Be light on your feet, we won't be staying for long." Sigrid added, as she let Aglain be on his way.
Sigrid spotted the blind sage replenishing his aetherium on the far side of the triage area, whose hands were as weary as the tossing ripples of the eerily tranquil sea. Beside him resided an onyx creature, whose feathers began to shred as its fiery gaze ogled the scarlet Raven. Petrified by the igneous avian, Sigrid's eyes widened as she felt her hand occupied by a lone feather. As she looked up again, the obsidian bird had vanished into thin air, leaving behind a confused child to decipher for herself the ominous hallucination. A gulp consumed the Raven's shaken soul, as she reeled back to the sound of reticent water battering the grainy grounds. She finally turned to Hargrimm with a distracted look, before voicing her concerns. "Go on without me, Hargrimm." She said, pacing herself towards the blind sage, as the Stonewall eyed her off in silent solicitude.
Having caught up to the healer, whose relinquished cowl spoke of his weary state - not from battle but treatment of others. While his depleted aetherium was present by outward appearance, the Raven knew that other aspects had taken a toll on the aged wiseman. Sashaying her way towards him, armed with absent thoughts and a grimy face, Sigrid finally halted before Hakan, as the feather remained in her right hand. Bending her knees, she leveled herself upon the sands, with her forearms falling upon her kneecaps. "I would invite you to bathe with me, but the cold water is wary of a warm-hearted mender." Sigrid said jokingly, in an attempt to bring some light to the seemingly-taxed gentleman.
"How are you holding up?" She asked, leaning forward to grab both of his shaking hands with hers. Her serene expressions became sympathetic as her confident façade was now all but dissipated, as if she was simply a young girl beckoning the attention of her mentor.
Across the stretch of the frigid coast, where the immaculate beach met the tall foliage that broadens as one traversed further inland, Hargrimm made sure to calculate his steps. There was not a particular reason for it, but the tall shieldbearer had grown appreciate some small peace it gave him. It was unwise for him to contemplate the future, when Sigrid had already done so in his stead. As such, Hargrimm was inclined to remain firm in the present, where his counts would eventually mean something when he reached a number that he could not name. An odd, but effective method of placating the warrior's mind to distract him from the worldly matters that he could not solve.
He eventually stumbled upon the self-monologuing draconian. With a hot bowl of watered-down potato stew and some bread in his hands, his first instinct was to offer Kara his share of breakfast. Eventually, he would lose count of his steps and he was back in the world. This time, not as a warrior, but a companion.
shadowz1995
Amoeba of Wisdom
Hakan Ingolf
Sven's Point, West Tuta
Interaction:
Pilgrim59
The effects of the potion were working their magic. Slowly but surely, the Blind mage was regaining his Aetherium resevoir. It allowed him a moment to unwind following the battle while his new comrades took to looting and finishing off any stragglers. It was a process he took no joy in and as a result, did not participate in. Not only would it be difficult for him to notice any valuables given his current visual predicament, but also he just didn't like the whole process. Mercy killings he could understand but these men didn't deserve to die now that they were defeated. The fighting was over and Hakan found no glory in being put down like lame horses. Valhalla would not accept these men and women.
The sound of rhythmic, displaced sand getting closer let Hakan know that someone was approaching him. Given all the blood and death, he couldn't identify who they were until they were right on top of him. It was Sigrid, their fearless leader and the Raven Child of destiny.
"I would invite you to bathe with me, but the cold water is wary of a warm-hearted mender."
The, allegedly, scarlet haired woman spoke with a tomber that betrayed her lighthearted joke. Her voice was lower in position than he expected, which means she lowered herself to be more parallel to him. He must be looking out of sorts then to her if she was worried.
As If to confirm what he had just thought, Sigrid's bloodied hands gripped his own scarlet-slicked ones gently as she asked him to confirm his condition.
"How are you holding up?"
A warm smile creeped onto his features despite the situation and he looked up from his knees to where her face should be, "Come now, don't tease me, Raven Child. I wouldn't be able to enjoy the sight." He replied with a shake of his head. The milky white film of his eyes seemed to focus on the woman now, despite not being able to detect her. As if looking through her, into some deeper aspect of herself that no one could see.
"I'm doing well. With the first two, it wouldn't be so difficult but bringing a man with a severed throat on the brink of death back from the gates of Valhalla is no easy feat. But luckily, that's one more man you have on your side, Sigrid. It's just left me somewhat drained is all."
With a little nod of his head, he pointed to the hand that still clutched the now half-empty, glowing, Aetheirum potion. The color had returned to his features and the shaking had somewhat subsided. The woman seemed to have an air of concern about her. So, she had been worrying about him? It was an understandable gesture. He understood that his role as translator and navigator would be essential in the coming days once they touched land across the sea. Hakan would be lying if he said he wasn't hoping to see some familiar faces after all this time.
"How about yourself?" He asked, giving her hands a light squeeze. "We are surrounded by blood and death so it's difficult for me to detect any injuries by smell."
Her voice was softer than he had ever heard it. So, Hakan wasn't sure if it was just worry or if something else plagued her thoughts.
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Soviet Panda
Red Panda Commanda.
Solfrid and Otrygg
Solfrid took her helmet off and let her hair flow free as she enjoyed the sea breeze on her sweaty skin. While the situation felt dire only moments ago, everyone was able to persevere long enough for the hexers and archers to be taken out. Once that happens, the ravenchild ordered for everyone to charge in, and that she did. Solfrid slashed, thrusted, and bashed until the battle had finally settled down. While it was a little difficult for her, having Otrygg close to her certainly made fighting much easier as he seemed to be more focused on by the raider than she was.
Speaking of which, Solfrid couldn’t seem to find the man. She assumed that she’d find him looting corpses, but he wasn’t anywhere near where the majority of the corpses laid. Then she heard familiar yelling, and snapped around to catch a glimpse of the berserker charging into the woods, ax in hand. Solfrid could only assume that he was chasing the enemy, blinded by his bloodlust no doubt. Before she could decide what to do with otrygg, Arni would come up to him, asking for a stronger bow. “Ah, I promise that I’ll see to your bow is made once I find a place to build a forge, but right now I must go retrieve one of our brothers in arms who seemed to have gone to chase enemies into the woods.”
Against her better judgement, Solfrid took off after the berserker, shouting his name as she crossed the threshold into the woods. “Otrygg you bumbling oaf! Come back before you find a knife in your neck!” Solfrid shouted, hoping to stop him before he got lead into a trap.
"AEDAYN KICHITAN!"
Otrygg let go all pretenses of restraint as he heard those words. His sword and shield thudded to the ground, a small part of his subconscious marking where his sword lay so as to retrieve it later, and his great axe came to bear. An animalistic roar escaped his throat as the Berserkgangr took hold, and the rage consumed him.
It was all a blur, the only thing that came into clear focus was the enemy as the fled or fell beneath him. He did not understand that he had charged headlong into a forest that could easily have contained many more enemies, only that there were enemies. The rage left him in a clearing, a mangled mound of gore that was once one of the raiders hacked to pieces before him. Breathing heavily, he knew what came next. He saw them, from the corners of his eyes. He could not make them out clearly, yet he knew they were impossibly thin yet taller than even the largest tree he had ever seen. They were not Valkyrie, come to take him to Solsgard. These were demons.
'Traitorkin.' They whispered to him. "I AM NOT!" he replied, frantically dashing towards the tree line where some remnant of safety could be had. 'Worthless words from a worthless soul. One oath traded so easily for another. You are traitorkin.' "LEAVE ME BE, DEMONS! HE WAS NO TUTAN!" Otrygg howled towards the heavens, as if explaining himself to the gods themselves. 'Traitorkin, and coward. Run, traitorkin, for we enjoy the hunt.' He heard echoing laughter as he frantically tried to escape it. But no matter how quickly he ran, they forever loomed in the corners of his vision.
He was not paying attention, and stumbled over a root. Crawling on all four towards the tree, he tried to worm his way as deep as he could into any exposed crevice, tearing at the wood with his hands until they bled and his blood slicked the wood, all in an attempt to get away from those shadowed beings.
Solfrid could hear Otrygg shout, but it wasn’t wet cries and promises if death, it was that of fear and regret. Demons that would not let him rest at night, a past that troubled him so much that he had to run into the forest.
“Otrygg…Where are you!” Solfrid shouted, picking the pace up. When she found him, it was almost like she was looking at a different man. She found him clawing at trees, clearly desperate.
Solfrid set her spear down, and put her hand on Otrygg’s shoulder.
“I’m not going to ask about what happened in the past, but you need to breath, whatever demons plague you, I will chase them away myself.” Solfrid said while embracing the berserker, resting his head on her stomach.
“You don’t need to be the best, you don’t have to be a strong man all the time, and you certainly do not need to hide yourself with this tree” Solfrid chuckled.
Otrygg went to spin around, to fight the demon that had put it's hand upon his shoulder. But his fear made him slow, and before he could react he had been pulled back and embraced by the foul thing. This was it, this was the day they finally had him. But they would not take him quietly, he would not let them. Giving voice to animalistic growls he struggled against his captor, thrashing about in their grip to no avail. Suddenly his body went rigid and his back arched so far it seemed about to break.
That was when he realized, that this was no demon holding him. It was to warm, and to soft for those shadowed monstrosities. And looking up, he finally saw her. Straining to get the words past his gritted teeth, he looks the woman that held him in his arms, and said one word.
"Valkyrea"
Like a taught cord cut, Otrygg's body went limp. He muttered softly under his breath as he swam in and out of consciousness, but thankfully he would not be to difficult to move.
Solfrid kept her grasp on the berserker, feeling him growl and thrash about. But she didn’t let go of him, she refused to allow him to suffer alone a succumb to a terrible fate. Eventually, the trashing would quell, and Otrygg would look up to her and see that she was not the same demon that he was fleeing moments ago. In fact, he was bold enough to call her a Valkyrea.
“Oh I’m about 20 years off of even looking like one let alone being one.” Solfrid snorted.
Solfrid looked down to see otryggs response, but the old warrior was out cold, mumbling words that Solfrid couldn’t exactly make out. She adjusted Otrygg so that his body rested on the soft earth underneath, before setting herself down. While Solfrid had strong arms due to working in a forge for most of her life, even she knew that lifting the heavy man would be neigh impossible alone. While Solfrid could easily get the help needed, she didn’t want to embarrass Otrygg nor did she want to leave him unattended in woods that could easily be housing a few bandits.
So Solfrid decided to give Otrygg 5 minutes before she went and got help from some of the lore physically heavy people to carry him out.
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