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Saga
Feb 22, 2019 1:09:34 GMT
Post by Kelathi on Feb 22, 2019 1:09:34 GMT
As Fell’s eyes adjusted to the gloom and his gaze rested on the hunched figure, he began to speak, but was abruptly silenced as the man threw up an arm to hush him. Only once quiet fell once again, did the figure continue what he was doing, muttering indiscernible words under his breath, his hands contorting in the air before him, disturbing the ever-present thin smoke which lay low in the room. From the doorway, they could only see a side-profile of the shaman, his coal-lined eyes closed tight in concentration, rocking back on his heels as he crouched. He was bald apart from a thick plait at the back of his head, trailing down his back, and a thin, tightly twined beard at his front. The man was naked apart from worn trousers, his body appearing as white as bone in the half-light, apart from his upper arm, where a black tattoo curled round it.
“Fellbjorn.” The man spoke then, opening his eyes a moment later. As he turned to them, though, it was clear it was actually only one eye… Where his right should be was a deep, gaping hole, a scar running like a deep rivulet from his forehead, through where his eye would be, and parting the skin down over his cheek. Upon regarding them both, his face slowly split into a toothy grin. Suddenly, he leapt up, crossing the distance between them with a speed at odds to his wiry frame, grasping Fell roughly by the face. “Good, good. Many treasures. But, ah…” he tutted, studying Fell’s eyes as if reading from a book. “Earl was not happy, no, no. But that will change, oh, that will change!” He cackled then, loosing the man's face but grabbing the warrior by the arm, ushering him further into the house. He unceremoniously abandoned him again, and they could hear a clatter as Dag searched about in the gloom. Finally, he turned back to them, holding a thin leather thread, on which dangled a few beards and a smooth, flat stone. “Luck. You will need. Now, the slave…” passing the necklace to Fell, the warrior made no comment in protest, donning the piece without needing further convincing. “He is injured, he…” Fell began to explain, but Dag lifted his hand again, eye now fixed on Arlan. “Yes, yes, I know. Sick. Sick in here!” He jabbed towards Arlan’s forehead as he spoke, almost accusingly. Then he was away again, searching in the shadowy corners of the room. “I have the fix for the wound. But I can’t fix the sickness.” As Dag spoke, Fell frowned, concern lacing across his expression. “Sickness? What…” Dag seemed to have found what he was looking for, approaching Arlan eagerly, grabbing his hand and pressing a handful of soft mushrooms into it. “Eat.” He stated, before pulling away and turning his attention back to Fell. “Pain, in here.” He jabbed at his own temple, this time, impatiently, as if annoyed that the warrior didn’t seem to automatically know what he meant. “Time will fix, not mushrooms.”
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Saga
Feb 22, 2019 1:34:28 GMT
Post by Red Irish Dragon on Feb 22, 2019 1:34:28 GMT
The Viking was only a shield in the Celt’s eyes, for as soon as the shaman darted forward Arlan fell back, ready to bolt out the door and leave Fell to whatever fate awaited him with this strange little man. Fell was dragged farther in, without any complaint to his surprise, while Arlan considered his options for sneaking out and running. But he already knew it was probably too late.
His eyes visibly widened when Dag’s attention fell on him, looking to Fell as if for help, even if only for a moment as he didn’t dare take his eyes off the old man for too long. Arlan flinched when the shaman poked his finger towards his head, a hand rising to the injury as if to shield it, but he hesitated as the shaman tried to explain to the Viking about some sickness he had. Fell’s expression of concern didn’t help Arlan’s faith in the situation, almost jerking his hand back when it was grabbed, staring dubiously at the mushrooms for a few moments before watching the shaman again.
Pain in the head? Time would fix? A part of his gut twisted suddenly, painfully… was the shaman suggesting he was sick and no good as a slave? Or did he somehow know that he feared such? Either way, it was more information than he wanted to have shared, especially since he also worried that the so-called sickness was a longing to escape. Who knew what the wily old shaman might work out?
He made no effort to try to eat the mushrooms, however, his eyes going back to them and silently questioning everything about them. Ruald’s herbs he trusted… not those of some mad old hermit of a Viking tribe.
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Saga
Feb 22, 2019 22:34:11 GMT
Post by Kelathi on Feb 22, 2019 22:34:11 GMT
When Arlan didn’t immediately eat the mushrooms, the shaman’s brow furrowed, his voice taking on a strained, higher octave when he next spoke. “Eat, eat!” he exclaimed encouragingly, this time not leaving room for a ‘no’, grabbing Arlan’s hand and pushing it up to the slave’s face, so that he had little choice but to obey. Fell watched, trying not to let the amusement show on his face. Arlan was clearly out of his depth, he looked pale and tense in the gloom. Fell had learnt long ago not to be wary of this eccentric man…
He had been afraid, although he’d fought to keep it from his face. His father would never have shown fear, so his son was determined that he would not disgrace his memory by showing it himself. Even if he was only twelve, in a strange place with strange people. People he had been told were family, who would look after him now that his father was gone.
He’d heard them all talk. He heard their whispers as he passed by. He may be young, but he was not deaf and he was not dumb. Adults were respectful enough to hush their voices upon his approach, but it was the children of his age from which the tirade of questions never ended, ranging from mocking to accusative. He let their words run over him like a river. He worked in the fields long after the kids had grown bored of taunting him, until his hands bled from being rubbed raw, only stopping when the sun had slunk far beyond the horizon and there was no light to work by. And when he finally stumbled home, he heard the hushed, speculating voices of his guardians on the other side of the thin, wooden divide.
Dag had looked old even then, although looking back, Fell had looked on everyone as being old in comparison to himself, as children often do, so he was probably actually only early twenties. The young man was an outsider himself, with a quirkiness that was strange enough to keep people away rather than invite mockery. He hadn’t looked on Fell with pity. It had been a time before that hideous scar had near taken his life, a time where he had two eyes, brown as the bark of willows and sharp as anything.
“What are you doing down there? Take my hand.”
Fell blinked, and the memory was gone. It was strange that he should think on it now, perhaps the thought had overcome him because he was aware that Arlan was seeing Dag for the first time, without all the preconceptions that Fell held. Well, if he didn’t learn to be at ease around the man, it would not be unusual, most of the village regarded Dag with fearful awe. But Fell was sure he would come to respect the odd individual, as all others had before him, when they saw what he was capable of.
As he came abruptly back to the present, he was aware that Dag was talking to Arlan.
“You worry about the wrong things.” He scolded, jabbing a finger at the slave. Then, he appeared to be talking to them both. “I’ll never understand worries like these. Things are so simple, why can’t you see? The Gods have a plan. Bah! Never mind… go, go both of you!” He pushed them both on the chest then, and clearly, this was their que to leave. Fell was as perplexed as Arlan, but he made no move to object, turning towards the door. “Thank…” He began, but Dag would have none of it, merely shaking his head impatiently as he waved them away.
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Saga
Feb 23, 2019 3:16:15 GMT
Post by Red Irish Dragon on Feb 23, 2019 3:16:15 GMT
Arlan did not appreciate Dag’s help, his hand being shoved into his face and forced to deal with the mushrooms that he half choked on as he awkwardly swallowed them. His eyes were lit with a panic at what on earth he was made to eat, having to cough several more times as he recovered, still finding his breath short and fast around the unnerving little man.
Oblivious to Fell’s sudden distance, Arlan’s expression grew defensive as the old man jabbed a finger at him again, confused as to what “things” he was worrying about that… he was worrying about? His fear that the shaman might work out his long-term plans for escape were kept at the forefront of his mind, the worry visible in his gaze as he glanced back at Fell as Dag moved away, only to shoo them both out unceremoniously.
Unlike Fell, Arlan eagerly vacated the hut and raced out past the stones that stood guard at the gate, coughing again and wishing he felt more like throwing up to deal with the unknown mushrooms. Maybe if he could stick a finger down his throat… but then the Viking was beside him, and he knew that he was likely to get into trouble for trying to rid himself of whatever vile substance that was.
“Was that punishment for this morning?” Arlan found himself asking, coughing once more as he tried to settle the number of twists in his stomach. He was still waiting for some form of punishment, that was clear, in spite of the Viking’s actions. Making him a bed, letting him see Ruald was ok… letting him live. Unless, of course, it was because he was lame. Fell had already proven several times that he was more than aware of Arlan’s physical limitation, and had shown more than once some strange, probably twisted sort of concern for his well being. Why he would care so much, aside from the fact that Arlan was one of two prizes the Viking had earned from his raid - alongside the book that had been so surprising to see.
Perhaps Fellbjorn simply wanted to make sure that his property wasn’t defective. He had been visibly furious at not getting any of the chests of gold, riches that had genuinely surprised Arlan to see given how the men legitimately lived pious lives - at least those willing to have the Celt anywhere near them. Surely, that was all it was… making sure what little treasure he had gotten from the abbey was worth his trouble.
But that still didn’t explain his reaction to Arlan’s attempt on his life. Fell had repeated he didn’t want to hurt his slave… but it wasn’t spoken with the voice of a master concerned for his property. Arlan could only expect the worst with Fell… trying to have any faith in the Viking would just complicate things in a way Arlan couldn’t handle.
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Saga
Feb 23, 2019 21:44:31 GMT
Post by Kelathi on Feb 23, 2019 21:44:31 GMT
As Arlan raced ahead, Fell was halted by a hand on his shoulder and Dag’s hushed voice at his ear. “Be careful, friend.” Which was all the shaman said, before losing him and disappearing back into the dark. Fell knew better than to ask what was meant by the man’s words, Dag would likely just wave him away. He had a one-track mind, to serve and please the Gods, whilst he would ask if called upon, he was loathe to be distracted from his work. What work exactly that was… who knew? The man seemed to operate on a different plane most of the time. All Fell knew was that the man’s words and advice were to be heeded, but where? Was he warning him to beware of Arlan? Of the rumours running through the village against the Earl? He wasn’t sure, but previous experience told him he was not likely to know until the actual moment had passed, when Dag’s words would finally find meaning.
Coming up besides Arlan, the slave’s words gave Fell pause. He appeared to mull over what was said, watching as Arlan steadied himself before replying. “I should have punished you for what you did.” It wasn’t a threat, or even a boast of his strength over Arlan. Just a blunt statement. He grinned then, the seriousness melting from his face in an instant. “But, maybe I’m just a fool.” He threw his hands up as if at a loss, and then began to walk ahead. “Come on, slave. Let’s tell Ruald that you’re going to live.” He announced, with a chuckle.
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Saga
Feb 23, 2019 22:42:16 GMT
Post by Red Irish Dragon on Feb 23, 2019 22:42:16 GMT
Arlan’s posture stiffened at Fell’s unexpected statement, immediately assuming the worst, ready to bolt, to fight back… even if he had just probably been poisoned… But the Viking suddenly grinned, playing his words like a joke before beginning to walk. The Celt didn’t immediately follow, obviously from concern about the lack of punishment… but his heart had stopped for a moment as he had referred to himself as a “fool.” That had been his own word… back when speaking with Ruald about escaping. Had he heard any of that? Worse still, he knew Fell understood some English. How much had he heard? Was this some way to keep him from being able to run?
By the time they were headed back for the Viking’s home, having done as promised to once more see Ruald, Arlan was convinced that somehow incapacitating him had been the intended purpose of taking him to see the old hermit. Although why Fell would want to incapacitate a lame slave he wasn’t sure… but his limp wasn’t what was making his pace uneven, and it certainly wasn’t causing the warmth that had spread through his system, a gnawing sort of hunger that he was used to being able to keep in check. Strange sort of poison to give him… unless he was simply having an unusual response to it?
Whatever it was that he was made to eat, Arlan was having a hard time walking straight inside the house, given there was objects in the way such as the table, the fire pit, chairs… rugs… The bed Fell had made for him looked inviting for the first time as things didn’t stay put in his vision, walking over as silently as he had been since meeting Dag. Arlan had kept his words for Ruald alone, reassuring him he was fine even while he waited for the poison to affect him.
Arlan wasn’t sure how it happened, but somehow between the door and the bed he managed to trip. On what? It didn’t matter, really, it could have been his own feet with the way his vision was moving, but…
Of course, Fellbjorn caught him. Again.
Landing in his chest was beginning to really irritate Arlan, of feeling the other’s body pressed against him in one respect or another. And… feeling him even through their clothes… damnitall, he hadn’t been that long without company… or was it the poison? Now the Viking was simply waiting for him to regain his balance, with that stupid look of concern flitting across his face again. As Arlan looked back at him, eyes narrowed with obvious anger, his gaze drifted down a bit, ready to snap something again, to show defiance.
How… exactly that turned into leaning into a kiss, Arlan had no idea. One minute he was ready to probably earn the punishment he had been waiting for, but the next… he felt confused. Leaning into a kiss instead of speaking? That wasn’t something that could be easily mixed up… but even as he pulled away he begrudgingly recognized the warmth in his body, as it meant he wasn’t ready to finish that unwanted kiss yet.
Not that he was ready to finish it either, as his expression went from aggressive to confused, freezing in the other’s grip for feelings other than fear.
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Saga
Feb 23, 2019 23:08:54 GMT
Post by Kelathi on Feb 23, 2019 23:08:54 GMT
Fell had initially thought Arlan’s faltering step was borne from tiredness… it was not until they got back to the house that he truly became concerned. As the man stumbled again, Fell caught him easily. “Arlan!” but the slave didn’t seem to hear him, or if he did, he wasn’t pleased with what he heard, anger crossing his features as he tried to pull away, the warrior not really stopping him when…
When suddenly a strange look had come over the slave, and he had paused. The next moment their lips had met.
It had been brief, but it had certainly happened, Arlan pulling his lips away and looking just about as confused as Fell, in that moment.
Then before either could withdraw for good and think on what had happened, Fell had leaned in, hungrily and almost aggressively continuing the kiss, his hand coming up to the back of Arlan’s head to guide him back to his lips. His eyes were closed as he gave himself away to the feeling, only breaking contact when he realised he was pretty much baring down on Arlan, the slave having to take a step back to keep his balance with the ferocity of the warrior’s kiss. Their lips parted but he didn’t immediately withdraw. He paused, dizzy, and merely stood for a moment with his forehead pressed against Arlan’s, his hands coming up to cup either side of his face, as if needing a moment to think over what had just happened before letting him go.
In truth, Fell was fighting with himself. His breathing was heavy, his body hot with need and he wanted nothing more than to throw Arlan down on the bed and…
But no… this wasn’t right. Arlan had clearly had a reaction to the medicine Dag had given him… the slave didn’t want this, not really. The thought was sobering, and Fell finally opened his eyes, pulling away, reluctantly, and straightening up. After a moment, a small smile slipped onto his lips, and suddenly, he pushed Arlan on the chest. It wasn’t a strong push, it didn’t need to be, as Arlan fell back immediately, landing quite neatly on the bed Fell had made for him. “Get some sleep, erfiðr.”
((erfiðr : 'trouble' ))
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Saga
Feb 24, 2019 0:01:35 GMT
Post by Red Irish Dragon on Feb 24, 2019 0:01:35 GMT
When the Viking first moved in, Arlan’s eyes went wide, unsure if this was some sort of an attack. With his vision, he wasn’t sure at all what was happening until he was being pulled in for…
Wait, was Fellbjorn…?
Yes, yes he was.
Arlan’s initial thought was to try and struggle, his hands moving up with the intention of pushing him away. By the time he managed to get them up, however, Fell’s hunger had sparked his own, and he quickly stopped thinking.
Despite the fact that Fell was pushing so hard into the kiss that Arlan’s injured leg needed to shift back, Arlan met hunger with hunger, hands grasping clothing, his body pressing into Fell’s with his own need. This was why even as Fell’s hands moved to his face Arlan was still close, his own breathing heavy, a little shaky. Finally, slowly, his hands relaxed and let go of the other’s clothing, aware only that his heart was racing, his head dizzy with the kiss… or poison… maybe both… and Fell had pulled back.
Slowly he opened his eyes as well, meeting the pale blue gaze as he pulled back, Arlan’s confusion returning, albeit with mixed results. What had just happened? Why was Fell pulling back? Why did he want to keep going? What the hell did he eat?
The man gently pushed Arlan back onto his own bed, the landing not as hard as he might have expected with the furs, but regaining his senses meant he was becoming conflicted as Fell left, half sitting up in protest at being pushed down, half in protest that Fell was leaving. He didn’t say a word, however, unable to speak until after Fell was gone…
Falling back on the bed, Arlan’s hands went to his face, still struggling with this unexpected heat and the fact that he had kissed, of all people in that moment… his bloody captor! “Mhac na galla Viking!” he growled, curling up and towards the wall on the bed, still shaken from the heady kiss and wondering if dying was so bad if life meant figuring out what to do after… that. If it was poison he was given, why couldn’t it have just killed him and let him die with dignity, instead of… He couldn’t even say the words to himself, even though he could still very clearly imagine the hungry lips that had claimed his so totally. The Viking’s lips… fuck.
He didn’t know how long he laid there, trying to control the fire that burned inside, before the door opened again. Arlan quickly admonished himself for the spark inside at the thought of Fell coming through… but the Viking wasn’t the one crossing the threshold. “Ah, hello,” the woman said instead, flashing that little lusty smile she had offered him before from behind Baldur’s back. “I have a package from my mistress for Fellbjorn… is he here?”
Arlan sat up a little stiffly, shaking his head. “No, he’s not,” he replied, managing to keep the frustration out of his voice at the words. She shrugged, setting the wrapped parcel on the table, but instead of simply walking out again, she trailed her fingertips along the table’s edge, looking about her as if to confirm they were alone before walking over to Arlan. As much distress as he felt at the moment, her approach was not unwelcome, given that her lusty little smile had once more returned. Sitting on the bed beside him, her fingers came up to play with his “beautiful red locks,” biting her lip suggestively. “I’m surprised to find you here alone,” she murmured, gently moving his hair to inspect the bruise that still lingered there, her light touch seeming to only stoke the fire.
“Surprised to see you here… alone,” he managed to reply, she grinning broadly at the word he emphasized. “Well… I’m not alone right now… am I?” she asked, knowing this time to keep her squeal of excitement down as Arlan couldn’t stop himself, pushing forward to kiss her. Unlike the Viking, the slave wasn’t so hesitant to move things along, and it wasn’t long before their clothes were tossed aside, soon moaning and finally, finally, satisfying Arlan’s heat.
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Saga
Feb 26, 2019 23:42:05 GMT
Post by Kelathi on Feb 26, 2019 23:42:05 GMT
Fell awoke… Begrudgingly. The sunlight was filtering through the gaps in the wooden planks that made the building, doing little to relieve the gloom but their presence enough to cause him to stir. Lifting his head from the cushion of his arms, he was first aware that he was sitting, slouched at a table. He looked around blearily, his memory of the evening coming back, but slowly. Leaning up, he could see Halvar was stretched out on the bench on the other side of the table, an arm thrown over his face as if in an attempt to block out the dim light, and he found himself wondering how the man had managed to stay put on such a narrow, makeshift ‘bed’. As he scanned the room, he saw the telltale signs of the carnage they had ensued on the place the night before, the empty drinking horns upended here and there, empty jugs of wine and small, glistening puddles of it on the floor. Then his eyes finally fell on the crumpled heap that was Baldur, and he couldn’t help the chuckle on his lips, even as he frowned immediately after, the action causing a lance of pain to split across his skull. The warrior had tried to crawl back to his bed, but had fallen just short, face down, with one arm still stretching out longingly towards the furs. A journey foiled by a drunken stupor. By his hand was the bow… Ah yes, the bow they had been using. A memory flitted to the forefront of Fell’s mind, a fuzzy image of the men laughing, Halver stood holding the apple on his head, cheeks flushed from the wine and swaying giddily, his mouth forming a wide grin. That had been quite a few drinks in. Still, he could see the apple on the wall besides the doorway, impaled and pinned to the door by an arrow.
Sighing, then groaning, Fell ran a hand over his face, yawning as he did so. The action seemed to rouse Halver, as his arm moved, dropping besides him, his fingers brushing the floor. He leaned up a little, spotted Fell, and groaned in answer before dropping back down again. “By Thor, my head feels like somebody took an axe to it.” He complained. Fell merely nodded, even though his companion could not see it. Slowly, he stood up, and the room seemed to spin in response. Drinking was a common occurrence with the Vikings, and had been a part of their lives, as it had been any other Vikings’, since they were young. To be reacting like this, they must have had quite a few…
“Baldur,” Fell spoke, stumbling over to the limp form, and kicking the man’s boot. “Get up. We need something for our heads.” At first, a Baldur didn’t respond. Then, begrudgingly in response to being disturbed, his reaching hand moved, and with a grunt, he pointed towards the corner of the room. Following the pointing finger, Fell found what was needed, a small parcel made from leaves and twine. Unwrapping it, he pinched a generous amount of the fluffy, ground substance, placing it in his mouth and making a face. It was chewy and bitter tasting, and not quite as strong as Dag’s mushrooms, but it would ease their headaches.
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Saga
Feb 27, 2019 23:08:19 GMT
Post by Red Irish Dragon on Feb 27, 2019 23:08:19 GMT
As the morning light finally filtered through enough to wake him, Arlan rolled over, thought over the last few events of the night before with a bit of a wistful smile… that faded as soon as he recalled what had happened a little bit earlier than that.
Praise the gods he hadn’t gone any further with Fellbjorn… otherwise, he’d never be able to face him again.
Lying in his bed, he pondered over the previous few days events, trying to work out exactly how he’d gone from fighting for his and Ruald’s life against a barbarian… to push in for a defiant little kiss that the other had continued. That part probably surprised him more than anything. He wasn't having an easy time explaining his own behavior, but with the blood loss, head injury, poisonous mushrooms… or maybe not, given that his head wasn’t aching so much from the injury as it was wishing for a hangover to excuse his behavior... But that was his behavior… his actions and responses to the situation. Enough chaos to drive any sane man mad, and how sane could one be as a slave? But… the Viking had been the one who came in on the raid, captured Arlan, cared enough for his property to keep him alive… and had little excuse to explain returning the kiss.
Runa hadn’t been so difficult to explain; a fellow slave, and with Arlan’s stirred, frustrated passion, had finally worn himself out and slept off the rest of the effects of the damned plant he was made to eat. The ease at which she had fallen into his bed, and promptly left once they were done, was simple enough to have been a blessing. How long had it been? Certainly for that much, a few years. Slaves had little free time when monks were frequently working in the same spaces. It had been a good night… even if it started out with something that Arlan was very, very conflicted about.
Annoyed that the so-called medicine seemed to have worked, leaving his forehead only sore to the touch, even soothing the usual dull ache in his leg that had been exaggerated by a bad night’s rest and blood loss, Arlan stood and dressed, quickly in case Fellbjorn happened to see him… and given he had returned that damn kiss…
Stop bloody haunting me, he inwardly cursed, biting his lip as if to erase the memory. As his tunic went on, his eye caught something on the floor, glinting in the light. Almost curious, he quietly walked over, picking up the same dagger he had nearly stabbed Fell with. It had been forgotten in the scuffle, evidently, not that there weren’t plenty of replacements for it against the wall. In a move that seemed out of character for a former warrior, he didn’t try to hide it on his person or even in his bed. If he was to show his obedience, he had to act the part even without eyes on him. And his long-term plan for escape relied heavily on his seeming obedience. So with dagger in hand, he walked back to the wall, sliding the dagger back into its sheath. If the Viking ever went to look for it, its restoration would undoubtedly surprise him.
Besides… if Arlan was to be dealing with a master who viewed him in… certain lights… and who seemed inclined to forgive certain “mistakes”… he might as well play his fool of a master and make the best of it.
It was about this time that he finally realized his silent steps were not needed, seeing the other bed empty. This puzzled him, thinking about Runa’s exit… she had looked, hadn’t she? She wasn’t exactly silent in her escape, and it had been when they were done rather than when someone else commanded her to leave. Had the Viking never returned that night? With a deep inward groan, realizing his advantage with the Viking was very much going to be a double-edged sword, he walked out of the house, closing the door behind him. With another steadying breath, he begrudgingly started to walk, wondering where on earth he was supposed to find his master.
What unnerved him about walking through the town was the simple fact that he garnered so much attention. He had hoped that it was Fellbjorn and Halvar that had earned so many stares the day before, but apparently, he was the one to garner such attention. A few young girls giggling and playing with their hair gave him the idea to look, discovering that if any hair seemed red in the village, it was never as vivid as his own was. Little wonder, then, that that had been the distinguishing marker when the slaves were being picked over…
Too uncomfortable to try and approach any freed person, Arlan looked for people who clearly didn’t wear anything on their wrists, remembering the emphasis of the woman’s gaze the day before. A few brief questions about looking for Fellbjorn, and he got directions vaguely pointing towards another part of the village. Later on, he got directions that narrowed his search again, but apparently, the Viking hadn’t made it very public where he was moving on to.
After an hour’s walk at his leisurely pace, however, Arlan discovered something that derailed his quest to find the Viking. He smelled it first, eyes widening a little at the familiar scent of manure, quickly following it around the same blacksmith he had seen the day before. He could hear the horses before he saw them, neighing at one another and happily grazing in their generous paddock, some with plaits in their manes and tails, some scarred from use in battle. A few children were also at the railings, trying to reach through to pet the horses as they came close, largely ignoring the slave as he approached, putting his forearms on the fence to ground himself.
If Fellbjorn had waited this long for his slave to come get him, he could wait a bit more.
A slave entering a paddock of horses, without approval from a master, was a foolish idea. Arlan’s draw wasn’t even one to hide, but gratitude to still see such majestic beasts during his time there. If he got lucky as he did back at the monastery, perhaps he’d even be allowed to help tend to them… he doubted he’d ever be allowed to ride given how much of a fight he had put up from the start.
Even standing still against the fence, with children coaxing the animals over as much as they could, Arlan drew attention from a few of the animals, who sniffed at his hands and face, but shied almost as soon as another person moved behind him, notably the children who’d try to rush the fence as soon as they realized a horse had approached. Unsurprisingly, the children looked disappointed every time, earning a little sympathy from the Celt. Looking at some of the markings on the horses, he grew a bit curious, finally speaking.
“Trobhad,” he called out, earning several perked ears, proving him right. Some wore the branding of Celtic breeding, which likely meant at least familiarity with the commands. “Thig dhòmhsa,” he added with a growing smile, both at the children’s wide eyes of surprise… and the fact that three of the horses did as bade, moving over to the fence with ears flicked forward, whickering and sniffing at Arlan and the children at the fence.
(*Come **Come to me)
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Saga
Mar 2, 2019 20:23:47 GMT
Post by Kelathi on Mar 2, 2019 20:23:47 GMT
It had been a team effort to hoist Baldur onto his bed. The warrior secured, they propped him up and gave him the medicine. The warrior had looked comical as he hunched over the open pouch protectively, holding the food carefully in his great hands, like he was cradling a tiny bird, and chewing thoughtfully. When he was done, the warrior had collapsed, passing out before his head hit the furs. A few hours later, Fell and Halver had made their leave.
The sun was too bright, only stoking the fires of Fell’s headache. It was a dull ache behind his eyes as opposed to the lancing pain it had been, but it was still irritating enough to put a frown on the Viking’s face. At any other time, Halver would have laughed at the man’s grim expression and poked some fun, but today, his tongue was stilled, as he was feeling pretty much the same way.
The two made their way through the settlement at a notably slower pace than was usual, squinting in the sunlight. Halver had perked up enough to impart an old story on the warrior, and both were thankful for the distraction from the pain in their heads. They split as they reached the blacksmith’s, Halver turning off towards his home, or at least, the home in which his wife and child lived, the traveller having been so many places that a number of places could be considered his home. Fell, since the successful raid, had an unspoken period of grace from work, so he had no responsibilities for the day. As such, he decided to visit Magnhild, a troublesome mare that was a treasure from a previous raid, one of which he had yet not been able to ride due to her stubborn unwillingness to be tamed.
As he approached the stables, he was aware first of the smell of manure, which, unlike Arlan, didn’t evoke fond memories. In fact, as his stomach began to churn, he had begun to question if this was a good idea, after all. As he spotted his slave, however, his spirits lifted somewhat, although he did not waste time on wondering why. A few of the horses had approached the red-head, sniffing curiously at his face and hands, but noticeably shying away from the reaching hands of the children begging desperately for their affections. An idea sparked in Fell’s head then, but for the moment, he didn’t speak, the slave having yet to notice his approach, even as he drew up a few feet away, resting his forearms on the fence as Arlan had. A child noticed the movement, glancing towards his direction, and pausing upon seeing the warrior. Staring in awe, he had grabbed a girl, presumably his sister if their matching hair was any indication, and both had exchanged excitable whispers. Fell was oblivious to this interaction, and even as all the children suddenly scarpered, he was still unaware that it had been his presence that had intimidated them.
“You have a way with horses, marcach.” He spoke smoothly, his pale gaze on the horses rather than Arlan. “But, I wonder what Magnhild would think of you?” He mused aloud, nodding his head towards the mare at the back of the paddock, standing alone and eyeing the two suspiciously.
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Saga
Mar 2, 2019 21:29:58 GMT
Post by Red Irish Dragon on Mar 2, 2019 21:29:58 GMT
Arlan had closed his eyes to some of the more curious sniffing, a genuine smile across his face as the lip tickled his nose as the horse investigated, squinting his eyes a little as the whiskers tickled his skin. It was for this reason he didn’t notice the children leaving, or the Viking approaching for that matter, offering the rare chance the man would see of an honest expression on his face. Other than anger or wariness, at least.
At hearing Fell’s voice, he visibly jumped, the smile gone and immediately replaced with an uncertain look, taking a few steps back along the fence as he turned, still looking as if waiting to be punished for… something. Fell’s almost gentle management of his defiant slave was concerning. For several reasons…
As his heart slowed from the race the Viking’s unexpected presence caused, he mused over the man’s words, looking over at the horse indicated. A beautiful mare, with a bright silver coat that turned smoky and into ebony black as it extended towards the legs and head, the black mane and tail spotted here and there with plaits that were now overgrown and wild. A mare he had seen for a moment, but given proper study… a mare worthy of Epona. But what had he called her? Magnhild? Odd name… Arlan wasn’t sure what the name could mean, but was too busy eyeing Fell at the suggestion that was left hanging in the air. She hadn’t come over at his earlier call, but had pricked her ears. To see what she thought… he’d have to go into the paddock.
With a look of wary distrust that was being overridden by the opportunity, Arlan took the chance and hopped over the fence. His initial jump had spooked the horses far away enough that his hop over didn’t disturb them too much, instead sniffing at him as he walked past, stroking a few warmly on the neck as he did. Magnhild simply watched him approach at first, ears flicked forward until she deemed he was close enough, swivelling back and lowering her head, snorting. Arlan paused at this, but not out of fear of her pawing at the ground, his posture open and relaxed. Of course, he didn’t know what reputation she had.
“Easy, girl…” he began softly, keeping his hands out to the side and not reaching for her. This long pause seemed to calm her, ears flicking forward again as he kept talking, gentle and coaxing, with words that were distinct from the Viking language. Words that were evidently familiar to her, as she finally responded to a repeat of his command to come, stepping forward tentatively, ready to shy away. Finally, she was close enough to sniff at his open hands, chest and finally face, ears flicking forward again as she continued to grow calmer. “That’s it,” Arlan said with a smile, slowly reaching one hand up to stroke her cheek, rather than aim for somewhere she couldn’t see as clearly. “You’re of my blood, aren’t you?” His hand touched her, and she barely flinched, almost as if perplexed at his words. His hand moved down to stroke her neck, a smooth line that didn’t part from her mud-flecked fur, earning, at last, a soft whicker.
“My Epona,” he added as he moved down her side, again using his hands to help show her where he was at all times, finally getting to her haunches where he could see the brand that marred her coat. A Celtic symbol… while he inwardly cursed at seeing the mark, it simply confirmed what he could sense with her. Curiously, the mare had twisted her head to watch him, sniffing at his back before he turned to face her again, still gently stroking rather than patting her. A distinction he knew could mean a great difference. His soft touch and his familiar words had settled her considerably, no longer ready to shy from him even as she turned to face him better, sniffing and warmly accepting his hand rubbing her nose as a reward for her behavior. “Come on,” Arlan said, reaching up to stroke her throat as he began to walk back towards the fence where he had been standing, she taking a moment before her stride fell in line with his, walking alongside just as properly as if he had put a lead on her. His hand, having been just under her cheek to help encourage her, was down by his side by the time he returned to the fence, the other horses a little put off by the wild mare’s approach and moving aside. Arlan’s focus had been on the mare as they walked, with soft words of encouragement and praise, but as they came to the fence his gaze returned to Fell, growing a little colder.
“She seems to approve,” he finally said, one eyebrow raised in a near defiant look at the Viking, although he still didn’t have a full understanding of what he had managed to do at that moment.
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Saga
Mar 3, 2019 23:31:56 GMT
Post by Kelathi on Mar 3, 2019 23:31:56 GMT
As Arlan made a move to climb the fence, Fell had looked alarmed, but by the time the slave’s feet hit the ground on the other side, he had decided not to speak, but rather take a theoretical step back and see what the man would do. He had not actually meant for Arlan to go inside the paddock to approach the mare, but if the slave had been a tamer of horses before, he would know when to back away from her. Which, he reasoned, would probably be pretty soon.
He had come across Magnhild after raiding an opposing Viking village. She had been tied up in the stables, and he had remembered wondering why she had not been used during the fight. It had soon become clear as it had taken both Fell and Baldur to lead her away home, and she had fought every step of the way.
Needless to say, Fell had fallen in love with her immediately.
Turid had said it was typical of her brother to pick the only horse in the entire village that could not be ridden. She had a point, of course, but Fell had marvelled at the magnificent beast’s will to not be overpowered, and after many failed attempts at riding her, had had to become content with admiring her from afar. Now, she would be calm enough to let Fell lead her to graze, but that was it. Any loving pat would be accompanied by an angry whicker and the champing of hooves, and any, Odin forbid, attempts to ride her would result in the rider’s swift return to the Earth. Baldur had stated more than once that Fell would be better off making horse-meat out of her.
Fell watched closely as the slave approached the mare, in pretty much the same way many had before him… except with different words. He was too far away to hear what was being uttered, but the mare seemed to respond almost immediately. A tentative sniff from the beast, and Arlan had felt encouraged enough to pet her. Miraculously, Magnhild hadn’t seemed to mind, and now they were both walking towards him, as if they were old friends.
At Arlan’s words, Fell had smiled. A strange smile, as if he were in on some joke Arlan had yet to know. “It seems she does.” He answered casually, despite his surprise at the ease of which Arlan had gained the mare’s trust, as if by some kind of sorcery. Despite the mare’s apparent relaxed demeanour, Fell did not reach out to her, sure that whatever spell she was under, would be broken the moment he tried to interfere. “She is called Magnhild because she is mighty, and has seen battle. She is fiercely loyal to her former owner, the one before myself. Or... so I thought, until now.” He added. Before he could say more, someone was calling towards them. “By Odin’s great, grizzled beard! You tamed the beast, then, Fell?” This unmistakeable rumbling belonged to Baldur, clearly over the worst of his hangover, approaching the two with long, confident strides. Fell half-turned to consider his friend, whom was looking at the mare with an appraising look. As the bold warrior began to mount the fence, Fell exchanged a look with Arlan, looking amused rather than concerned, remaining once again passive to let the events play out.
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Saga
Mar 4, 2019 0:46:27 GMT
Post by Red Irish Dragon on Mar 4, 2019 0:46:27 GMT
Arlan’s expression faltered a little at Fell’s smile, growing suspicious - far more suspicious than he had been of approaching the mare. She’d responded well to his words, from what must have been their shared homeland, but she was still wild. The way the other horses had moved away… it was a sense of recognition that had gotten him so close so quickly, he knew, but now he was beginning to see there was more to this mare’s story than what he had assumed. Fell’s explanation only confirmed this, Arlan looking over with another gentle stroke against her fur… until Fell’s last few words. This earned a raised eyebrow from Arlan, plain confusion clear on his face, about to ask when Baldur’s voice rang out.
Recognizing the larger man made Arlan shift a step back, ironically into probably the more dangerous of the three he was surrounded by. As Baldur approached the mare, she flicked her ears back and snorted, but this reaction was ignored for now. Arlan looked over at Fell as he perched on the fence, his confusion growing more and more as he backed away from Epona, or… Mag… hilt?
Baldur managed to swing his leg over the mare’s back and start to settle before she bucked, neatly tossing him flat on his back, but she wasn’t finished there. She was rearing and bucking, her hooves coming dangerously close to striking the Viking. The action had been swift and instinctive, rather than intended to save an enemy… but Arlan pushed back to Epona’s side, jumping onto her back.
She instantly reared again, almost vertical before she leapt and began to race in a small, sharp circle, mixing the run with bucks and kicks, trying everything she could do to throw her rider… but Arlan stayed on, one hand holding onto her mane, the other held out to maintain his balance. The only time his free hand connected with the horse was to keep her from hitting Baldur, waving at her face to make her shy away or grabbing higher up on her mane to force her head to one side and so redirect her. Once it became clear she wanted only to run to the other side of the paddock, and not try to trample either of the Vikings, he swung one leg over and hopped off before she could buck him off, but Arlan’s expression had remained the same since jumping onto her back. An expression that might make the two Vikings think him insane, given how she had responded to his own attempt to ride her.
Panting, heart racing, wide-eyed… and grinning from ear to ear.
Arlan knew he’d have to mend some of his new relationship with her after the sudden ride, given how strongly she had reacted, but it had been a while since he last dealt with such a horse. As he looked back towards the Vikings, however, his smile faded, watching Fell in particular, unsure how he’d react. Would they assume he was trying to hurt Baldur, or would they have recognized his attempt to help?
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Saga
Mar 5, 2019 21:58:42 GMT
Post by Kelathi on Mar 5, 2019 21:58:42 GMT
Upon Baldur’s entry into the paddock, Fell had casually climbed up onto the fence himself, ready to leap in, if needed. A grin split across his face as Baldur was bucked off, the surprise on the man’s face comical as he landed heavily onto his arse, but it was a smile that soon disappeared when the mare didn’t immediately race away as expected, but instead began to stomp heavily, hooves dangerously close to the fallen man’s head. Fell had leapt down at the same time Arlan had jumped up onto the mare, yanking the man to the side as a pair of hooves beat the ground where Baldur had been only a moment before, then the horse was away, wildly trying to buck off the slave. Arlan, had somehow managed to keep himself from being thrown, moving with ease to the rhythm of the wild mare, leaving the two Vikings watching in awe, both momentarily stunned into immovability. By the time Arlan had returned, all looks of alarm had completely dissipated, leaving instead, two Vikings laughing so hard that Baldur was practically rolling on the ground, and Fell was bent over and clutching his stomach.
“By… Odin…” Fell began, through gasps, trying to control his laughter as he offered his hand to his fallen comrade, who took it gratefully as he was hoisted up. “I think our Sleipnir-tamer here deserves a drink!” At that, Baldur approached Arlan, laughter quietened but grin still wide, and slapped him on the back, perhaps a little harder than intended. “Agreed!” he roared. There was a pause as the two warriors exchanged glances... then the roaring laughter started up again, like two children playing off each other's mirth.
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