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Post by Red Irish Dragon on Apr 5, 2019 0:55:32 GMT
His smile stilled like ice as she accepted his invitation - obviously, that wasn’t what he wanted to hear. But he still wasn’t going to back down. Picking up his mug, he downed it with a few hard swallows, licking his lips as he set it down again, standing a moment later. The ease of which he did so was pointed, but curiously he kept the hood raised, keeping his sour expression cloaked in shadow.
“Then let me take you to it,” he grumbled, evidently not finished drinking but resigned to this little fight between them, as if the sacrifice of not drinking any more was worth not losing to her.
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Post by Kelathi on Apr 6, 2019 19:36:26 GMT
As the stranger stood up, resigned to lead the way despite his obvious contempt, her blue eyes widened. She looked surprised, clearly having expected him to back down by now. Then, slowly… the corners of her lips tilted upwards, and suddenly it was her turn to laugh, which was probably about as welcome to him as his mirth had been to her. She didn’t quite throw her head back, or fold in half as he had, but she did pull herself back from the table, relaxing her form and again wrapping her hand around her drinking horn. “I meant what I said. I’d sooner welcome Valhalla than share your bed. I am, however, impressed by how you managed to trip yourself up with your stubbornness!” she announced mockingly, eyes flashing with her perceived victory, and clearly, in no rush to go anywhere.
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Post by Red Irish Dragon on Apr 6, 2019 19:45:15 GMT
Her unexpected smile made him pause again, turning to face her with an eyebrow raised. Then she was laughing, showing her hand all too easily as she repeated that she’d rather die than go to bed with him, still seeming to think he’d want her to.
His expression remained neutral, a little confused at first, but for once not instantly darkening, sneering or grimacing. Instead of keeping his distance, he placed one hand on the table’s surface, leaning over her as she had settled back into her chair, a slow smile slipping onto his lips as he did. It wasn’t wolfish, or menacing, but amused, as if sharing a private joke with her.
“Cowards don’t go to Valhalla.”
As he pulled back, his smile remained as unexpectedly calm as it had started, turning to leave. As his eyes drifted to the bar, he pondered on his options. He could always order wine up to his room… perhaps less interesting, but at least he’d be alone.
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Post by Kelathi on Apr 6, 2019 20:22:42 GMT
As he leaned in, she was confident that there was nothing he could say to wipe the mocking smile from her face.
She was wrong.
His words hit hard, perhaps harder than expected. The stranger had unknowingly tapped into feelings she’d been secretly harbouring. She had escaped her home with barely a scratch, the stab wound merely a small parting gift and practically welcomed compared to what it could have been. Her reasoning, the way she rationalised her flight, was that she had escaped with her life so that she could exact her revenge for what had been done. But even so, she felt a coward for leaving, and it was a mind-set that had plagued her every step of the way through the blizzard, the weight of her guilt like leaden weights strapped to her ankles. Even though the stranger could not possibly know any of this, his words struck her as if they had been a physical blow. The smile quickly melted from her face… to be replaced with a dark look of fury. Unfortunately for the stranger, this wasn’t heeded, especially as he had the audacity to turn away.
She was on her feet quickly, and as was typical of her character, she acted before she stopped to think things through. Grabbing his shoulder, she spun him round… and then her fist collided with his jaw, sending him back a pace and flooring him. Clearly, even in her weakened state she was still able to deliver a powerful punch. A few people at the table nearest looked up from their drinks in surprise, but then raised a few jeers in their direction, hoping perhaps that a second fight, with more gumption, had started. As it was, they were to be disappointed, because the perpetrator of the strike had already grabbed her furs, swung them on, and stormed outside. She'd rather spend her time in the blizzard outside than another minute with this insufferable man! Besides, she was afraid that if she didn't leave now, she'd find herself starting a bar-fight, which was completely at odds to her plan of conserving her strength...
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Post by Red Irish Dragon on Apr 6, 2019 21:23:25 GMT
Perhaps he shouldn’t have taken so long to walk away.
He felt her hand on his shoulder, turning him round to face her. Soren’s eyes moved heavenward before coming down to meet her gaze, which… actually that had probably been the problem. By the time he saw her furious gaze, her fist was meeting his jaw.
The next thing he knew, he was nearly kissing the floor, sprawled out from her utterly unexpectedly potent hook.
It took him a few moments to recover from his shock of not only being flattened but by who, he pushed himself up quickly, the back of one hand to his jaw where the blow still stung as he watched the woman storm out. His eyes narrowed at her back, just barely keeping a snarl under control. He’d offered to help her… that bloody stupid cow! He’d offered to share his BED with her!
Yes, it was in an attempt to mock her, but still.
Getting his angered breath under control, his gaze finally slid to the others of the tavern, many of whom were watching him with interest. While it had primarily started as hopeful looks for another entertaining bar fight, many lingered at seeing the unusual vivid green to his eyes, even if some fell at the glare he shot at them before pulling his hood up again, only staying by the bar long enough to order a few bottles of mead up to his room before storming up the stairs.
If she had helped get him the unwanted attention of a hunter… well, if she froze to death, it would serve her right.
---
Damn cow.
His jaw was aching almost as much as his head was when he finally stirred, forming a subtle purple flush where her fist had landed. It also reinforced how much he hated humans, and loathed the winter storms that drove him towards their taverns and warmth. The alcohol was the only plus out of the whole situation, and even it had its drawbacks.
Like now.
At least the storm has abated during the night, and he could easily leave the town and handle the next night without being harassed by humans as he had the night before. Which… granted, was quite some time ago, given that it was already nearly midday when he finally rose, stretching slowly and stumbling about the room with narrowed eyes against the glaring light that tried to peak through the curtained window.
Soren made his way downstairs slowly, knowing that a calm pace and easy step worked better to disguise one who wanted to maintain their animosity. That, and steps were hard with a hangover. Having already paid his debts, he was able to leave without saying a word to anyone, but even as he left he could hear whispers from those he had passed, making him tense. Which made his head ache more, which only further darkened his mood. It was only because of the hangover he couldn’t hear what exactly had been said, but he knew it didn’t take much to pull out the eager hunter out of any human if they thought they could get glory or gold for it.
As a traveler, and one unaccustomed to towns as it was, Soren quickly found himself getting lost in the town. He never acted like it, however, as simply walking steadily seemed to help his head more than anything else, and looking about would only risk more daggers in his skull. He only stopped to get food at one point, eating enough for two before his hunger was sated.
Finally, he decided to pick a scent and follow it, so as twilight began to hint at the edges of the sky, the scent was leading him back towards the wilds and the mountains that lay beyond Kattegat. It seemed that some god was mocking him, however, as when his eyes finally laid upon the wilderness beyond the port limits, he also caught scent of something familiar… something that made him groan inwardly while also grow tense for the inevitable fight. In a pitiful attempt to hide his presence, he drew the hood lower over his head, trying to hide the black hair and green eyes that the man used to identify him with. A servant of Odin, he called himself, convinced any descendent of Fenrir would be all too willing to release their powerful ancestor in order to kill the All-Father and so help spark Ragnarok.
Soren had never once cared for his lineage, and more often than not found it a burden among these troublesome, Odin-worshiping humans.
That didn’t stop this pathetic excuse of a hunter from trying to track him down, one of the main reasons that Soren had wandered this far from his usual territory. He didn’t even know if there were others like him anymore. Probably all hunted down by these servants of Odin. Of course, no one else saw the man as pathetic, even if his hunting abilities were abysmal. Broad shouldered, tall and crowned with golden hair and bright blue eyes, Hagen looked every inch the Viking hero, devoted and relentless. Ravens decorated his armor, in not so subtle tribute to Odin’s own birds.
All in all, he was a wide-eyed, handsome would-be hero after one of the dangerous, evil spawn of Fenrir.
He couldn’t have created himself to be more loathsome to Soren if he tried.
Of course, someone pointed out the cloaked figure as being the strange emerald-eyed man from the tavern. Of course, Hagen blustered his way over to him, chest puffed out and ready to face down the demon. Even his scent was enough to make Soren recoil, sweaty and self righteous. It was hard not to notice as he approached, even as he kept walking away, clearly unable to see the man. So he let the hero come closer, and closer, an arm reaching out for his shoulder…
Soren’s arm struck out suddenly, neatly knocking Hagen’s to the side, to the man’s obvious shock as he didn’t even recover. Not that he had time to, as Soren’s eyes flashed at him once they connected with the man. That flash sent the man flying into the other side of the street, neatly flattening several of his fellows. Unfortunately, he had already gotten others ready to take on Fenrir, and they were all blocking his escape to the mountains. Hagen’s sudden flight was enough to make them all pause, giving Soren the time he needed to run, grimacing as it didn’t help his head at all.
In spite of the lingering effects of the hangover, Soren startled many as he was gone as suddenly as he was passing humans, only to hear the rallying cry repeated behind him, explaining all. Jumping over carts, sliding between a horse’s legs, or having to use his ability to shove some idiotic brave soul aside, never once having to change his pace to avoid tripping over someone he’d knocked over with a flash of his eyes.
Soren’s quest was simply to find a way away from those beginning to follow, knowing that the longer it took him to come up with a plan, the less likely one was to succeed. One scent helped give him an idea, so he took it, following the scent of salt towards the sea, the port… the boats. Even if he wasn’t sure what he would do once there, he could at least float out to sea a ways, perhaps even lose Hagen, who somehow managed to track him across the land time and time again.
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Post by Kelathi on Apr 7, 2019 22:47:33 GMT
As she left the bar, she was furious with herself. She had allowed the stranger to get a rise out of her, and although there was no denying that hitting him had felt good, it had been foolish. For whatever reason, the Gods had seen fit to spare her up to this point, to put flight in her step and shelter over her head when she needed it most. And she had risked all that in favour of a meaningless scrap. It was not that she thought the brawl would be fatal, for she had confidence in her own abilities, even if the fight were to escalate and introduce more scrappers. But it would have been a waste of energy, which was precious considering she was steadily weakening with every moment that she passed by untreated. Upon exiting the tavern, she had drawn her hood sharply over her head against the snow and adopted a wide stride and a quick pace, intending to put distance between herself and the unbearable presence of the sharp-tongued stranger, as well as walk off her anger. Fortunately, Kattegat had only grown since her childhood, so by the time she slowed she had not had to double back on herself once, successfully pacing away the brunt of her fury and simultaneously losing herself in the winding streets.
She gradually slowed and then came to a stop in a quiet, dark street. Although no fire cast a light nearby, here, her eyes had adjusted enough to the gloom to read the shapes of houses and the curve of the snow-laden street. Breathing hard with exertion, she took refuge beneath an overhang of a nearby house, leaning her back up against the fence that bordered an empty pigsty, the pigs either absent because the owners were sheltering them inside, or they had already served as sustenance to line a person’s belly. She merely stood, staring into space, waiting for her breath to even out and her heart to calm. The position gave her no protection from the cold but the wind seemed to have abated a little by now, the snow falling vertically rather than lashing in sideways. Not for the first time, she was thankful for the cloak of heavy furs resting on her shoulders, and she buried her face into them at the thought, breathing in the scent and feeling a sudden pang of loss in her heart, sharper even than the sword that had cleaved her side. The scent of her husband was stark and clear, as if he were enveloping her instead, and for a strange lurid moment she thought she could feel his presence. Then the moment was gone, chased away by the wind, and leaving her praying for morning to come swiftly.
***
She had managed to catch scraps of sleep in the night, dozing in and out even as she stood on her feet. As morning came she became aware of the city gradually awakening, and with a sigh, her breath coming out in clouds, she pushed herself away from the post. Her entire body ached, but she was pleased to see that it had stopped snowing, although a low cover of mist was now slinking around the houses. The sky was a thick, impenetrable blanket of white, so bright it made the eye strain to look at it, and there was a low mist curling around the houses, promising to thicken later. As she moved, she became aware of a sudden wetness at her side. For a moment she feared that her cloak was damaged and not as impenetrable against the onslaught of snow as it had served to be so far, but upon shifting it to see, she saw it was not water that made her side slick but blood. With an uttered curse, she let the furs swing back, hiding it from view.
***
By midday, she had managed to find a healer, whom had treated her wound and rebound it with bandages rather than strips of rags. The healer had also given her strict instructions to rest to avoid reopening the wound, and to keep it clean. She had also sought out a weapon, but even after extensive haggling, it had become clear that she was short of coin for a sword, so she had settled for a hatchet instead, which was now tucked into her belt at her side. This left her with a little money for food, so she packed her rucksack up and readied herself for the journey ahead. As Kattegat rested in a valley, it would all be uphill through the forest, although she would be heading in the opposite direction from which she had come. Once well and truly cleared of the settlement, and if the weather held up, she could rest and try to get the blood out of her tunic…
As these thoughts were running round her mind, she had a peculiar feeling as if she were being watched. She happened to glance up as she walked, meeting the eyes of a man who didn’t look away, holding her gaze firmly instead. She didn’t recognise him, but something in the way he stared kept her on guard.
***
The man was crashing into a stall moments later, the force of the impact sending items skittering in all directions. It was enough to cause nearby stall holders to quickly scarper, grabbing valuables before racing away a few paces to stand and watch. Her attackers were not well organised, but they were armed with weapons, conviction and a purpose. Whipping out her hatchet had caused them some reason for pause; either not expecting her to be armed, or all too aware of what she could do now that she was.
A moment later, the first man came from the side, a sloppy strike that was easily batted away, the woman’s strength clearly illustrated despite her unimpressive stature, and her hits well placed. Spinning round to narrowly miss the arc of a sword at her back, she hoisted up a shield from a nearby stall, raising it just as an axe came souring towards her from the right, iron colliding with wood, the feeling reverberating up her arm. She shoved back hard, forcing the man back a few paces, before pulling away a breath, bringing the shield in close, then thrusting it upwards towards his chin. It would have been a fatal blow had it connected, but he had managed to throw himself back, opting to lose his footing rather than his life, the choice sending him sprawling into the muddied snow. But before she could bear down on him a strike came from her left. The axe sliced through the air, one, two and three, each coming in sideways, the sharpened metal whistling through the air and each one missing as she ducked and dodged, and as he struck the third time he left himself open. She did not hesitate; slashing him across the chest, blood spurting across a nearby stall. Her next actions were swift and merciless, working now more on the offence than the defence, baring down on the next man with strikes in quick succession, his sword meeting every one… until it didn’t, and her hatchet sliced across his neck. As he fell, she whipped the hatchet into her waistband, grabbing the man's discarded sword, and bringing it up just in time to meet another strike. After pushing them away, she saw an opening and she took it, racing down the street. The snow had turned to a darkened slush by now, rocks peeking up and giving her traction. To choose to run was a tactical decision, she was doing well but she was outnumbered, and she wasn’t ready to fight. If she had any hope of keeping her head she needed to evade her attackers until a time when she was prepared, and now was not that time.
Now was the time to escape.
***
The boats. It was not the fastest way out of Kattegat but it was the direction her pursuers were pushing her. Alternatively, she could run straight past and hope that she not only passed a stables but was able to steal a horse, or it would be an uphill climb out of the valley on foot. She made her choice, instead of gambling on a horse, she chose the harbour. She raced down one of the many small walkways that led out to the sea that was laden with docked boats, leaping over various fishing paraphernalia and weaving between sailors as she did so. At the sound of a commotion behind her, she did not stop, assuming it was her own pursuers, not having a reason to believe otherwise. Her feet thundering on the wooden planks, she suddenly leapt, landing on a small fishing boat as it was pulling out of the port towards the fog, which had grown into an impenetrable wall hanging over the sea. The man climbed to his feet quickly in alarm, but with one look at the shield-maiden, the curses died in his throat. Dropping the shield and sword, she grabbed the man by the scruff of his tunic, and swung him over the side of the boat, his ass colliding with the wooden planks of the walkway. Dropping down, she began to row, racing against time as she looked up to find her pursuers racing towards the harbour... and someone else, running down the same walkway she had just raced down herself and making a beeline for her boat.
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Post by Red Irish Dragon on Apr 8, 2019 2:50:17 GMT
Soren cursed as one man nearly grabbed his arm, too busy keeping his focus on his goal to look back and push the fool away as he had been. As he raced down the walkway, the man was hot on his heels, reaching out for even his cloak to stop him, keeping Soren distracted as he aimed for the boat that was leaving the dock. It was manned by one person, he had seen, and was already moving. That was good enough for him.
Ironically, the second man who joined them on the walkway wasn’t actually after Soren, but that mattered little. The one was nearly on him even as he leapt for the boat, only to be followed and flattened. These followers of Odin were irritatingly determined. The man already had a dagger out as he crashed into Soren’s back, expecting a quick and easy kill, but Soren rolled instead, momentarily crushing the man after kicking them both into the side of the boat, which rocked it and stalled the second man’s landing with the unreliable surface. Soren grabbed his attacker by the collar and hauled him out of the boat into the water, intentionally to slow his ability to follow, but turned just as the other man took a swing at him with his axe.
Flattening out in the same place he had crushed the other man, Soren barely missed the blade’s edge, jumping to his feet and grabbing the man’s wrists before he could swing again. The other was stronger, and it only gave Soren a few moments before he would undoubtedly break his grip, but the demigod only needed one of those moments. The man looked surprised as he was suddenly flung several yards from the boat, slamming into the hull of another boat before sinking into the water with his heavy armor and furs. It had looked as if something powerful had pounded into his chest, even though Soren had made no move to strike him there.
Soren looked over the people now beginning to flood the walkway, sneering at Hagen’s frustrated expression as the boat was now too far out to simply jump to. Soren’s eyes flashed a few more times, looking over the boats that the men were trying to board in order to follow their target. Rigging suddenly crashed down, knocking men overboard or even risking the boat tipping over in the chaos. With the small breath of room, Soren turned to his boat mate, beginning to speak with his usual dismissive attitude before taking a good look at the figure.
“Pardon the intrusion, but I am in need of a swift dep-“
His words stuck in his throat as soon as his gaze actually settled on the figure rowing, eyes widening as he stared openly for a few moments, as if stunned at her audacity. Then, of all things, his expression grew resigned in his annoyance, shoulders sagging a little as his one word response explained his every feeling at the moment.
“You.”
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Post by Kelathi on Apr 8, 2019 11:10:53 GMT
The woman was powerless as not one but three men decided to join her on her boat. As she recognized the green-eyed, black-haired individual as the one with the barbed tongue, she was about to object when another individual leapt on after him. Her curse aimed at the first man died in her throat in wake of the second man’s arrival, and she grasped her sword, half-standing. But instead of coming for her, both strangers began to fight, quite literally rocking the boat. She hesitated, but as it was obvious the man was distracted by the green-eyed individual, so she made a quick decision, dropping down, placing the sword next to her and deciding to continue to row to try and put distance between the boat and the walkway quickly.
She wasn’t quick enough to stop another man joining them, but then the first was unceremoniously thrown into the water, and when the second joined, she recognized this man as one of her attackers, but the green-eyed individual made short work of him too. Either that, or Odin had offered a helping hand, for all of a sudden the man was flying through the air, crashing into the hull of a ship besides them. As her eye followed his pathway through the air, she saw the rigging of said ship, and other boats nearby, snapping and unrolling, the ropes taking on the appearance of writhing snakes as they whipped away and untangled themselves from their masts.
Memory of her vision, vivid and stark hit her quite suddenly, the snake circling up the wooden pole; it’s body writhing...
Now far enough away from the walkway, she stood up quickly, facing the man just as he turned towards her. It soon became clear that he had not intentionally meant to join her, his expression of unhappiness matching her own as he finally recognized her.
“Get the hell off of my boat!” She growled warningly, pointing her sword towards him. It was not immediately clear why she thought herself safe from the fate that had befell one of his attackers just a moment before, but her stubbornness was impressive, if misguided. All she knew was that she wanted to put distance between herself and the stranger, and his attempt at commandeering her boat was certainly not welcomed.
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Post by Red Irish Dragon on Apr 8, 2019 14:52:41 GMT
Soren’s expression of annoyance turned mocking as she initially stood, but he wasn’t too proud to take a half pace back at seeing her sword raised. He still sported the ‘gift’ from her punch on his jaw, after all. His expression fell as his hands went up, although his dark glare didn’t shift.
“I thought I told you lying is bad,” he sneered at her, glancing back over his shoulder at the crowd amassing on the dock, trying to get the boats in order so they could follow. The crowd was… unexpectedly large, however, with various shouts of “don’t let her get away!” mingling with “spawn of Fenrir!”
Licking his lips as he worked to calm his breath from the race across the town, Soren turned back to her, eyes still narrowed and dark but at least without a trace of mocking on his face or in his voice. “Well. It looks like we are both in the same boat, literally and figuratively,” he noted, clearly annoyed by the fact but not wanting to abandon the boat. Or, surprisingly, push her out instead, and not just because he wasn’t familiar enough with boats. Hearing someone calling to stop ‘her,’ trying to capture or kill her… that struck a rarely felt chord of actual sympathy.
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Post by Kelathi on Apr 8, 2019 15:15:08 GMT
At his comment, she opened her arms wide, producing a mocking half-bow as if in apology, as she rephrased, “Fine. Get out of the boat,” before straightening and aiming the sword pointedly at him again. But it was clear as he turned back to glance over his shoulder at their pursuers that he had no intention of doing so, and she had to admit, after hearing angered shouts directed at him as much as herself, she couldn’t exactly blame him…
Dammit!
His next words only illustrated what she had been thinking herself, her sword dipping slightly in response as she tried to quickly work out what to do, evidently loathe to drop her sword arm completely. He had no intention of jumping ship now he was here, and neither did she. The answer was to either fight, losing time and probably getting both of them captured, or work together and increase both of their chances of survival. A moment’s silence as she mulled over these options, and then she raised the sword again to put weight into her words, her voice firm and steady and laden with a promise, “If you try anything, I will cleave you in half.” And then, perhaps surprisingly considering her stubborn stance only moments before, she sat down; resting the sword next to her as she again began to row. “Unroll the sail.” The wind had dropped considerably, but it was blowing towards them, and they could use all the help they could get to pick up speed. It was clear as day that she was about as pleased as he was with the situation, but she would tolerate his presence at least until they were out of danger. As long as he made himself useful.
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Post by Red Irish Dragon on Apr 8, 2019 15:34:55 GMT
Her mocking bow only earned an eyebrow raise, as if even he thought that the move was beneath her. It was her remark about his trying anything that earned a look, making a face at the thought. “You’re rather preoccupied with that notion,” he growled under his breath, rolling his eyes as he glanced back at the dock. There were more boats alongside theirs, but at the moment they were all empty; their owners were unable to pass some of the rigging and chaos that had fallen so unexpectedly, so with any luck, they’d be able to escape into the mist and lose their pursuers.
Luck also had meant Hagen had found him again, since the man was genuinely a poor hunter, so Soren wasn’t so fond of the idea of having to rely on something as fickle as luck.
He turned at the woman’s order to deal with the sail, raising an eyebrow at her. For once, it wasn’t a look of mocking, as his eyes moved up to the sail and seemed unsure what exactly he was supposed to do. With an irritated sigh, he quickly studied the ropes around the sail, not wanting to accidentally break the ones needed to keep it up. But with a minute’s study, his eyes flashed, and the two ropes that bound the sail in place suddenly fell, letting the fabric float down freely.
“Done. Next?” he almost huffed, irritated to be dragged into helping with the sailing but realizing that he’d need her and so at least pretending to want to pull his weight. But he was distracted at an unexpected thunk behind him, turning to see an arrow that had embedded itself into the stern, but at an angle to where the wooden walkway had been. Soren’s gaze moved up in time to see Hagen’s look of triumph.
Positioned as he was by the stern, the arrow that struck him carried enough force to pitch him over the side of the boat, but he never felt the water. As close as they were to the other docked boats, the back of his head clunked hard into one edge, blacking out before he even felt the pain from the arrow. The water swirled with red as he sank.
Hagen crowed at the splash, raising his bow like a hero in a saga. “HAH! Drown, you spawn of Fenrir, you devil wolf! DROWN! Your days of evil are at an end!” Those who he had already convinced cheered alongside him, even though the fog was making it more difficult to see the boat he had tried to escape on.
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Post by Kelathi on Apr 8, 2019 16:35:46 GMT
His reply earned a look of exasperation, and she was sure that he was just trying to annoy her, even with their precarious situation. She wasn’t going to answer at first, but she was irritable at his insinuation, or rather, his interpretation of what she had said. “I meant like trying to take the boat for yourself, or…” she halted mid-sentence as the straps holding the sail in place suddenly snapped themselves undone, the fabric rolling down promptly and billowing as the wind decided to take that moment to pick up. Her surprised gaze flickered back to the stranger, who seemed completely un-phased as to what he had just done, even asking her placidly as to what to do next. She was just opening her mouth to ask how the hell he had managed to do that, when the sudden thunk of an arrow drew her attention abruptly away. Then she heard the whistle through the air of the second and saw the stranger jolt backwards as it connected with his chest, the force throwing him swiftly overboard without time to even mutter a protest.
She heard as much as saw his head coming sharply into contact with the hull of a nearby boat, and she knew in that moment that he would drown. Except, he wouldn’t, because despite her resistance to his presence earlier, she threw herself to the side, pitching the boat violently sideways as she plunged her hand into the icy water before he could disappear from sight. Her hand immediately found the fabric of his tunic, and she grasped a fistful of it, wrenching herself back and hauling him bodily up and out of the water to land rather unceremoniously onto the decking. In the background, she could vaguely hear a roar of discontent, probably from the same man that had moments before cheered so victoriously. But this was secondary to the voice screaming in her head, asking why on Midgard she had deigned it wise to save the man she had only moments before been avidly trying to get rid of.
The boat continued to rock from side to side as it fought to right itself, so it was an effort to keep steady, the woman staying on her knees as she shrugged off her furs, reaching for her satchel and pulling out the extra bandages she had bought from the healer. She was quick and efficient, pulling him up and propping his limp form against one of the benches to give her easier access for when she would need to bind his wound. Managing to pull out the arrow without snapping it, she put pressure on the profusely bleeding laceration as she bound it quickly and tightly. Then, breathing hard, she left him as he was and began to row again with vigour. She had no idea how much blood he had lost, or how much water he had swallowed. She had done the best she could do in that moment- it was up to Odin to decide whether to save him now.
***
He was still breathing. Miraculously.
As the woman took a break from rowing, she leant her forearms on the heavy oars as they rested in the outriggers and let her gaze wonder over to the sleeping, injured form of the man lying on the decking before her. The day before, once she could no longer see the harbour of Kattegat, she he had laid him down on the floor of the boat so that he could rest more comfortably, and thrown her furs over him. And there he had stayed, barely moving; the only sign that he was even still alive being the slight rise and fall of his chest. The sun was high in the sky but offered no warmth, the air sharp and chilly, and on top of her other concerns she now had the extra worry that he’d freeze to death. Why she’d care… was not completely clear to her. He had been nothing but an annoyance, and now he was a burden. She shouldn’t have helped him, but now she had, she felt to some extent invested in his well-being… at least to the point where she didn’t feel comfortable pitching him overboard. It didn’t mean, however, that she didn’t occasionally raise her eyes towards the sky and silently question Freyja if this had been her doing, or if her foolish actions were purely on herself alone.
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Post by Red Irish Dragon on Apr 8, 2019 17:19:49 GMT
One moment on the deck of the boat, looking up to see Hagen’s triumphant look… the next, he was sliding his eyes open to peer up at the pale sky, aching. From what? He soon discovered at least one very important part, as he tried to sit up, suddenly struck with the pain in his chest.
Soren was too disorientated and hurting too much to even care that a snarl escaped him, flattening out with his eyes tightly shut and his jaw clenched, lip curled. To anyone around him, however, it wasn’t the kind of snarl one would expect from a human. It was deep throated, aggressive, reverberating like a…
A beast’s.
Rolling to the other side from the pain, Soren propped himself up on his forearm, a lingering, inhuman growl accompanying every move as he forced himself to look around, clearly not trusting the change in situation.
He was visibly confused to see he was on a boat, covered in furs. And hurting. Of course, he’d had had no chance to recognize the arrow that hit him before he had been knocked cold. Finally, Soren’s gaze fell on the woman watching him, eyes narrowing at her in more confusion. Why was she sitting there watching him? And… why was he wearing her furs? It didn’t take looking at her to recognize the scent that was all over them, mingling with others.
“What happened?” he finally asked, his gaze again moving about the boat as if there was some answer there.
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Post by Kelathi on Apr 8, 2019 17:38:58 GMT
At the inhuman growl from the figure, the woman tensed, immediately on guard. As it continued, one hand moved quickly to grasp the hilt of the sword at her side in alarm. First, he seemed to have some strange powers that could send a man flying metres away without even striking him, and next he was growling like a beast? She kept her eyes fixed on him as he began to rouse. What on Midgard had she welcomed into her path?
He propped himself up laboriously, fixing her with a suspicious glare. Ironic, considering she was doing the same to him. She was a little surprised at his words, however, as she had thought it pretty obvious- how hard had he hit his head? She explained anyhow, one hand resting on an oar and the other on her sword. “You were shot. And then you almost drowned.” It was straight to the point, and she didn’t see a reason for further embellishment. Instead, she wanted to concentrate on what the hell he was. “Why did the people chasing you call you spawn of Fenrir?” Also pretty damn straight to the point, the woman clearly having no intention of dancing around the issue.
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Post by Red Irish Dragon on Apr 8, 2019 17:50:22 GMT
Upon recognizing the woman, his growl had been cut short, trying to maintain a human guise even though the cat was out of the bag now. But as his gaze returned to her as she explained, he was visibly shocked. “I was what?” he echoed a moment after she spoke, even as his free hand moved to his chest. He’d felt an impact, but… then he’d hit his head.
Oh yeah, he’d hit his head. That explained the throbbing that was distinctly different from a hangover. But he didn’t recall anything relating to nearly drowning… but he knew he’d fallen out of the boat. That was the extent of his memory. His echo of her words wasn’t out of disbelief, but shock.
His gaze had dropped as he tried to remember what happened, but jumped back to her at her question. Soren’s expression grew dark, but for once not at her. He struggled to sit upright, even as he hissed in pain, again accompanied by the deep growl that he couldn’t quite keep down. He was panting softly from the move by the time he quieted the sound, instinctively curling up around his chest before he answered, sounding about as thrilled with his explanation as she likely would be.
“Because I’m a descendent of Fenrir.”
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