Patreon LogoYour support makes Blue Moon possible (Patreon)

Fear Incarnate [Light the Fuse x Risi]

Risi

Risi

Star
Joined
Jul 19, 2010
The night she had found her father pacing in his study, Violet began to worry for him. Even though he never said a word to her, it was clear something was amiss. As she gazed out her glass paneled doorway, into the shimmering woods and sighing meadows, she began to long for a happier place within the world. One she could actually explore, as her father and mother had forbidden her from ever leaving the fenced area of their cottage.

Though called a cottage by its inhabitants, it was anything but one. The castle was four stories high, brimming with servants and chefs for every occasion. It allowed the residents, even the servants, to live in the lap of luxury. And though she wasn't allowed to leave the constantly guarded parameter, within it she was able to horseback ride along the beach, garden for pleasure, and bask in the sun as she pleased; though she rarely ever did that, as she was as pale as the first snow.

The next morning, Violet was awakened by a maid. One who had orders to awaken her, dress her, and have her join her father and mother in the dining hall. Dressing was always a pain for Vie, the corsets and the skirts always weighed her down. However, she knew that if she wanted to be in good terms with her parents, she would wear them like a proper lady. In a slight rebellion though, she refused to wear the face powder and other various products to make her face look like a doll's.

She padded downstairs in her bare feet, another rebellious habit of hers, with her skirts trailing behind her, Violet brushed her fingers though her namesake colored hair. Though it was not actually purple, the deep hue of black that her hair held gave it a some-what violet shine.

In her slight morning daze, she sat down quietly at the table and began to serve herself some of the warm breakfast on the table, not noticing the morose looks of her parent's faces. "Vie," her mother tried softly, but her father, the King, interrupted. "Violet, we've found you a husband to live with."

Instantly, her eyes shot to her father, flashing angrily. "Excuse me?" she asked, her tone enraged her father however. "Do not speak to me in that way, young lady! This was a hard decision for your mother and I!"

Vie rolled her eyes, even though they had seemed to spring a leak, "Okay. When do I leave?" she asked, expecting some time to get her things together. "Today," he replied, "The maids are collecting your things as we speak." Before he was finished with his sentence, she had sprung from her chair and rushed back to her safe place, her room, to the balcony of it as the servants bustled around her.

Soon, she found herself sitting in the carriage, riding the rocky road towards the exit. Having already said bye to her parents, promising to write, the gates opened for her caravan of guards and belongings as she left the compound of the castle for the first time in her life.

Though angry at the thought of being traded out for money, Violet was giddy to see the outside world. But, she did not anticipate how mundane it would all become when she watched out the window for a few hours straight, weed after weed passing her window.

She heard a squeal of horses, about five hours into their trip. Then suddenly, the carriage halted roughly, throwing her to the floor of it. Luckily, this meant she was out of sight for the moment the guard was slain by a horrific creature she had never seen before. None of the dense creatures had thought to look in the carriage as the pillaged her items that followed it. Rather, they tipped the carriage over with a crash and set the horses free. Violet wanted to scream, but knew that would draw attention to herself, so she sat in silence as the huge, monstrous, ugly creatures scavenged her jewels and her fathers payment for her future husband.

Shaking, Vie awaited their departure. Hoping they would never find her, and that she could somehow make her way back home.
 
Violent, turbulent winds raked the snow-drenched trees. A blizzard was out tonight, forcing the wildlife to scurry inside, to protect itself from nature's unpredictable fury. The hills would whistle, threatening those who dared stay in it's wake. This calling came to most merchants traveling through, who traveled to check-marked caves to rest and venture when the weather died. Only fools or those seeking death would traverse the pass tonight.

Whoever, there was another type of creature in these parts. Humans, to be exact. In the south, where the snow rarely reached in it's full fury, they were smaller, weaker compared to their counter-parts in the north. Men attuned to harsh climates, men who fought for their food instead of harvesting it. Men who's weapons not only brought the trees down, but the heads of their enemies.

Many called these men barbarians, ruthless bandits, or highwayman.

They were the Volkan.

A band of three were of these people, clad in fur of hunted wolves and bears, covering their torsos. Arms left uncovered, sporting tattoos that looked of various twists and intricate formations, which did not exclude the simple symbolism of wolves or bears. Each man carried a weapon of war, ranging from an axe, to a spear, to the mighty claymore the size of their own men. They ventured through these woods, looking for game.

"Gunnarr, it's freezing out, you can't expect to find anything out here!" A bellow of annoyance came from one of the band, the bald haired men spat out against his scarf, looking about the forest in a rather irritated manner. This particular man was named Bjorn. A rather angst, yet powerful warrior.

"Quiet, you'll scare off the game." Came a more calm, whisper-like voice. This particular warrior was Folkvardr, a seasoned veteran among the three. He who had hair as white as snow, a mane that reached down to his shoulders, and was the only one to lack the protective mouth-covering of the two, seeing as his beard practically reached his chest.

"Bjorn might be right however, I haven't seen anything." This particular man, was the band leader. He was not a recruit, nor a war hero. His name, was Gunnarr. Short, blond hair adorned his head, blue, brilliant blues occupied his sockets.

Gunnarr was a shapely male, one who did not fail in comparison to his comrades. Adorned in the fur of a wolf, a mixture of fur and stuffed leather. He like his comrades had his arms exposed. His were most intricate. Forged in black ink, various signs of honor and victory atoned his chiseled canvas, from what could be seen.

He bore the spear, Bjorn the claymore, and Folkvardr the axe. A triple threat, so to say.

Gunnarr came to a halt, the snow rising up to the brim of his leather boots as he looked upwards, eyes in squint as he looked to the heavy blizzard. Each man stopped, awaiting Gunnarr's next move. Bjorn however was quite impatient and took a step forward. "Do you hear something?" Bjorn questioned, his emerald greens looking beyond the warrior.

"Orcs," Gunnarr spat, lowering his gaze to the blinded view ahead. Bjorn was dumbfounded, looking where Gunnarr's eyes seemed to gaze. "Here, now?" He questioned, looking to Volkvardr. Volkvardr nodded, coming to the side of the blond. "You're getting better lad, now let's see if you can get the first kill!" Volkvardr teased, his mustache curling about to represent a smile.

Gunnarr smirked from beyond his scarf, and raced towards the source. Bjorn followed with a great roar, holding tight to his claymore as Volkvardr followed in suit, silent in awe of his two aspiring recruits

The orcs seemed to crowd about the carriage, barking orders to gather the goods at hand. They were unaware of the princess' presence, and seemed inclined on getting out fast. Why however, was about to be witnessed.

"Grok, you hear that?" One asked, looking up from his scavenging. Grok, the darker green orc seemed confused. But it wasn't until it was too late would he realize his fate. A massive spear would puncture his chest, the blade ripping through his back and spelling fourth most of it's length through the chest. The creature would howl in pain, attracting it's allies.

Bjorn came from the west, and immediately would address a rather unlikely orc into surprise hack, dismembering it from the waist. "Come and get it!" Bjorn would yell out, cackling with joy. The spear in the orc would not reside long, as Gunnarr quickly caught up with his own throw, grabbing it by the shaft and yanking it out of the creature with a foot to it's back.

Before the last orc could grab his weapon, Volkvardr was already there, his foot on the tarnished axe. "Too late, green-skin." He would say quietly, splitting the creature's head open with the finely polished steel.

The creatures were dead, and now their plunder was being inspected by the Volkan. Bjorn scavenged the weapons, Volkvardr examining the dead. "Southern soldiers," he commented silently, looking at their insignias.

Gunnarr had climbed on top of the carriage, opening the door. "One's alive." He said with surprise, his brilliant hues staring to the beautiful woman, who seemed in shock and surprise.
 
As the sounds erupted around her, Violet shuttered in her shelter. The spurts of blood and gore splattering up against it, sickening her with each thud. She wondered what was in store for her, as if those creatures were bad enough, whatever could kill them would have to be worse.

She was wrong though, as the door flew open above her, she covered her eyes to the light. Soon, her eyes adjusted and the assumed pending attack didn't arrive, she finally looked to the figure. A human? she thought, but was relieved. "Thank you!" she cried out, but in the back of her mind was the lingering thought of what they could do to her. Vie had never seen anyone like this man before, and as he assisted her in climbing from the toppled carriage, she noticed she'd never seen anyone like the strapping, rough men that were in front of her.

Her gray eyes took in the situation, making her delicate mind gag at the sight of all of the blood and torn skin. Attempting to look away from it all, she feasted her eyes on her savior. "May I ask your names?" she asked kindly, attempting to play the damsel in distress that they wouldn't want to bring harm to. She shivered delicately in the cold as her corset, bodice, and skirts had only allotted her so much warmth. She wondered if they were familiar with the royal family's colors, and if they would know of her nobility. She hoped not, knowing that if she returned home she would be sent to the husband at once. Attempting to distract the lot of men, she sighed suddenly, faux fainting in the strong man's arms next to her for dramatic effect.
 
Each man stared at the woman with awe, Bjorn the most confused compared to the rest. Both Volkvardr and Gunnarr had been around the south a little bit, and saw their women. Volkan woman were usually a tad more, manly so to say. They weren't bulging with muscle, but there had been accounts of disputes ending the wife chopping her husbands fingers off.

But seeing a beauty like this? No, this was a new sight to all of them. Gunnarr helped her down to the path itself, with Bjorn and Volkvardr crowding about them. Each man seemed rather stunned for the moment, with Volkvardr finally speaking. "The blond is Gunnarr, the baldy is Bjorn, and I'm Volkvardr." Each man nodded at the hearing of their name. But before anymore questions could be asked, the poor girl fainted.

"The strength of an ox, these southern women." Volkvardr jested, shaking his head. Gunnarr caught the poor girl, holding her steady as Volkvardr knelt down, inspecting her. "She's royalty, I've seen these seals." He muttered, looking about the carriage. "Name doesn't come to mind, but she is wealthy." He said, standing upright.

"Should we hold her hostage?" Bjorn inquired, squinting an eye. Volkvardr swapped him on the head, sighing. "No, that isn't our way, we'll take her back to the fort and figure what to do next, Fenrir will know what to do." He said with a nod.

It wasn't long before they were trekking with the woman. Gunnarr had clasped the woman in his fur, adorning her rather loosely clothed body all the while carrying her in his arms. The chill wasn't much to him, but she looked like she wouldn't last even five minutes.

It took about half-an hour, and finally the group had arrived at the wooden palisade, the gates opening to the warriors. Men of similar styles, similar breed all seemed to crowd around them as they walked through the prize of beauty. "Take her to your hut Gunnarr, me and Bjorn will go address Fenrir, about her and the orc presence close to home." Volkvardr said, seeing a sigh from Bjorn. "Lad, I wouldn't leave you with her even if you were a woman!" He called to him, Bjorn muttering something of a foolish old man Volkvardr was.

It would be in Gunnarr's lodging that Violet would find herself next, laid on his bed with him sitting at the beside, unadorneding his face mask. Gunnarr's body was clad in ink, and clad in scars. Long healed gashes, sewed punctures, and various bruises of the past. His face remained only tainted by one however. A diagonal scar, one from below his eye extending to a two-thirds inch of his sideburns, barely touching it, but quite lethal in it's length. Aside from that, he also sported a small rounded spot of hair on his chin, seeming to go for a more clean yet roguish look.
 
Stifling a grin as they mentioned not bringing her back to the castle, she was along for the ride until she arrived. As she was carried in the winter air, she still shivered under the pelt. Thinking back to the events of the day, she went through each moment as she awaited the right moment to awaken. It took her that long to register the looks of the men upon her. Even scared and weak, their eyes had trolled her body. From the pale blue skirts that hugged her round hips to her corset tightened waist, resulting, to where their eyes lingered the most, in her endowed bosom. The lace of her neckline complimented her pale skin, drawing their attention to her slender neck, smooth skin, and delicate facial features.

She heard the murmurers as they entered, what she assumed to be, their homeland. Violet wondered what their women looked like if they held her in such high regard, when at home she was almost plain because of her lack of fashion and makeup and the addition of a strong head on her shoulders. As the man, Gunnarr they'd said, laid her down upon a bed she waited a few moments, but let her eyes flutter open, dream-like. "Where am I?" she asked softly, innocently. Her hand trailed up to his face kindly, "My savior," she added with a smile, but wanting to throw up at the words. She knew she was better than this lowly, weak behavior but she also wanted to survive. Another chill ran down her spine, making her look even more vulnerable.
 
Gunnarr was rather tired. That whole trek was an hour in length before they reached the woman, which was the highlight of the evening. To be honest, he had spent a few moments over-looking her frail, porcelain like body. She was beautiful, as if the taint of the world he lived in had not touched her body yet. If that was a good thing however, would yet to be seen.

As she awoke, his eyes were drawn to her face. Her words, they were... odd. Most nobility they encountered were rich merchants always inquiring of mercenaries to guard their supplies. They were snobbish, frightful, and annoying as hell. She however, seemed different.

The touch upon his skin would be quite different to her, he imagined. His face was leathery, seasoned by war and held tight by the cold winter. Her hand, so soft and seemingly well-pampered, felt new and wonderful to his skin.

"My lodgings, we are deciding what to do with you at the meeting hall." He mentioned, raising a brow at her 'My savior' remark. She looked so vulnerable, so weak. What else could he expect from the south? Pampered aristocrats. "You found my name, but what is yours?" He inquired, grasping her hand and placing it back upon the bed.

Her touch was appreciated, but he still had his doubts of this woman.
 
His face exuded strength, in the way his jaw was set to the actual feel of his skin, she found. The grin still played along her lips, "Violet, my name is Violet," she clarified as he removed his warm face from her hand. As he did so she sighed needily, but didn't put up a protest. Sitting up, she fingered her dark locks, attempting to untangle them as she watched Gunnarr closely. He wasn't like the men she had encountered in the castle. He was chiseled and strong, not soft and not made for talking over action.

Finishing with her hair, letting it fall back to the middle of her back she let out a soft sigh and stretched. "So, what do you want to know? And what will you tell me about you?" she tried for conversation in attempts of soothing herself, not exactly knowing what was going on besides the general notion he had given her before. She looked down at her nailbeds, feeling like she had passed her alloted time for openly staring at him.
 
It was awkward, heavily. If Gunnarr was around his usual bunch, they'd either be drinking ale or shouting about some kind of heroic story, or even bashing each others brains in. With her, he felt any kind of joke or sentence he could muster might not be caught on by her. He even scratched his neck, seeming to be lost in the right choice of words.

"Well, I want to say I'd like to know where you are from, but I figure that question is quite obvious." He'd mutter, looking again to her expensive attire. "My real question is, why the hell were you traveling out during the worst time of the year in my homeland?" He'd ask, tilting his head. Again, he was trying to figure out the knowledge of southerners. "As for myself, I'm merely a warrior-hunter named Gunnarr, that's all you need to know for now."
 
"My father thought it would be nice to sell me to the highest bidder and call him my husband," she bitterly answered, "And I had to leave today, for some stupid reason." Rolling her eyes at the thought, she nearly forgot her innocent routine, but it came back suddenly, "I'd never left the gates before, I don't even know what those giant things that attacked were..."

Folding her legs underneath her skirts, she looked back to him, batting her eyelashes slightly. She wondered what would happen when she never reached the husband's house as she portrayed this disgustingly delicate ruse for him. Sucking on her bottom lip, almost unknowingly provocative, she pondered what her father would do when told the news. Violet's eyes washed over the man again, wondering what his people would have in store for her as well.
 
For a second there, he figured he saw a different side of this woman. But of course, she seemed to quickly flirt back to a soft persona. Gunnarr seemed to narrow his eyes with a slight inquisitive notion. She looked at him in such an odd way, a hint of lust he figured. He wasn't uncommon to these type of looks, being a rather handsome male about the area. Something yet was still fishy about her, so he figured he'd play it out.

He slipped off the bed, grabbing a chair and easing it over. He sat with the back-rest towards her, leaning his arms crossed over the top. "An orc is a filthy creature, one who is more brutal and barbaric then my people. Soldiers in your kingdom die every day to protect your people from this unstoppable horde. They march with only bloodshed and violent intentions. They kill the men, and they take the women." Gunnarr paused, nodding to her. He wondered if he sparked a reaction yet.

"The women are enslaved, used for sexual urges and reproduction for the rest of their lives, an orc camp is taken everyday, but the women who are taken to their fortresses, which have never been assaulted, are forever doomed as a orcish plaything."

Gunnarr smirked, giving a cocky smile. "Now listen very carefully, I don't buy this innocent looking facade, I know your kind, you lie, you play with words, you're tongue is more silver then any blade I've seen, so let's figure this." Gunnarr paused, again, pointing to his head.

"We are almost as brutal as the orcs, but we have our standards, and that makes us even more deadlier then them, and if you are untrue to us, you will find yourself without us next time orcs attack, but if you are honest and without a mask, then you have the one thing orcs fear guarding you, is that understood?" Gunnarr asked.

He was being blunt, forward, and a tad rude. But he wasn't about to play her game. His life was serious, every little bit that happened outside the tavern anyway. Life was survival, survival was life. He risked his life to hunt, he risked his life for his people, he risked his life for her.
 
Orcs were added to her list of things never to encounter again as he told her of them. It seemed as if she was extremely lucky they didn't find her. However he continued with his words and she cocked her head slightly at him. As he finished, her eyes flashed angrily.
Then, she began.
"Do not tell me you know my kind. How ever you may believe people of my kingdom to behave, I don't care. However, do not tell me I act as one of them. I would not have sold my own daughter out of greed, as my father, their King, did. I do not treat you as a tyrannical woman bashing arse, even though that is your people's title in my castle." She paused to catch her breath, her cheeks flushed pink with fury. "Excuse me for attempting to play my innocent card, in fear that I would survive. Its a lot harder to hurt a defenseless woman than one who bites off you head at every turn, is it not? So, let me apologize for being nice to you, with my silver snake tongue, and just be a bit more like the attitude I assume you're used to." Raising an eyebrow at him, she hoped he didn't retaliate with anything of her people, as she didn't know much more about his. It wasn't for lack of trying though, her father would never tell her anything and only let her read the sappy romance novels as a child. She wished she could slap him, but she knew his war-torn frame would only laugh at the blow.

But as she stewed, softening slightly, she continued, "I'm sorry that you question my innocence and niceties. I'm not such a snide brat, I'm obviously uncomfortable, seeing as its the first time I've left home and your people are deciding my fate." Violet closed her eyes, a tear slipping from one, and though the innocent facade was gone, she was still obviously delicate, even after her outburst.
 
At first, Gunnarr was enthralled. A woman with attitude, he rather liked that. Something he was used to, and not a simple noble. However, as she continued on about her inner-conflicts and then the tear, Gunnarr felt less like a open-upper and more of an ass. "Fuck," he muttered under his breath, rubbing his neck as he witnessed the tear. He didn't mean to make her cry, but he still wanted her to be honest. Gunnarr shook his head, placing his hand on her shoulder.

"Sorry, I'm not used to southerners, and I should be aware you aren't used to us." He said as he climbed off the chair, folding his arms about his chest. "Listen, to get the most respect out of us, stay strong, I'll back you up." He said with a slight smile.

The small moment was erupted as Volkvardr had barged through his front door, and that of his upper-room. "The meaning of this-" before Gunnarr could finish, Volkvardr had approached Violet, crossing his arms. "I knew I remembered those seals, you're father... you're a princess aren't you?" He'd ask, continuing without her response. "You're father is the one who is trying to tax us, the bastard." Volkvardr said, covering his mouth briefly.

Gunnarr was shocked, looking to Violet then Volkvardr. "Those soldiers belonged to him?" Gunnarr questioned, narrowing his eyes. The old one nodded, looking about the room. "Yes, and we have his daughter." He muttered. "I was about to tell Fenrir right before I realized this, if he learns of her origin..." The Volkan kept talking, whispering to himself as he seemed to pace the room.
 
Violet looked up into his eyes as he smiled at her, not minding the tears, but the moment was gone in a flash. Words flew at her, Volkvardr's tongue flying a mile a minute. "I am the princess," she corrected as he continued talking. "And you should know that he would never allow me to listen in on royal matters. The only use I am to him is for more money. So I don't think it's exactly fair that I may or may not be injured, ransomed, or killed when he's essentially done the same to me already, that he's trying to do to you." Strong, be strong, she told herself, hoping Gunnarr would keep his end of their cut-short bargain.

Her arms crossed defensibly across her bodice, pressing her breasts unintentionally upward after she stood from the bed. Sitting as they paced and slung accusations at her made her feel less powerful than she already was. As she thought, she began sucking on her lip once again, absentmindedly, attempting a way out of this predicament.
 
Volkvardr seemed to pause, looking at the woman with shock. "Looks like somebody got a chip on their shoulder, Gunnarr you didn't try anything did you?" He inquired, with the blond merely rolling his eyes. Volkvardr merely shook his head, holding his finger to his mouth. Gunnarr seemed to step forward, crossing his arms. "Well it obviously seems her father wouldn't desire a ransom, so there is really no point for the work-up." He replied, Volkvardr looking to him with a narrowed gaze.

"Don't pull a Bjorn on me, you know as well as I do that it doesn't matter to Fenrir, the upstart will probably kill her off, and I'm not about to let him make matters worse for our people, let alone let a young lady die." Volkvardr said, nodding excessively.

Gunnarr sighed, gritting his teeth. "Well then we should move on our plan sooner, I've just about gotten Wolfgang's tribe to join us-"

Valkvardr quickly approached Gunnarr, shushing him before the princess. "No, with this orc threat approaching we need the Volkan undivided, a civil war will make us a prime target." He muttered, looking to the princess. "Where were you going?" The old one questioned, his tone nothing but serious.
 
"What part of I don't get to know anything don't you understand?" she asked, "I had no idea who I was supposedly marrying, let alone where he lived." She rolled her eyes once again at their babble, but was skeptical to what was going to happen to her. Sensing dangerous times ahead she placed herself behind Gunnarr. Though she knew the danger was at least a few hours from now, she still felt safer with his body protectively dwarfing hers.

"I'll go talk to this Fenrir. I can straighten this out," she tried, hopefully. "I'll just tell him what happened." She shrugged simply, but even Vie knew it wasn't going to be that easy.
 
Volkvardr wasn't too sure she had her marbles in the right place. Fenrir was a rather diluted man. Given the pelt of the great bear by his father, Fenrir assumed the throne at his father's death, or at least that's what most believed. "Fenrir is mad, and I know for a fact something like you could easily tilt his hand against us, he knows people are going after him, it's only a matter time, and if he got to you, he could start a war that would make our mission impossible, not to mention a war on two fronts would destroy us at our current condition."

Mr. Know-it-all was basically Volkvardr's title. He seemed to gaze around in mad thought, with Gunnarr looking back at Violet. "What if.." Gunnarr paused, moving to bring Violet into view. "She obviously doesn't wish to return home, and all the villagers know a southerner is here, not of which kingdom.."

Volkvardr paused, bringing up a brow. The lad was getting on to something here.

"What if we say she's my trophy wife, and until we get this sorted out, when we do, we'll send her back home?" He inquired, looking to Violet for approval.

Volkvardr nodded. It was a solid plan. "What about search parties?" Volkvardr inquired. Gunnarr already had an idea. "We keep her here if they come, and inform them we found the carriage empty, say the orcs took her from their tracks." He said, smirking.

Volkvardr was utterly impressed. "The king will be none the wiser, and perhaps if this marriage of sorts he arranged for you means anything," he paused, pointing to Violet. "He might assault the orcs, which may dilute our problems.."

Volkvardr seemed to pace in thought again, Gunnarr turning to Violet.

"Any objections?" He said, smirking.
 
"Wait a second, let me get this straight. I just narrowly escaped being a trophy wife, and now you want me to be one out of choice? There has to be a better plan than that!" she mocked, throwing her hands up in the air.

As the two men looked at her, Violet pretty much realized it was her only choice. "Fine, but don't get any ideas mister," she said to Gunnarr, poking his broad chest to enunciate her words. As she finished, she turned and moved back into the bed, tired. They looked at her questioningly, but she just rolled over and faced the opposite direction. A few moments later she was sleep, the events of the day had worn on her heavily.

Her pale body tossed and turned as she dreamed the days events had gone differently, that she had actually been ravaged by orcs and was being carried off to their castle. As she smarted off to one, his hand came down to slap her but just before it hit, she screamed and sat straight up in bed. She was clammy and disoriented, attempting to calm herself in a pretty much foreign place. It also didn't help that she still had her corset on, blocking oxygen to her brain at times. When she finally got a hold of herself, she was glad no one came rushing when she screamed. That would have been embarrassing for her, as she was attempting strong now. Looking out the window of the dwelling, she recognized that she had only been asleep for an hour or so but knew the dream wouldn't let her sleep. So, she rose from the bed and went to explore the lodging of her new 'husband'.
 
Gunnarr and Volkvardr both gave a sigh. They had left the lodging, going out to the square to discuss the situation a tad more. That included a few drinks at the tavern and various games of arm-wrestling. Boasting of brave deeds, etc etc.

Though these acts were common, a similarity of north and south, the endings were quite different. Very different indeed.

Cheers and hollers of more could be heard from the vigorous crowd of fur clad-folk. "Hit him in the face," "Break his back!" Various words of encouraging violence could be heard as the shirtless pair began throwing punches. A tall, burly looking fella by the name of Loki, a raven mane of hair and a mesh of hair on his chest. This particular opponent faced everyone's favorite, Gunnarr. Sweat and bruises coated each man, who faced off against each other with an animal-like anger and ferocity. "She is mine Gunnarr!" Loki would yell with a heavy roar, charging the blond with his fist aimed for the man's face.

Gunnarr's own form was focused, anticipating his attack. "On my death bed!" Gunnarr roared back as he latched on to Loki's arm. He swung the heathen with incredible strength, smashing the ogre of a man into a nearby stall, creating a shattering echo through the village streets.

Volkvardr was nearby, cheering on the young Gunnarr. "Show him how real Volkan fight!" He said with a rather proud smirk.
 
When Violet didn't find the man within the confinds of his home, she pulled a fur over her and went outside. She wasn't exactly sure if it was deemed safe, but she didn't want to be locked in there forever. The fur did not hide her figure, and she regretted that once she entered the tavern where she had heard the god awful crack coming from as she had been wandering the village.

She pulled the hood up from the fur, hoping it would disguise her at least in a little amount. She found a familiar face, friendly or not, as Volkvardr cheered Gunnarr on. Vie watched as the two men tossed each other about as she headed towards the man who had helped safe her life, for the second time. "What is this?" she asked as she slinked up beside him softly.

Things like this happened in brothels, obviously places she wasn't allowed into, back in the south but she had never seen one. But if she had she would have known how different this was than a few whiny men throwing a punch at eachother.
 
Volkvardr was rather surprised to see the lass again, after having such an eventful time earlier. The elder Volkan slowly backed up, easing her back with his arm. "A little test of mettle, over you." He said with a slight chuckle, peering over a nearby villager to see Loki plant a painful one into Gunnarr's chest. "Loki saw you earlier today, and challenged Gunnarr for trophy rights." He said rather calmly.

He knelt a tad beside her, whispering. "No worries, Gunnarr is my best student." He said, patting her on the head.

"Die!" Loki yelled out as he tossed a bar tool at Gunnarr's head. The blond barely dodged it, ignoring the shattering of wood as he eyed the hairy chest male, narrowing his gaze.

"Go for the kill Gunnarr!" Volkvardr shouted, raising his fist in the air. Like some sort of magic phrase, Gunnarr gritted his teeth and charged the man's chest, pinning him to the oak wall. Loki, taken back by the painful collision, barely was able to see Loki's fist.

Constant, unrelenting punches. Blood was splattering from Loki's lips as Gunnarr held him to the wood, his coiled fist bashing in the man's face. Splinters of tooth sprayed from the man's mouth, his face bulging with bruise and interior bleeding.

Until finally, Gunnarr unleashed a violent roar, rearing his fist back one more time. Everyone heard it, and even Volkvardr knew to cover the poor girl's ears as it hit. A massive crack, indicting Gunnarr had broken the man's skull from the merciless power. Gunnarr stopped, lowering his blood-drenched fist, looking at the opponent. He released his grip, and let the poor fool fall to the ground, blood spilling from a massive crack in the man's skull.

"It's best to look away," Volkvardr said, moving in front of her. The crowd enough was to keep her gaze from the incident, but he didn't want her running fourth into it.

Gunnarr would emerge from the crowd, standing beside them, as the rest merely laughed. "Loki was a tough bastard, but Gunnarr was tougher!" One commented, smirking.

"Who the hell is gonna clean this up?!" Shouted the bartender, sighing in annoyance. "The third fight this week, damn!" He barked, slamming his fist on the counter.
 
At first she had found it interesting, but now she looked upon Gunnarr with fear. Yes, he had fought for the rights to have her, but she could not bare the thought of him killing that man. She half way expected for him to lift her over his shoulders like a sack of potatos and carry her back to his home just to please the crowd.

Though she had not actually seen the final blow or the aftermath, thanks to Volkvardr, Gunnarr was covered in blood as he approched the two. The sight of the still warm blood put her in physical pain, nearly to the point of being sick. Turning away from him, she attempted somehow to get away from the fightful man. It didn't seem like the male who had said he would protect her earlier, this was a harsher, angrier man; even if he had been keeping up his end of the bargain.

She couldn't believe the brutalilty of thier kind. How they laughed it off as a man layed bleeding in the main tavern of their city. She couldn't even bare to look at him, or some of the laughing people there. Nearly running, she left the tavern as quickly as she could, craving the dark peacefulness of sleep that came occasionally.
 
Gunnarr was smiling to Volkvardr, but was taken back as Violet had ran off like a bat out of hell, rather in shock from her reaction. "Wha-" Volkvardr placed his hand on the lad's shoulder, shaking his head. "She's a princess, the violence she knows is stubbing her toe Gunnarr." He had said with a sigh. Gunnarr nodded, looking at his hands. This was a way of life for Gunnarr, fight to survive and for what you want.

"Should I go after her?" He said, scratching the back of his neck. Volkvardr shook his head, gesturing to the body. "You gotta clean that up, besides she needs to go relax, she probably thinks you're an orc now." Volkvardr joked, nudging Gunnarr.

"No, orcs don't bathe!" He protested with a smile, still slightly worried. "She knows to go to the house, right?" He'd ask, grabbing a towel off the counter. "She's a princess, not an idiot, with the orcs out here she knows to stay here." He muttered, getting a pint.
 
By the time she reached Gunnarr's home she was shaking with cold. It was unbareable here for her. Had there not been the threat of orcs, she would have been on her way back to her father, resulting in him selling her or not. She pulled the covers over her, and over the fur and clothing she was wering still. Vie wasn't sure if it was actually the cold or the fear that had her shaking. Perhaps a combination of both. Perhaps it is the blood on them, rather than in them that keeps them so warm, she thought discrimnatingly as she closed her eyes and rolled away from the lingering light of day.

To be strong here, she felt she needed to be a barbarian, and as she thought this she heard footsteps that would fit the size of Gunnarr quite well. Violet pretended to be asleep, hoping that if he did feel the need to wake her, he would at least be clean. Her one give away though was that her body still shook, and she couldn't control it so she hated every moment of it more.
 
Volkvardr had left the tavern early, leaving Gunnarr and the others to clean up the mess. He took it upon himself to visit Violet, to explain the occurrence. Her reaction was not too foreign to them, not at all. Even children who witnessed fights, to see who their new father would be, shriveled with fear.

As he found the young Violet huddled in the bed. He would of figured her to be asleep, if it wasn't for her shaking. The elder Volkan sat down on the bed beside her, giving a rather soft-toned sigh. "I'm sorry you had to see that, but it is natural around here." He muttered, stroking his beard. "Once we clear the roads, you can return home if you truly wish it." Volkvardr stated, looking her over briefly.
 
"How is that natural?" she exclaimed, sitting up and facing him severely. She was outraged at the lack of human decency within this area. It was one thing to fight amongst men, but to kill? It was unnecessary in her eyes. But, it was part of their tradition. The mention of the return home made her wince, "I don't want to return there, but I am fearful to stay here." She grimaced and took a deep breath, her anger had returned.

"Let me guess, he's out drinking now too? So was that your list of things to do today? Kill some creatures, capture a trophy wife, kill a man, then drink it off?" She shook her head, instantly regretting what she had said. "I'm sorry, thats not what I meant." She paused and looked to the man, "I just don't understand, and I'm not sure I want to." She pressed a hand to her forehead and leaned back into the bed. Violet was obviously distressed, and the random thought of her living with Gunnarr for the rest of her life, him bringing home bloody pelts for her to wash, made it worse.
 
You must log in or register to reply here.
Back
Top Bottom