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Another Life {Cheshire Smirk & Blinkk}

DontxBlinkk

DontxBlinkk

Supernova
Joined
Oct 18, 2009
Location
Canada
Winter was ending, come and gone like it did every year. Most of the citizens of Trept had survived the harsh cold and came out stronger, more willing to survive. That's what this city was known for after all. The stronghold was practically made up of survivors, many of which came out after their own homes were destroyed by some of the worst raiders in their history. The Baarskor tribe came in to a coast, swept once and took out all in its way. They took what was needed, let that be supplies or people, and destroyed all that could be used by others. The lucky few who got away never turned out to be as lucky as they thought they would. They were haunted by the memories and their own self hate of letting their loved ones pass in such a way. But they quickly learned to treasure their lives and what they had, making the best of what Trept offered them and doing what they could to start over.

During the winter months, the city backed up on what supplies they could, slaving over their fires to forge all the weapons they could manage as a way to no only keep war but to prepare themselves for what may come. It had been years since there was a raid on the area of their city and they continued to hope and pray the Baarskor tribe would look them over and take the lives of another city instead of their own. Like with most in the country, the holy people of the city were in charge of giving the offerings and making their needs known to the gods above. Yvonne, the elder priestess had remained behind during the colder month, sending one of the lower girls out to do what was needed in the snow and bring in the stragglers left out in the winter.

Lea Vollan was gifted with that job this time around. The young woman made several trips out to their farthest border, bringing back all who were looking for shelter. Each time, she had listened to their horror stories, made her own judgement of the barbaric tribe and continued to help those in need. And when the snow began to melt in the warmer weather, she made sure to settle those people into farms, jobs or find what they needed. It was her duty to do so after all.

On one particularly lovely day, the red head left the city on her own, bringing a bag of basic supplies and a lunch, a book and several writing implements and started out on her own to the highest cliff outside of her home. In an unlady-like fashion, she scaled the side, her boots slipping several times on the loose stones, but eventually she made it up to a spot high enough to look over the sea yet sit protected from the elements around her. A gentle breeze blew the smell of the sea towards the girl, pleasing her senses and her strange sense of adventure. Hours went by as she watched the water, did a good bit of reading and even dared to try her hand at sketching out what she saw.

Most of the ice had broken free of the land, leaving small remaining chunks in the warming water, but a path was beginning to clear. That meant the trading routes would be opening soon. Being on the edge of the ocean had its advantages but its risks at the same time. Natural storms came through the city at the most inconvenient times, not to mention the steady risk of attacks. Most of them, Trept could hold off and chase away to live another day. With minimum effort at that. But when a new set of sails were seen on the horizon, the priestess' eyes narrowed, straining to take a look.

She didn't recognize the design, not to mention it was a bit early for most ships to be coming out. The sea seemed still in contrast to what it was doing before, blowing around and swirling beneath her cliff-side seat. She recognized that feeling all too well. The calm before the storm.

Wasting no time, the woman pulled her skirt up into her belt enough to safely make it down the cliff, touching land and breaking into a solid sprint all the way back to the city.

"Ships!" she called to the guards, choosing to run right past them, despite their looks and efforts to stop her. "Ships are approaching!" She could only pray to the goddess now. There was no way a man would let her pick up a weapon, despite the bits of training she had from over the winter. Her job was to hide in the temple and wait it out with the rest of the women. No arguing. The feeling in her stomach told her that not even that would help. She hoped it was wrong.
 
Crimson sails gorged on the winds and adorned with snow white bears swiftly carried a fleet of five massive galleons towards the coast. The ships were both wondrous and terrible to behold, each well over eighty feet in length and thirty feet in width. heavy planks of stained black wood were expertly machined and worked together to form what would appear to all but the keenest eye to be a single, solid frame. These ships had been built for one blatantly obvious purpose: raiding. There were stories of the Baarskorr ships; stories that were half mindless terror and half complete and utter awe. It was hard to imagine such masterful craftsman ship could come from a people that had shown themselves capable of raw, animalistic violence The hulls of those five ships were strangely serpentine with a steel clad bow shaped into the likeness of a massive winged snake and their sterns tapering off to iron tails. Platforms branched off from the starboard side of each ship and each platform held what could only be described as a stationary trebuchet. Throngs of massive oars stuck out from either side of those ships and worked in an almost mechanical unison, working in tandem with the wind to grant the vessels disturbing swiftness.

What had been a fair spring morning was swiftly darkening with the promise of a dire storm. Thunderclaps, or what seemed to be thunderclaps echoed out from the now angry, frothing swells of the sea. Billowing black clouds stretched and sprawled out from the horizon, creeping across the sky and bringing darkness to rival night where there had once been shining sunlight. Even so far away the moaning, shrieking of wicked winds could be heard and the wails grew louder every second. Harder and harder the seas raged, waves as tall as three men standing atop each other and broad as the horizon rose and crashed into each other while lightning danced and streaked across the skies and then raked across the water. Yet somehow those ships pressed onwards, completely untroubled by the churning maelstrom that raged around them. In fact it almost seemed as if those ships were the source of the sudden storm. Storms did always seem to accompany Baarskor raids...

Those unfortunate few who had survived a Baarskorr raid would surely be able to feel the oncoming doom in their bones. The unchanging, deliberate thrum of those wardrums was a sound that could never be forgotten. Those chants and that beat continued uninterrupted through every raid, each warrior effortlessly keeping the time as their numbers tore through countless towns with the same ease that a stray wind blew leaves around the forest. The blood, the fire, the pain...The fear. It would all come rushing back as if those past raids had happened only yesterday.

Eventually the ships drew close enough for a vigilant spyglass to properly discern their presence and nature...And the sight that awaited whatever unfortunate soul was looking through the glass would chill to the very bone. The decks of those warships were full to the brim with hardened barbarians, all in full battle regalia and thirsty for blood. Drums with bonework frame and what could only be human flesh for heads were being beaten by batons made of femur and skull, pounding out a rhythm that matched those ominous thunder claps. Every man on board the ship stood shoulder to shoulder with a woman, their left and right arms linked at the elbow. There was something ceremonious in the way their lips moved in unison to vicious warcries of a strange, guttural, primal tongue. It was as if the coming atrocity was nothing but ritual and necessity to these people. Worst of all, pitch-soaked masses of steel and death were being loaded into those trebuchets and torches were being lit.

The Baarskor were coming, and they rode upon the storm as confidently as Death astride his pale steed.
 
Trept jumped into action as soon as their young priestess returned with the news of the oncoming travelers. Those on the wall in charge of looking out all ran to their proper positions, searching out the sails through their spyglasses. One of the men did and the spyglass feel from his hands, his face paling, not needing to look again. "Baarskor!" he cried. Panic swept over the wall, cascading down into the city below as nightmares returned or began to swarm those who had been fearing this day since they were children. Women and children ran from their homes into the strong holds located inside of the large, stone home of their Baron. This plan had been practiced enough for it to become practically second nature for many of the women. Their children were simply picked up or ran along beside them, just wanting to get inside before it was too late. They didn't have long to move though. The storm was growing closer, not to mention the wind around them was beginning to rush through the streets, bringing the fear of slavery and death to all it touched.

The temple was quickly sealed up, trapping those who were inside in safety. The large doors were barricaded with the largest objects they could place against it with guards and soldiers on both sides of the door. The priests were doing what they could to gather the younger children into a safe space, bringing several scriptures and books with them to do what they could to distract them. Those who knew what was going on had different plans though. They remained in the large room, standing in front of the alter to their goddess and praying. As much as they could. The chants began to fill the hall, wishing their gods would support them and bring them to safety. Promises were made to do everything they could to appease them throughout the year with no response from the higher beings. They could only hope they heard their messages.

Outside, men of all ages took up arms, protecting themselves with the armour they had made and the weapons forged throughout the winter. The general, commanders and even the Baron were ready to take the force head on. If they didn't, they feared it wouldn't matter. Those who were wise knew what was going to happen, but they refused to show their regret and pain to the younger men who still had hope in their eyes. The Baron was ready to risk his life to defend his home. He would much rather go down fighting than simply handing everything over to them without a fuss. At least then he could take a few down with him before his time was up.

The city fell silent as the clouds finally settled over their home. Death was soon to follow; they could all feel it now. They braced against their shields for impact, each one praying to their goddess for safe passage to the afterlife.
 
"Brothers! Maidens! It seems as if the Land of Plenty has finally found it's spine!"

One ship took the front of the formation, becoming the tip of an unstoppable spear. Down the bow and back to the stern marched a man who towered over the other warriors upon the ship. Darovar, Warchief of the Barrskor strode among his people, surveying each man and woman with an unwavering fierce stare of pride. Bear-Heart, that was what Barrskor meant in the Eldertongue. Did those softened by the Land of Plenty even remember the Eldertongue? No, surely they had forgotten such times. Darovar halted his progress and turned to glare at the coast as it drew closer and closer. This would be a day of glory and bloodshed, the kind of day a Barrskor drew breath to see.

"Let us shatter it! Bombards to work!"

Torch set pitch alight as corded muscles set to work loading and cranking the Trebuchet. Almost instantly the dark skyline was alight with fire. Steel spheres easily the size of a man's head arced high and sailed across the water to come crashing down upon the walls and ramparts of Trept. Gears cranked and shafts turned, raising up ballistae from the depths of the ships. tree trunks as wide and twice as long as a man, shaped into oversized crossbow bolts were strung, notched and launched at Trept's walls. The Baarskor had come prepared for war at it's most brutal.

"Skycallers, wake the Eagle Spirit!" Darovar roared.

Men and women naked save a mantle of eagle feathers and anklets of talons strung together by sinew moved proudly forward, lithely navigating the milling crowds of their kin. Skyclad shamans stepped up onto the railings and bow of the ship and then knelt down, arms raised to the sky. From every ship they chanted in unison, crying out to an unseen power. The winds around the Baarskor ships became even more turbulent, shearing and swirling to form a protective barrier against retaliation. The Land of Plenty may have forgotten the Spirits, but the Baarskor remembered. The Baarskor still walked the Ancient Path.

The Baarskor warships did not slow as they approached the coast, instead their steel-clad bows shifted to align directly with the center of Trept's docks. Faster the ships moved as they closed in for the assault until the mighty iron-faced juggernauts broke a path straight to the sands of dry land. Iron hooked boarding ladders went over every inch of railing and a flood of howling, roaring flesh came spilling down the ladders without fear or forethought regardless of what waited below be it jagged rock, solid land or thrashing sea. Baarskor warriors moved with their battlegear as if they had been born with it.
 
As the invasion moved closer, the men inside of the city began to dread what was coming for them. The flaming stones caught them completely off guard, crashing into houses and bouncing a few times into people, more homes, the market place... finally they came to rest just in time for the walls to be pummeled by the monstrous ballistas. Every ounce of hope the men had left in them was now wiped out and they had no where to go. Minutes later, the chanting surrounded the city, causing several of the weaker men to drop their weapons and run as far away from the entrance as they could manage. The others stood their ground and began to attack as soon as they could, trying to hold off the enemy to the best of their ability.

From inside the protected walls of the temple, Lea could hear the sounds of screams and the horrible smell of burning... everything. Wood, cloth, flesh... it was all there. The windows to the temple were still shut and those inside continued to pray until they broke at the seams. Many began to simply wale, trying to get out to their loved ones. Others fell silent, listening to the terror going on outside of the door.

Lea looked to one of the priestess in the room who seemed quite calm about all of this. "We're not going to make it, are we?" If she did, it would be a miracle.

"My dear, it would be better to be killed where we stand then be taken by the warriors out there." She rested her hand on the girl's shoulder and looked up at the wall before them. "Who knows what they would do to us. But if they murder our men then..." Her words faded into silence as the sound of Barrskor footsteps approached. The temple was placed in the middle of the town in a central location where everyone could reach it when they needed to. This sign meant they were half way through their spree. Trept was theirs and they were coming to claim their prize. "Hide. The best you can." The high priestess pointed in the direction of a room and told several girls to hide inside, pushing Lea forwards with them. "Stay silent. And tell them nothing."

"But we can help!" she argued quickly, pushing back against her hand. "I would rather die tha--"

"Hide!"

Lea turned to the door for a second, listening to more cries of pain and pleads for mercy. If their own warriors were reacting in such a way, things much have been far worse than she thought. Instead of trying to argue again, she ran into the room, pulling the door shut and, with the help of another, pushed a desk in front of the door before hiding in the corner, closing her eyes and muttering her own prayer. Death, capture, it didn't matter. She wasn't sure which was better. She just wanted it to be over.
 
Daravor had worked the Barrskor into a frenzy, but it was not he who lead the charge. A lone Baarskor warrior had been the first to get to grips with the defenders of Trept. From the highest sail he had swung out by rope, over the rails and far ahead of the first ship, the Waveseeker. The Skycallers' hands followed the warrior's arc, sending winds to carry him aloft and bring him crashing down on those foolish enough to be waiting at the docks. Clawed boots landed firmly in the chests of two men, the fearless warrior keeping himself steady as he felt steel pierce bone. With horrifying grace, precision, and power this solitary warrior cut through ten of the rallied defenders before his first victims managed to hit the ground. His weapon of choice was a heavy halberd with two wickedly curved blades spread between eight feet of steel haft. This man wore armor of blackened steel chain and a bear-pelt cloak. The cloak still had the bear's head, arms and claws attached and they fit over the warrior's face and hands. The docks shuddered and the sound of snapping timber filled the air as the Baarskor ships beached themselves. The dock shuddered with one final impact, though the man did not need to look to see the source. A woman landed in a similar fashion with equal poise and grace, barely bending her knees upon landing.

"Reminds me of our first dance of the Winter Moon."

Twenty years ago this man had been here, he could remember when this grand fortress had been not but a sleepy trading town named Belbarren. He had been 14 then; nothing more than a whelp learning to hunt. It was here that he had been wounded for the first time, and it was here that he and his Shield-maiden had fought side by side for the first time. They had both been but acolytes, sent with the raiding parties because fever and a particularly frigid winter had claimed the lives of many of the Baarskor's veteran warriors. Now he returned as champion of his people, bound inseparably from the woman that had saved his life in this very town so long ago.


It had been the man who had spoke, slowly turning to face the newcomer. A smile stretched across his thin lips, a smile that reached his topaz eyes. The man had a mane of raven hair that hung at the base of his throat, bringing a stark contrast to his pale but weather-worn skin. The man stood at 6'3, making him one of the taller, but not the tallest of his people. A strong but not over-imposing jaw and high cheek bones made the man handsome by any standard. However, a long black scar marred an otherwise shockingly agreeable face. This scar, thick as a finger ran from the middle of his left eyebrow all the way down to the collar-bone. The mark even extended over the eyelid, the ghost of a wound that had come within millimeters of taking half of the man's sight.

The woman gave a small chuckle before shoving the man in the small of the back, reminding him there was fighting to do. Eyes of deep azure sparkled momentarily with what might have just been love, if it was even possible for the 'barbarians' to experience such civilized emotions. The woman's face was hidden behind a horned steel helmet, the feminine curves of her strong, lithe body protected by armor of banded steel plates. Together the two charged into Trept, leading their kin by an easy hundred yards.

Man after man died to the pair as they carved a path for their clan, the defenders unable to strike even a single blow. Together they worked deeper into the town as an unstoppable whirlwind of steel and fury, laying low any foolish enough to stand in their place. Eventually the two fought back to back in the heart of the town, holding their own with ease against odds that reached fourteen to two. Step by step the two worked their way up the steps of the temple until they reached the heavy wooden doors. Knowing the way would be barricaded both warriors retrieved boarding axes from their belt loops. The rest of the tribe was busy ransacking the town and stripping away everything of usable value. Two people could easily round up the spoils of a temple!
 
With each inch the fighting move, the chanting inside of the temple grew. The priests were refusing to back down until they reached their final moment of life. The elder of the religious order had come to terms with their death and saw it as a way to bring themselves closer to their gods while the younger still seemed to be hoping. With a quick swoop, the goddess would be able to come down and wipe out all of the barbaric tribe which stood against them. She could... but would she?

Inside of the small room, the youngest of the order were shaking in fear. Many of the girls were clinging to each other, doing everything they could to silence themselves from the disgusting hoard just outside of the walls. A single window into the room was the only chance they had of seeing the terror outside of their final resting place. For sure, the men were going to come in through the door and kill each and every one of them. There was no doubt about that in their minds. The sounds of large axes chipping away at the front door riddled the interior of the temple just before everything went silent. Every eye turned towards the door, watching as splinters flew through the air. The head of an ax was next, bringing the chilled air from outside rushing into the temple. It was clear that no matter what they put against the door, nothing would hold the attackers back from taking their lives.

The head priestess stepped up to the alter and extended her hands, her crisp white robes hanging gracefully from her body, cascading to brush against the ground. Her eyes turned upwards to the icon of a golden sun hanging against the wall, displaying the goddess was watching over all inside. "Great goddess, guide us to your side..." She let her eyes fall again, letting them slide closed as a tear rolled across her cheek.
 
Clarion calls sounded from afar followed by the staccato pounding of hooves on cobbled stone. Apparently the Baarskor ships had been spotted a fortnight ago by a fishing vessel smart enough to evade observation. As fast as two men could row the vessel had made it ashore. From there word had spread to any ear that would listen, warning of the coming horde. Unfortunately pleas for help to the nobility fell on deaf ears, The stronghold of Trept was simply too far for any duke, baron or lord to spare any of his men for assistance of an unconfirmed raid. After all, nobody even knew what Baarskor ships truly looked like! However, there had been those among the common folk who remembered the raids and knew just how true those two fishermen's words really were.

Deep, resounding blasts from Baarskor horns bellowed out their answer and the Baarskor rallied, tearing themselves away from their looting. Two hundred men on horseback had been sent to aid Trept...And two hundred men were two hours too late. Cavalry met infantry in a vicious, swirling melee that engulfed the town. Unfortunately sparsely trained militia men were no match for the ruthless, war-hardened Baarskor. With surprisingly precise teamwork and long chains worked into their battlegear the Baarskor worked defensive lines and plucked the oncoming cavalrymen from their mounts. Swiftly the militia men were rounded up and taken prisoner, their horses reined in and fasted into long, pacified trains.

A small detachment of militia managed to break through the Baarskor defenses. Valiantly they charged the temple, hurling themselves from their steeds to charge fearlessly up the steps of the temple 3 at a time. Both marauders turned and hurled their boarding axes at the oncoming resistance. Two men went down with skulls cleaved nearly in half, dead before they hit the ground. Halberd and swordbreaker worked together in terrifying unison, putting a swift end to the valiant rescue attempt. One lone archer managed to loose an arrow before he was eviscerated by a particularly wicked halberd swipe.

For the halberd-wielder time seemed to move in slow motion as he saw the arrow slip free of the string. Topaz eyes widened in genuine fear as the man realized the projectile's intended course. That one arrow flew true, it's barbed head slipping between banded plates of steel to bite deep into the woman's chest. With a clatter shield and sword fell to the stone steps below. There was no shriek of pain, no tears, not even surprise on the woman's face as she reached up and tore the arrow from her chest. One step forward she managed before collapsing against the brutalized doors of the temple with enough force to knock the doors wide open. Even in the arms of death the Shield-maiden remained stoic, silently coughing out her bloody last breaths on knee and elbow.

The man laid his halberd down and rushed to his companion's side, picking her up with surprising speed and tenderness. Into the temple the woman was carried and then gently she was set down. Desperately he looked up at the gathered, fearful masses. When the man spoke his voice held the command of a royal guardsman, his eyes falling directly upon Lea.

"Help me save Mjarrla and your flock will pass unharmed."

As a gesture of assurance the man pulled the scabbard-belt that held a heavy falchion and a long, slender dirk off of his hips. The weapons were set just out of arms reach, but far enough for him to retrieve should somebody decide to try to be a hero.
 
With the sound of the opposing forces, the mood in the temple slowly began to change. There was still a hope. They may have been too late for most of the men outside, but for those who were surviving, not to mention the rest of their small culture inside the walls, there was a chance they would survive. The Clarions just had to get there... The crashing of horses to men echoed through the defeated city followed quickly by cheers from the soldiers of Trept. With a new mix of support, those who still lived began to fight back as much as they could, continuing to risk their lives to save themselves and their city.

Chanting began again, giving support to their warriors against the mightiest of foes, giving them as much support as they could manage. As soon as the door opened, those inside fell silent, all turning to look at the man on the other side before running out of the way, finding their own place to hide from the dangerous barbarian who had now joined them. Those who hadn't moved held their eyes on the woman as she fell through the door and eventually the man when he joined her. And as they came further into the building, they drew more attention to themselves, including several of the women hidden inside the nearby room. They were shocked by just how tender the warrior was moving her, with a grace and gentleness that they never thought a brute like him would have.

Lea tensed when she felt his eyes land on her, staring the warrior down in return.

"Lea," the priest called, a warning tone in his voice. "Think of what this man has done. To your family. To our city."

The red head turned to look at him, her bright hazel eyes studying his expression and words carefully but silently. But the tone in the warrior's voice wasn't leaving her mind. He was promising something that he, of all people, could grant if she agreed to help. Not only that, but would the goddess really want someone to die inside of her holy walls? Without another second of hesitation, the young woman climbed to her feet and came across the floor, ripping at her own sleeve to break cloth free. She put pressure on the woman's wound, careful to seal it as quickly as she could.

"Mjarrla? That's your name?" She pushed just a bit harder, doing what she could to grab her attention. "Mjarrla, stay with us. The goddess may call you, but it is not your time." What was she saying? These people had attacked the city and killed so many people. Yet she was trying to help this woman. All in the name of the goddess. She didn't want to spoil her home with the warrior's blood. "Great goddess, give me strength," she muttered before looking to the brute across from her. "Hand here. Apply pressure." As soon as she could, she released the bandage, leaving the job to him, and ripped more of her shirt and skirt, hoping to wrap a new piece of cloth around the wound, holding it on for as long as she could. This wasn't the best place to heal people, but she was doing everything she could.
 
"Think of what this man has done..." For a moment the man's sculpted arms reached out for his discarded weapons. Had they truly forgotten the time of Five Brothers? Had the children of those who had betrayed and warred for the Land of Plenty absolved themselves of those ancestral sins? A rage darker than winter's coldest of nights and hotter than the fires of the underworld itself burned in the warrior's eyes as he looked at the priest. The urge to strike the fool down where he stood was overwhelming. However, now was not the time for such things. His Shieldmaiden was dying. The woman who had seen him through death and fire for the last twenty years was fading swiftly from this world. Anything he could do to prevent, or at the very least ease her passing was a debt that was owed tenfold.

"The salmon does not begrudge the bear. But I suppose here in the Land of Plenty your kind pay no heed to the Old Ways. It's easier to bury the past and push forward with piety, isn't it?"

The words were spoken in an emotionless tone. When Lea moved to Mjarrla's side the warrior gave an appreciative nod and followed her instructions. Basic triage was something every Baarskor was taught from a young age. Suturing, tinctures and the basics of the healing craft were a necessity to survive in the frigid North. These wounds however were beyond the skill of any healer. Mjarrla shook her blonde head and gave another bloody cough. Slowly she tried to sit up before collapsing against the floor. Stone resolve faded to sorrow as Mjarrla realized that her body was refusing to respond to even the most basic commands. This was the end and her time to make peace was running shorter by the second. In a solemn voice Mjarrla spoke, doing her best to make every word clear. She would go to the Golden Halls with honor and dignity. She would die with pride knowing she had died a Maiden's death.

"V...Va...llios. I have...fulfilled...My vows...Th...The G...golden...Ha...Halls. I...see them. I...will...waiting...for you." Every syllable was racked with coughing and spluttering, each sound weaker than the last.

The warrior known as Vallios pushed Lea out of the way with a determined hand. It was obvious Mjarrla was too deep into the abyss to be retrieved. Both arms wrapped around Mjarrla's torso and he pulled her close, supporting her jaw with a loving hand. Silently he waited as Mjarrla finished her last words. In a voice choked and crestfallen Vallios responded, cradling Mjarrla's lifeless body. Time seemed to stand still as he stared down at a body that had been filled with a vibrant spirit just a sunrise ago. It was hard to believe he'd never hear Mjarrla's laughter again, would never see her dance again, would never fight by her side again...Was this the end? A horrible, sickening emptiness spread through Vallios as he tried to speak. Heartfelt words felt hollow and distant on his lips as he spoke them, something in the back of his mind screaming in protest and disbelief at what had just transpired.

"And we shall hunt in the meadows and feast along with the departed when I arrive. Hold the gates and I shall meet you..."

For several moments Vallios continued to hold Mjarrla, clutching her close as he sat and stared silently at her face. Slowly he reached up with two fingers and slid her eyelids closed before allowing her head to rest in his lap. A dull buzzing filled the warrior's ears, it seemed as if his entire body had gone numb. The thuds of boot upon stone brought Vallios sharply back to reality. He had made an oath in front of the dying, those words had to be kept.

"Hide...All of you except the Priestess. My people will not believe an empty temple. One devout soul will satisfy their suspicions."
 
Lea pulled her hands back as soon as she felt Vallios touch her. Despite her trying to help, she knew the woman was too far beyond help. The Clarion had arrows that were meant to pierce and hold. Pulling it out of her body was probably the worst thing she could have done. Lea did everything she could to stop the bleeding, but in the end, Mjarrla began to pass. The priestess tensed as she began to fade from her life. She folded her hands together, waiting for a moment, until she was sure she was gone to give her own silent prayer.

She could feel the woman's soul leave and, just as she had done for many in the past, she held her hands out to the body, leaving plenty of space between her and the two warriors in front of her. With a slow movement, she raised her eyes to the ceiling, holding her hands out, palms up. "Good Goddess, take her spirit," she muttered, completing the proper prayer, even if Vallios didn't want it said. She died in their temple, in their city, in their land... it was important for a priestess of the city to give her the final rights. It wasn't Lea's position typically to do such a thing, but she felt it was right. And no one was about to argue with her.

The building feel silent again, letting Vallios morn over the sound of fighting outside of the religious home. Sadly, it didn't last long and the fighting came closer than the others would have liked to admit. Again, they were in danger by one of the groups outside.

At his orders, the priest began to argue. "She is coming with us. I will not allow her to be left along with the likes of you and certainly not your people." The hatred burned in his voice, sending not only fear but regret over the young woman. Lea quickly climbed to her feet, backing away from the warrior, eyeing him carefully before taking in a deep breath.

"Hide," she instructed, eyes turning towards the elder in charge. "He's already seen me. My hands are stained with her blood. Please. Run while you still can. I will play the roll of sacrifice."

He was about to argue again but it didn't last long as the footsteps came even closer. They had no choice but to run and hide, leaving Lea alone with the warrior and his friend.
 
"What a tender moment!" Darovar's voice boomed out jovially as he stepped into the temple.

Slowly Vallios stood, Mjarrla's corpse in his arms. The procession that had been alive with boasts and chatters fell silent as they realized that the Baarskor champion and his Shieldmaiden had not struck off to start 'celebrating' early. One by one every Baarskor man and woman present took a knee, eyes cast down to the floor. Darovar turned slowly and took somber steps out of the temple, making his way to the pile at the bottom of the stone steps where halberd, shield, and swordbreaker all waited in a neat pile. The weapons were retrieved and brought back up the steps then set down at Vallios' feet. The halberd was placed on the ground first, then the swordbreaker across it at the midpoint of the weapon's haft, with Mjarrla's massive tower shield placed vertically atop them both. Darovar then stepped back and took a knee as well, leaving only Vallios standing.

What followed next was both remarkable and moving. Few outsiders had ever found the chance to observe Baarskor last rights. In a strong voice deeper than the ocean itself and clearer than a summer sky Vallios began to sing in the Eldertongue. While the words were guttural and harsh their delivery was proud and elegant. Words of joy, words of sorrow and words of anger were woven together, flowing into words of spring, words of summer, words of bitter winters and moonlit autumns. Next came words of the hunt, words of battle and finally words of love shared.

Darovar was the first to rise, stepping forward to reach out and place a hand over the wound in Mjarrla's chest. Darovar's other hand came to rest on Vallios' shoulder and the two men stared silently at each other. Silent tears fell throughout the procession as each member of the massive raiding party stepped forward to repeat the gesture. How strange it was to see these barbarians that had fought with animalistic fury, spreading death and destruction with every step go through such elaborate mourning rituals. Perhaps their martial prowess had gotten to their heads, perhaps they had forgotten what it felt like to lose one of their own on the battlefield.

"Today, Mjarrla Ve'a Denrosa has fulfilled the Oath of the Maiden. Sing for her, Brothers. Maidens, sing for your sister. Let your voices carry her aloft so that she may enter the Golden Halls and take her place among our honored dead."

These savages had hymns? They understood faith? Every Baarskor's voice rose in song, every man and woman keeping perfect time as they completed a ritual they had done so many times in the past. The North was an unforgiving land. Tundras cracked and bitten by permafrost yielded no fruit but death and hardship. No crops would grow save a few grains and roots that the callous soil permitted to survive. The only thing the North held in abundance was ore and suffering. Living in such a land taught a people the value of every member of their tribe. Every death weakened their people and so every death had to be acknowledged.

"Priestess, sing the songs of your people for her. Erronar hears all voices and understands all prayers. Guide my Maiden home..."


((I do hope this isn't too drawn out. As I said, I have a pretty elaborate society worked up for the Baarskor. They're a recurring feature in my writings, roleplay or creative.))
 
By the time the second warrior came into the temple, most of those inside had hidden away, running to the nearest safe place in order to avoid the men who were still raiding the city. Darovar entering the building was proof that no matter how many people came to their aid, it wasn't enough. The warrior raiding party had swept through them like they weren't even there. Lea was willing to help the shield maiden as much as she could and even more willing to give her own people a chance to hide. And once they were gone, she could focus on herself rather than the others who may be in danger. But the arrival of the next man, Lea backed away from Mjarria, giving those now inside plenty of space to look over her and more importantly morn their loss. Despite being their enemy, the priestess couldn't avoid giving them a bit of pity. She must have been a great warrior, given the look of her amour and the respect the people were giving her. Any life lost was something that the woman didn't enjoy.

As they made their way out the large doors, the red head gave them plenty of space before slowly following behind them, stopping at the door. The amount of people still in front of her, surrounded by bodies... it was shocking. Even terrifying to her. For 'brutes', their ceremony was breathtaking. Lea couldn't take her eyes away from the act. Not to mention the sound of Vallios' voice in the most proper of languages. Lea had heard the tongue through her childhood lullaby and through old prayers the elders knew from an earlier time when the language was taught as a second nature. She remained silent, glued to the door, her eyes resting on the warriors below as they took part in their most holy of ceremonies. It was almost peaceful...

Lea's eyes broke away from the warriors when it came time for them to sing their hymns. That was almost unnatural in her mind, the thought that the men wouldn't know something as graceful as this. But that was also when the young woman's eyes turned away from the ceremony to look at the rest of the city in front of her. Fire was still sparking in the city, the smell of death, burning and storm filling the air around the temple. Bodies of both the dead and the dying laid along the streets. Last time the raid came though, Lea wasn't inside of the city. She had moved with her father into the city a few years after the raid to assist in the rebuilding of the city to stand up to the next attack. And apparently even their efforts weren't enough to go against them. Now, the only home she really remembered was practically destroyed. The shock hadn't exactly hit her yet but now that she got a good look at it all, it was all beginning to flood into her system.

When she was spoken to, her attention turned back to the man, a sudden stare of shock in her eyes. Guide his Maiden home? Was he kidding? The woman remained still but said nothing while they continued their hymns. Seconds later, Lea started out of the doorway, making quick work of the stairs and running into the city. She didn't stop, no matter what the others may have done, rushing to the position she knew her father would have taken during the attack. She needed to find him, to find out what had happened to him.

As she ran, she noticed the doors to the baron's home were still together. She didn't bother to stop and simply continued to run until she found his position at the wall. Amongst the bodies, she found her father, a well-built man from years of farming and basic practice with a weapon. He was holding on with his last breath, a wound opened in his chest, the pain rocking his body in a way that he could never return from. Lea wasted no time, dropping to her knees beside him, taking him gently against her, his blood beginning to drench her clothing as she gave her own soft prayers, doing exactly what the warrior had asked of her but caring far more about her last parent than anyone else in the city. Including the woman she had just helped to save.

((Don't worry about it. It's great :3))
 
((Sorry for the sudden absence. Life did that thing where it got in the way >< ))

No attempt was made to stop Lea as she ran off into the night. They had scraps from her dress, scraps that carried the scent of her fear and desperation. Warhounds still waited in kennels on the ship, being held in reserve in the event that more reinforcements arrived to bring retribution for Trept's sacking. They'd be loosed if Lea decided to try and stray too far from sight and foolishly attempt to vanish into the night. Unfortunately for Lea, the first part of Last Rites was quite the short ceremony and she'd find herself afforded little time to ease her father's passing. The raiding party divided at that point, the men fanning out to resume scavenging over the town like vultures over a fresh kill while Darovar, Vallios, and the women formed two long lines to return to the ship.

The hymns continued as loud and moving as before with Vallios' own deep voice adding contrast to the feminine voices that ranged from wailing soprano to powerful contralto. The myriad of pitches wove together into a fabric of sound and beauty that brought a startling juxtaposition to the pillaging. Once a building was emptied it was put almost vengefully to the torch, the Baarskor determined to leave not but ash and death where proud Trept once stood. Oddly enough however was the fact that the temple was spared a fiery end. Ritual alone spared Trept's house of worship from wrathful flame, Mjarrla had passed there and so the building had become sacred ground, left unmarred save it's shattered doors. Even the singing maidens held torches with blazing pitch as they moved back to the ravaged port. Every time a building went up in flames Mjarrla's name was roared in praise, each structure a burning beacon to her glory and memory. Vallios was the only Baarskor not participating in Trept's immolation. Mjarrla's trappings and body were his burden to carry, tower shield covering her with bladebreaker and scabbard across her breast.

" 'ey! Look what we've got 'ere."

Two men had came upon the Baron's residence and the pile of fresh dead. First they noticed that the Baron's manor had not been ransacked...Then they noticed Lea. Cracked and chapped lips curled into a sardonic black-toothed grin as one of the two men went swaggering over to the mourning priestess. Wordlessly the man jabbed the heavy butt of his spear straight into the small of Lea's back, shoving with enough force to send her face first into the pile of the dead and a few feet from her dying father. Slowly the man shifted his spear, lining up a vicious thrust that would put Lea's father out of his misery. It was obvious the Baarskor held no reverence or respect for the lives of outsiders.

"It seems as if a lamb has escaped the slaughter." The man spoke, beetle-black eyes focused on Lea and dancing with wicked delight. This barbarian planned on murdering Lea's father right in front of her.


((Sorry it's short. I'm up to my ears in garbage. Things should return to their normal quality and awesomeness tomorrow.))
 
Lea had eyes only for her father as he began to pass into the world beyond. She continued her prayers, muttering under her breath as she continued on, her voice cracking as the tears began to gently roll down her cheeks. The young priestess held herself together as well as she could, making sure to get through her final words to her father before he passed on. Her attention broke when she hear the men at the home of the baron, but she didn't turn away. Her entire body tensed to the point that it began to ache, attention still on her father but no longer praying. Instead, she gave him small words, hoping they could reach him where he was slipping to. Little words of love, caring, proving that she did still love him, despite all of their arguments. No pleads for him to return to her, no begs of forgiveness, only pure love for a parent. Her hands remained on his face, coated in the blood of her people as she continued to brush his hair back, cradling him as close to her soul as she could manage.

Then the brutes arrived. Lea didn't have a chance to finish the proper rights when they joined the 'tender moment', as such a thing was called before. This time, her eyes came to look at them as they approached. She fell forward with the hit, forced to release her father, leaving him to their mercy. Fear came to the dying man's eyes as the men turned to point the tip of their spear against him.

"Don't you touch him!" the girl cried, scrambling to her feet to approach them again. "Don't kill him, you disgusting creature!"
 
The final stroke was swift and merciless, broad-blade of a baarskor spear cutting through flesh like a knife through soft butter. Decapitation was the chosen method of death for Lea's father, the executioner using the momentum of the thrust to carry the butt of the spear out in a wide, vicious arc that was aimed for Lea's knee. She was pretty and still alive...The only two criteria needed for a pleasure-slave. Obviously the Baarskor ran the gamut of personalities; these two men and their callous blood-lust drew a stark contrast to the animalistic fury of the Baarskor champion. Some men hunted out of necessity, other for sport. Such a notion was equally true for Baarskor raiding parties. It was unfortunate that Lea had decided to run, the man known as Vallios had intended to do Lea a further service by taking her as a "prisoner of honor" rather than a pleasure slave. Hopefully these two men would follow the Code of Spoils and at least present her before the raiding party to be bargained off.

"Disgusting? I'll tell you what's disgusting. You and your milk-drinking ilk have become so softened by the Land of Plenty that you cannot offer even the mildest of challenges." The spear-holder growled.

The other man was already preparing a set of leather bindings, tying strips into a harness that would hold the arms and limit the legs. However, he did not make any moves towards Lea. It was obvious these two men were the sort to toy with their food. After all, every second spent with this woman was time that could be better spent sacking the town and conflagrating it's structures. Obviously they had to "get their money's worth" out of this scenario. Torture, torment and berate the woman to tears. It was well known that the men and women of the cloth had the strongest spirits...Which made them the most fun to break.
"The rabbit does not curse the wolf." The second man rumbled, smacking the leather of the bindings against his hand with a malicious smirk.

((Longer posts to come, I promise. I didn't anticipate her running away so the lovely scenes I had planned out are being modified xD ))
 
As soon as the blade sank into the man, Lea screamed in terror. That was not the way she saw this going for sure, knowing that no matter how much she screamed, the men would kill her father anyway. They were ruthless like that. But she could put in some effort no matter what the outcome. But like that... it seemed too cruel, even for the likes of them. She was obviously wrong. She did have enough sense to back away when the spear came back around towards her, crying out again as she jumped back before she realized that was exactly what they wanted from her. They wanted her to shake in fear, to scream and cry. The horror in her eyes was letting it be known that she was, in fact, feeling as they would have liked her to. There was no stopping her after what she had seen in the city. This was true terror and there was no stopping it.

Their voices responded in the worst of ways, shaking her to the core, stabbing with each syllable, their growls and threats rocking her into a furry of feelings. She tried to pat them down, to resist crying in fear, but the tears were refusing to listen to her commands. They rebelled and slowly began to roll down her cheeks, which only made things that much worse for her, she figured. And the way they were looking at her... shivers ran down her spine, despite the chill being taken away by the fires burning in her city. There were only two though. Perhaps, if she planned it properly and took the right way out, she could get away from them. They may have been warriors, but she knew the city and she could bet she was much faster on her feet than they were. As soon as she heard the crack of the leather, she took her opening.

Running in the straight opposite direction of the Baron's home, down towards the docks, she broke into a flat out run, putting all of her might into her action, wishing and praying to her gods they carry her to safety. The docks had the raiding party, yes, but she had heard stories of women being spared and taken back to their home for whatever reason. Hopefully not to kill them. But the men behind her, who she knew were chasing her, were after something she wasn't willing to give. Not like that and not to them. She could only pray there was someone there who would take mercy on her. Pray they didn't catch her before someone could see her coming, hear her cry for help.

Pray and run.

((Sorry! Keeps you on your toes, doesn't it? :3 Hope it didn't ruin things too much.))
 
((No, it's great! First time a female lead has ran! Quick question: Do we want the Baarskor secret to be revealed now or held as a plot device for later? ))
 
((Ooh that's up to you. I sort of like having it as a plot device for later, since she's in a bit of trouble right now, how I figure it to be, at least. And it gives her a bit of mystery to what'll happen to her when she gets back to their home. And some things to save for a later time. But! If you'd like to reveal it now, then go for it. I can't stop you.

Seriously though? The first? Well I'm honored then, to give you something different 8D))
 
"It's only fun when they run!"

The man holding the bindings began to cackle as he sprinted after Lea. It was amazing just how fast the Baarskor could run when they needed to. Vaersk, the ancestral stronghold of the Baarskor was settled atop a mighty plateau surrounded by winding steppes that sat high above the rest of the northern continent. Baarskor lungs were accustomed to moving in full battle-gear in air that would make other men light-headed during the most basic of manual labor. Even in full battle gear the Baarskor ran as easily as any other man would unencumbered. Step by step the two were closing in fast on Lea, dashing any hopes she may have had of escape. The warriors shouted, hollered and bellow at her, occasionally bending down to retrieve small, rounded stones to throw at her during the chase. Each stone was hurled with considerable force, aimed for the back of the head, the knee or the ankle. Ordinarily the Baarskor carried bolas for ensnaring runners, but these two had used up their small stash of the throwable restraints during the raid. They had to do this the old fashion way, herding Lea from street to street like a sheep that had bolted from the flock. It was a very round about chase, but they were pushing her closer and closer to the docks.

Down avenues and vistas they chased Lea, doing their best to lead her on a path that would properly display just how thorough Trept's razing had been. All around them buildings groaned, shuddered and shook in the howling winds, their frames weakened by the licking of hungering flames. Vultures had started to land among the dead and were digging into their grim feast. It was surprising how many carrion birds had found their way to Trept so swiftly, brought in flocks by the smell of burning flesh and scorched blood. Here and there buildings collapsed, spewing white hot embers out onto the cobbled street with their death throes. The Baarskor were not deterred by the burning debris that filled the street. Masterfully worked leather and forged steel protected them from the perils of stepping on nails, coals, and other hazards present from the wanton destruction. Occasionally the Baarskor men would make it a point to hurl a stone through a window or some other breakable or severely damaged fixture of the town in an attempt to heighten Lia's fear. To make matters worse the funerary procession had arrived at the boats. It was time to clean up.

That meant the hounds. Loud, somber baying filled the air as the Houndmasters unlocked the kennels. Only two packs were loosed after being scented with scraps from Lea's clothing. Long, sleek bodied grey-hounds with fur that hang around them in majestic wisps of silver...The dogs could be considered beautiful in any other setting. The speed and conviction with which they set off was terrifying, their howls turning to anxious booming barks. The hunt was on!
 
With each stone, Lea did her best to dodge the ones she felt coming at her, but most of them hit her in some way or another. A small handful hit her in the knee, right on target for the men, making her stumble, but she pushed her body forward until it began to ache. She couldn't stop. Her will was too strong to simply keep going and that was exactly what she did. The small priestess pushed herself to her limit, fearing what may happen if she stopped, even for a second.

With each holler from her hunters, she winced, finding a hidden push somewhere deep inside her. Adrenaline was pulsing through her body, bringing more pain to her legs. But the pure fear they were pushing onto her body made her keep running forward, stressing herself to a point of no return. If she survived this, she would be forever in the god's debt. Then came the sound of the hounds and the spike of her nerves, the fear gripping her every muscle, causing them to tense. Her body fell forward into the stone, skidding until her right side was covered in a mixture of blood, dirt, stone and newly fallen ash. She didn't have time or want to think about what was inside of that...

The red head did everything she could to scramble back to her feet before the warriors met up with her, but she heard the footsteps coming after her. Who was she kidding, they'd catch up for sure. She managed to get to her feet and start running again, refusing to give up just yet, only to come face to face with her newest threat. The hounds met her head on, causing her to scramble to a stop and turn in another direction. Still burning homes stood in her way, blocking off the closest alley on one side while another bunch of dogs was on the other. She stared, dirty green eyes wide with the worst fear she had ever felt. Yes, she was going to die. By the hands of the one group she had escaped her entire life.

This time, instead of bothering to run, the priestess fell to her knees, arms limp at her side. Her eyes slid closed, head sagging ever so slightly as she listened to the brutes approach her. "Good Goddess... guide me." A final prayer to the most holy above, wishing she be watched over in her time of need. It was the best thing she could do. It wasn't that she had accepted her death, but she was prepared for it. She didn't want it, but she knew it was coming. Lea raised her eyes back to the heavens, tears running down her cheeks, leaving a trail in the dirt that had stuck to her skin. The wind began to pick up around her, blowing flame, heat and ash around the city. The woman let out a soft sob at the sight. It looked as if it was snowing again... snowing in the dead stronghold. There wasn't another ounce of fight left in her now. The two had hunted it out of her during the run.

She could feel the dogs approaching and her body shook with another sob. Her eyes fell closed again, head hanging before she fell limp, sinking back to sit on her feet, her hands shifting to lay in her lap. Lea was expecting to hear the sound of leather, degrading comments and feel a rip at her flesh. Only time would tell now.
 
(( Hope you don't mind a little rag-dolling as Lea has surrendered herself. I'd also bring a flashlight for this next post. It went to the dark places.))

"Look at her, all silent-like and accepting in a right pretty package! We can't bring her to the ship looking this proper."

Spear and ax went clattering to the ground as the men approached. The Baarskor warriors were no fools however, they knew full well how easily blades could be concealed. Each man held a long wickedly curved belt knife in his right hand, both tense and ready for any desperate stunts Lea had planned. Besides, what if the spirits actually were with this holy woman? One never cornered a snake without a cleft stick. Enemy shamans were always approached with the same sort of caution. It was hard to remain cautious with such a prize at hand however. Lea was a feast for the eyes and both men had a sneaking feeling her body was fresh and untouched, pure as the white her cloth had once been. Most young holy woman proved to be of such sorts...

A booted foot swung hard into Lia's spine, stepping down to force her face first into the dirt. Both men squatted down and quickly pushed their blades through the seams of Lea's robes. It was surprising how careful, precise and swift they were with the incisions. Even marred with blood, ash and soil the priestess' robes could still be repurposed quite efficiently and so the cuts wasted no fabric. Undergarments were cut away too, clothing discarded in a neat little pile to be dealt with once other matters were 'attended to'. This was hardly the most ideal or comfortable place for what was to follow, but both of the warriors were in the mood for quick relief. Such actions were typical of the Unbound as they spent months at sea without any form of relief, all the while knowing that in other quarters throughout the ship maiden and warrior were exhausting their carnal frustrations regularly.

A streak of cruel genius struck the man who'd previously been holding a spear. The man loosed his belt and picked up a charred nail from the cobble. Skin as tough as leather and worn from years of exposure to blistering winds and hard work tightened around Lea's ankle and he dragged her across the street to one of Trept's last standing buildings. Smoke billowed out from the windows, fire reaching up angrily to the skies above. In an easy motion the man forced Lea to her feet, the other man stepping quickly in tow to assist in what was to come. Lea's arms were forced above her head and bound, the leather nail forced through the bindings and deep into the wood beneath. Charred and rough steel bit into Lea's palms, avoiding skewering her hands by a hair's breadth. Then the two stepped away to survey their handiwork. This was going to be the kind of memory a warrior savored. A treasure selfishly hoarded was so much more enjoyable than one that was divvied out through protocol and judgement.

"Much better. Now a good question is do we leave her once we're done or haul her back to the ship? An even better question is...Who goes first?" The words were as light-hearted as banter about the weather.

"How about we flip for it?" The second man suggested, producing a strange gold coin from one of the pouches that hung from his belt.
 
Lea fell to the Earth, twitching slightly as the man continued to hold her down and began to cut at her robes. This time, the priestess did react, struggling slightly to hold them away from the final bits of her clothing, but they men obviously knew what they were doing and quickly cut the material away, leaving Lea naked on the ground at their feet. There was no argument as her slender body was dragged over the stone path, but she did cry in pain. They were adding insult to injury in a way that Lea didn't want to feel at that very moment. It was useless for her to fight the men as the forced her into an comfortable and painful position against the wall, drawing her eyes upwards to look at the building behind her. A tavern... oh yes, what a wonderful place to end your life at. Maybe this wasn't the best time for sarcasm.

With a quick test of the nail, the girl took a look at the nearest man as he pulled a coin from his pouch. She looked it over, eyes wide before shaking her heard quickly, straining her arms against her bonds to try to reach out to him the best she could. They stretched behind her for a sort second while she pushed herself forward, her pale flesh stretching over the bits of muscle she had developed from working in the field. It was nothing compared to the women of their tribe, but she had a smooth feeling to her skin and a pale touch that their own women didn't have. She was fully developed but untouched in so many ways. Just as her religious order had trained.

Quickly, her mind began to work, searching for the proper name before she called out to them and made a fool of her self. Mj... Mjar... Mjarrla? She hesitated another moment before calling out. "Mjarrla!" The girl gave them a moment to react. "Mjarrla! I helped save her!"

'Oh please let this be worth something.'


Her voice fell to a lower volume this time, but her urgency still remained. The others seemed to be grateful, perhaps these two were as well. "I helped try to save her life. The G...Goddess was with me. As she is now. She will know of the truth! As will her..." Oh no... what were they called? "... Swordsman. As will he. Please! Do not do this. Release me and you will be spared by my Goddess." That may have been a bit of a fake out, but she knew her own deity was watching over her, just as she always was. This would have been a good a time as any to pull out the priestess card and see where it got her. Hopefully to safer ground. Lea didn't enjoy the way those men were looking at her nor how they were speaking. This may just save her life.
 
The gambit was definitely worth something. The coin fell to the ground with a soft tinkle, bouncing of the cobble stones and then rolling away down the street. Both of the men were momentarily stunned by the fact that an outsider had uttered the name of one of their kind. The second man, the one who'd been of few words until now stepped forward and brought his hand across Lea's face in a heavy backhand before cocking it back to deliver a hard punch to her stomach. The priestess had just made a massive mistake. Names held power and respect, things weaklings from the Land of Plenty could never, ever understand. The enraged warrior then spit straight into Lea's face before roaring a rebuke at her.

"How dare you soil the name of the dead with a coward's tongue? I should split you open and drag your innards out as a feast for the carrion birds."

What followed next happened with astounding swiftness and remarkable silence. It was impossible to figure out what direction he'd come from or how the man had managed such stealth and haste. The only change that heralded the man's coming was the way the seeker hounds had shifted from an aggressive stance with rumbling growls to sitting complacently on the ground, eyes on the cobblestone below. One controlled motion was all it took to accomplish what needed to be done. One foot at the crook of one knee, the other foot to another and Vallios had brought both of Lea's captors to their knees. The Baarskor champion stared down at his brethren with stern countenance, holding a blade at each of their throats. When he spoke his voice was growl barely audible through the howling wind.
"You two know the laws of appropriation. Return to the ship unless you wish to settle this in the Ring of Sorrows. Without steel."

The Ring of Sorrows was the highest challenge that could be issued from one clansman to another. A fight in the Ring of Sorrows was a fight to the death and was reserved for only the most bitter of disputes. When challenged to fight within the ring only two options were available: decline and lose what was at stake or accept and fight for your life. There was no middle ground, no negotiation and no room for compromise. It required the words of both Darovar and the High Shaman to nullify such a weighty challenge. Limping and mumbling beneath their breath both men stepped away from Lea and began the trudge back to the ship, well aware that their returning to the ship empty would make them subject to the butt of many harsh jokes and a considerable amount of ridicule. Vallios stepped forward and let Lea down before stepping back, allowing her to go fetch the remains of her clothing.

"You were wise to surrender when you did. The hounds would have brought you down by biting flesh and ripping tendon."
 
The slap to the face was enough to get his point across bit the punch was too much. Lea doubled over with a silent cry of pain, his words ringing through her mind. It was intense as her body was already racked with injury. The sudden spitting only added insult to that. He sounded as if he was ready to gut her right there and even parade around with her entrails just to show off his victory. The change in the hounds forced her to wince, ready to suffer the wrath of whoever could draw that much command to them.

Lea never thought she would see it in such a way, but Vallios' voice was a blessing. If anyone would save her, it would be him. A sob shook her as a searing pain washed over her, beginning at her strained arms and travelling swiftly through her unprotected body. With the gust of wind came more ash, whipping around the scene as it played out in front of her. The priestess did her best to remove the strain, pressing her back against the wall of the still standing building to take away as much pain as she could, despite the broken wood splintering against her back. It was surprisingly less painful than the tug on her arms and the punch to the stomach... which was really saying something as she could feel it ripping at her back. But she held still, waiting for a hint of freedom from the torture that seemed to be spreading out in front of her. The warrior seemed to be threatening them with some sort of passage... she couldn't even begin to guess what it is, but the idea of being without a weapon obviously shook them. The two wandered away with their tails tucked between their legs, leaving Lea practically pleading in front of Vallios.

He removed her temporary prison, which allowed the priestess to slowly lower her arms and cover herself the best she could with her hands. Despite all the heat that was now surrounding them, she was chilled to the bone, refusing to meet the warrior's eyes as she approached her clothing and began to shift through the pile to see what all was left. Not much... but she found enough to cover herself, wrapping it in an awkward way around her thin body enough to give her some sort of cover. Even then, she ordered herself not to look at him. She could feel not only a bruise forming on her stomach, but the nervous and unpleasant twists grow stronger, forcing her a few steps away before she fell to her knees just in time for her stomach to rebel against her onto the chilled stone of the streets.

Typically, Lea saw herself as a strong member of her gender. Someone who could stand up to so much without fail, take a beating and refused to let weaknesses such as blood or death bother her. She wasn't afraid of getting dirty or getting into a hand to hand practice fight with one of the town guards for fun. In fact she enjoyed it more than that. But now, with all the weight of the world on her shoulders, the young woman was ready to crack. She told herself to refuse to in front of the warrior to show that she was strong and still had some fight left in her, but as each moment passed, her defenses began to break down, refusing to let her see herself as a confidant human being any more. That frightened her more than anything. The shock was still on her, making it impossible for her to really think about what had happened in the city other than mass destruction. The fine details of her murdered father and the missing women and children would set in soon enough. She had more important matters to attend to first before she could worry about that. And certainly before she could worry about herself and her own pain.

Again, the girl rose to her feet, stumbling again, but catching herself before she fell over. With a wince, she leaned down, picking up the rest of her clothing, gripping it close to her chest as if her life depended on it. Maybe if she survived this she could make it into something better. She'd be lucky if she had spare time enough to do such a thing, but nothing was stopping her from hoping she could. She took in a shallow breath and released it, listening to her rips rattle from the solid punch the warrior had given her, before finally lifting her eyes to Vallios.

"All I ask is that my death is swift." That's why he was there, after all, to end her life like they had done to the rest of her city. Her voice was quivering in fear, despite her every effort to hide it from the man. She attempted to swallow the lump in her throat only to fail and quickly give up, another tear attempting to clear a path down her cheek. "Your monsters took my father from me. I only wish to be wish to be with him as soon as I can..."
 
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