The First Case of Stockholm Syndrome (NotNiceAngel & Laa)

[NotNiceAngel]

Dagmar was out hunting and gathering when it happened. The ones from the North came to their valley in the West and killed her kin. They slaughtered them and spent the night sleeping on their bedding. She knew this because she returned in the middle of their feasting and celebrating. At first Dagmar only saw the warm, welcoming light of home. She was among them before she realized...before they realized. For a moment, Dagmar just stood stoically frozen among them, and then she ran.

They chased her with whoops and yells of delight. Savage howls and screams filled the waning light as she fled her destroyed home. They probably did it to scare her; it was working. She ran without direction, just desperate to get away from the men behind her, to escape with her life. The rabbits Dagmar caught earlier fell from her hip tie as she leapt from rock to rock, scrambling as fast as she could into the darkness of the wood. Behind her, the footfalls fell away. She was one of the fastest of her tribe. Even at nineteen years, she was still the best at chasing and catching rabbits. But behind her, there was one set of footfalls still left.

Dagmar tore onward, fear driving her closer and closer to the edge of the wood. The footfalls were growing louder, gaining. She was going to die. She wasn't quiet as she crashed through the trees, gulping air as she did. The footfalls were so close now; she could almost feel him at her back. Still she ran, for even with her fate so surely decided, Dagmar did not long for death. At the last moment, when she felt a hand brush the fur on her back, she spun and struck. In the darkness, her fist connected solidly; the impact almost broke her arm. He was a brute, a beast of a man, a bear, and he was upon her.

 

[Laa]

The final survivor. She had to be killed. She had to be destroyed. She was the last of a cursed tribe, believed to be possessed by the dark spirits for a long time. The tribe shaman had told them so, and the tribe shaman had never been wrong before. He had even foretold of their great victory, where almost none of their men would be slain. To believe even that came true... Amazing. Simply amazing...

Mandra hadn't expected anyone to survive. If what the shaman had said earlier was true, she had to be killed. She carried the spirits of darkness, and as long as she lives, they live. It was time to put an end to her life and bury her among her fellow corrupted souls. Now, as the only man remaining in this great chase, Mandra simply had to succeed.

Although his big size made him less dexterous than most, the sheer size of his muscles would compensate for that weakness, making him able to sprint faster than most others of his size. By using this to his advantage, he had been able to keep up with the runaway. He was also one of the most endurant runners in the tribe, so if the run dragged out he'd still win.

As he got closer to her he set in for a final sprint, catching up only to touch the edge of her fur. Suddenly, the female turned around and punched him in the chest with all her power; however, due to the fact that he was in full sprint, her fist wasn't able to stop his advance. without, he raised his right arm and charged towards her using the leftover speed from his sprint, aiming for her chest. He was planning to tackle her with all of his might; if she didn't dodge, it was possible she would be knocked out in one hit.

 

[NotNiceAngel]

The main force of the blow hit Dagmar in the clavicle, making her stumble to the ground as shining lights flashed behind her eyes. She wasn't about to give up without a good fight though. Crying out in fear and anger, Dagmar began clawing and kicking and cursing at him in her tongue though she highly doubted he understood. Her head still spun from the fall, so her attacks sometimes missed their target. That's when she started to use her sharpened teeth. When her energy began to drain, Dagmar grabbed the back of his head and slammed her own upward. Her Adar taught her that blow, before he was killed by The Scourge.

The Scourge was the one who set them back and nearly starved their tribe to death by blocking the pass to their winter home. He was the leader of the ones of the North the last time she heard, though she didn't listen to men's tales. Dagmar could remember the day The Scourge attacked, and she remembered hitting him with a rock from her slingshot. The thought of facing the angry Scourge made her pray to the Great Vala to save her or kill her quickly.

The effect of the head slam was unpleasant for her since her already swimming vision began to do so even more. By the way her stomach did little flips, she guessed she had a mind-crack. She could already feel the bruise on her pale skin just under her wavy black hair-line. Her eyes slowly refocused long enough for her to scramble a little distance away, but then she was caught. Oh, but she was kicking like the lively bass in the rivers. Dagmar was most certainly not going down without getting a few good hits in.

 

[Laa]

"What a pesky..."

Mandra uttered in a language foreign to Dagmar. Although she was persistent, it was obvious that she was going down. Why someone so spiritually corrupt could have such a strong will was unknown to him. As he kept trying to keep her under control, he began to feel this strange sensation in his stomach. He wasn't quite sure what it was, so he ignored it for a little while. Whenever she hit back, the sensation would slowly grow. He did always like someone who didn't give up after all... Blow after blow, it became harder and harder for him to ignore the sensation in his stomach. Was he getting corrupted? Or was this woman an exception?

After a small while, he finally managed to pin her down. Originally, he was supposed to have killed her, but his guy feeling told him otherwise. Once the rest of the tribe came closer, he let go of her before yelling a strange command to his tribe.

"Keep her prisoner. She might lead us to others who are as corrupt as her."

Now, he just hoped that his tribe had the competence not to let an injured woman escape. He didn't want to have to chase her down twice after all.

 

[NotNiceAngel]

The armed ones did not strike, but they remained wary. This must have been the leader then. Dagmar tried to back away but found herself against the man-bear. They took her, and they pulled her to the place she called home. She spent the night tied to a post, cold and frightened, although she fought not to show it. At one point a warrior came and gave Dagmar a piece of rabbit, one of hers. His smile was smug. She ate; rabbit was not a bad last meal. Dagmar wished she knew why she had been spared. Perhaps they planned a sacrifice to their god? Her tribe would give the best kills from the hunt to their god, burning them on a pyre. They, of course, were dead when they burned them. It looked as though Dagmar would not be so lucky.

The next morning, Dagmar watched with unshed tears in her eyes as they gathered the valuables, food and possessions that had been her tribe’s. She kept hearing the same thing as warriors burned bodies and made motions. Did they think her people were cursed? Her father, the headman, killed their shaakman long before she was born because of barbaric ideas of accursed tribes. These people were savages...or were they being punished by the dead shaak.

She was forced to stand by someone from behind. Her hands were bloody and raw from her trying to pull the thick rope free. It was the leader behind her; she could see his confident, certain, and victorious look in his eyes. Dagmar snarled in his direction and struggled weakly, but her head throbbed too much to try anything further. His grip was like iron.

 

[Laa]

"Tribesmen!"

Mandra roared, hoping to gather the attention of as many of the nearby members.

"As planned, I will be taking her to my quarters. She is not to leave my home without me; if you see her, catch her and tie her up where she is now."

The feeling from earlier hadn't subsided ever since their fight. Uncertain of what it was, he had decided to investigate by keeping her as close to him as possible. Although they couldn't talk, they might be able to do something else to communicate. Perhaps the tribe shaman could help him?... No. He had requested the death of every single member of the tribe. He would just find a way to murder her; that wouldn't sate his curiosity.

"Go on with your work."

He dismissed his tribesmen with a satisfied smile. Before dragging her home, he decided to bash her in the head to make sure she wouldn't struggle, before untying the rope and lifting her up on his shoulders. As he carried her through the city, a certain shaman kept glaring at him, disproving of his actions. He did nothing about it though; he simply ignored him. By the time they got to his wooden house, he placed her down on the floor, closing the door behind him.

"Welcome."

 

[NotNiceAngel]

They walked for three days, resting only briefly because they were out in the open. The man-bear was huge and clearly the leader. At least when they were traveling there was no time for mating; such activities were distracting and dangerous when so exposed. That did not stop men from sniffing her hair and pawing at her when they thought her asleep. On the morning of the fourth day, they finally reached the tribe. It was on a hill, higher than those around it, with a flat area about halfway up. Dagmar could see smoke from cooking fires. As they climbed, she realized they made their home in wood dwellings leaning on the rock. Planks and furs were hung to keep out the wind as women and children came out to greet their returning kin.

Another male gave a great roar, which his kin echoed. A man reached for a bag slung on another man’s shoulder and dug out the Bluestone. Dagmar stared in shock as he hefted it high to the sound of cheers. The Bluestone had been her tribe’s most prized possession. It was magical, and came from their god. They could win any battle just by using it. There was no other stone like it; it was carved with spirals and sparkled in the sunlight. Now it was theirs, and so was she. Dagmar could not keep the look of outrage from her face, as she soon found out when one of the men thumped her and growled in warning. Suddenly the bear grabbed her arm and tied her to a pole again. Perhaps she was to be killed that evening on an altar as the Bluestone found a new home. Then she saw him: The Scourge! The one man who killed her father. He was here! Dagmar thought she would lose what little pride she had left and break apart at his feet. He had been so long the man of her nightmares, and now she was facing him. Fear filled Dagmar; that had to be the man-bear's father. The Scourge had passed down his head leadership in his decrepit old age. She wondered how hard it would be to kill him.

For awhile, Dagmar sat and watched as the tribe fought and argued over the things they had brought back. Her things, her tribe’s things. Occasionally one of them would look at her and sneer in absolute disgust. The children were kept well back from the black haired monster in their midst. She continued to try and free her hands, but she had no more luck now than three days prior. Dagmar was forced to sit and wait. That's when she noticed the flames being built higher. Her heart froze inside of her. They were going to burn her. She knew it now. Dagmar was a sacrifice, and she was going to be pushed onto the flames and held there with spears as her skin crackled and burned.

Suddenly, something hard hit her and her eyes filled with blackness. She could feel nothing of her limbs, but she was being lifted and then sat down. It was the leader. Dagmar tried not to whimper as he scooped her up into his arms. She did not want to give them the pleasure of her screams, but she did not think there was any way to prevent it. He was to make her mate before she died. He would make her bleed.

"Stay away," she whimpered, curling into a ball and holding her head. "You hurt me. Just kill me and get it over with so I can be with my family."