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Darkness Has Its Teachings (Athene & Alvis Alendran)

LadyAthene

LadyAthene

Supernova
Joined
May 12, 2015
Location
West Coast, USA

Serenity. A calm, peaceful aura. Over the years, Gaul had been covered in a more positive sea of sensations and emotions. Of course, that wasn't to say life was perfect. There were the occasional struggles between people who resided there, be it married people, druids, or any of the ruling individuals. All in all though, everyone had otherwise bee able to live their lives out the way they wanted to.

All was as it should be. All was well.

And yet, nineteen-year-old Rowena had been feeling almost the exact opposite despite the atmosphere suggesting otherwise.

Thankfully, the king, his council, and a hand-picked group of druids would be gathering soon. Due to her own status as this particular village's Seer, Rowena was invited to come attend these meetings. It was no secret to all who lived in Gaul that Scathach had no doubt blessed Rowena, for her gift of sight had been something she'd possessed even as a child.

Her head turned as a slight breeze danced along her skin. Rowena shivered, pulling her cloak tighter over her dress. One hand kept the crimson fabric in place while her right trailed down and patted her side. Attached with some hemp was a small bag. Inside was not gold or coins like one may assume, but a set of Ogham Runes which Rowena used to help dictate her prophecies.

Only when she felt satisfied that she had everything, Rowena strode out of her small house and briskly walked towards the large manor. Upon entering, she noted almost everyone who usually came to these meetings had already arrived.

"Apologies everyone, m'lord. I hope I didn't make you all wait."

A pale, elderly hand belonging to none other than the king wove through the air. "Nonsense, Rowena. You're as essential to these gatherings as anyone else here. Fret not about it."

A small smile crossed her face as Rowena bowed her head. "Thank you, Lord Bssil."

Soon, anyone that had yet to enter walked in. Seats were taken and finally, the king cleared his throat, directing his attention immediately to Rowena. "Before we go on with any other discussions, you've been hinting to me the past few days you've had some ... visions?"

Rowena nodded, "I have, m'lord. And they've only become more vivid over the past days. This is no doubt Scathach giving me this to help warn us; at least I'm certain that's what it's meant for."

"What have you been seeing?"

"Ships. But they're not like anything we've ever seen. They're shaped like a serpent. The men within them are ... cruel. Savage, but very cunning. They bleed, and yet seem to not care about dying. On the contrary, they appear to almost embrace Death, it would seem."

Hushed whispers began resounding throughout the room. As quickly as they started, the commotion ended almost immediately after the king gave all of the men and women a stern glare; one meant for them to hush and not panic.

"Have you seen these ships come here?"

Rowena moved her head from side to side, "No. Still, Scathach doesn't show me these things simply because. That's why I've been afraid for our village and people."

"You haven't read the runes today yet, have you?" After seeing Rowena give another negative nod, Bssil offered the young woman his own affirmative one. "See what they say now."

One swift tug detached the bag from her side. After shaking it thoroughly several times, Rowena proceeded to open the bag and reach into it. Her head lifted up, making sure she didn't risk peeking inside and risk ruining the reading. Rowena's fingertips lightly brushed along the wooden runes, all while being careful not to feel the symbols carved on them.

Finally, as if an invisible hand made her halt, she wrapped her hand around one and pulled it out. Upon laying it down, everyone would see it to be the Straif rune.

"And what of it?" one of the druids challenged. "We've seen that one before."

"Yes. But it's also when a difficult harvest is coming, or the gods are angry. Neither of these have been an issue as of late. Any festivals that we celebrate have already passed or are too far into the future to be represented by this. So what else could be possibly bringing forth trials and tribulations - or even Fate - to us?"

No one had an argument for this, and it seemed enough people were starting to see her point.

However ....

"Until we have a more definite sign, my young Rowena, I'm not going to get anyone ready."

"But m'lord!" Rowena began to protest.

"I will not make my people panic over nothing."

The words stung, as if Bssil had actually slapped her. Rowena flt her fists clench in frustration; a emotion she didn't usually give in to. This very moment, however, was a rare exception. They had listened and heeded her visions before. Why was now so different? It made as much sense to her as all the signs seemed to with the king and his council and druids.

"... Very well. Then that is your verdict. I, however, am not going to simply ignore Scathach. I've no reason to, after all."

Without offering anyone a chance to argue or stop her, Rowena hastily got up to her feet and exited the chamber.

If they weren't going to listen, so be it.

But if this was indeed meant to suggest these ships would be coming right here to this very particular part of Gaul, then Rowena refused to easily be caught in the midst of what would likely be a massacre. To help avoid this, she began hurrying back to her house.

Rowena wasn't going to completely abandon her hometown; however, hide away for a few days, yes. Most definitely. It was a smart and sound enough plan.
 
The ice had lingered long this year. The men had grown restless because of it, used to being aboard the ships and out into the wider world by now, but such had not been the skein that the Norns had woven this year. Skadi had been slow to loose her grip on the world, but it didn't seem to both the jarl. As the harbour was clearing up quickly, the ships was being made ready. Normally he only sent out one ship at a atime, and rarely did he ever send them both to the same placer, but with the late start to the year, he was going to have to make up for lost time. Each ship ran with a good complement of warriors, but not packed to capacity. He wanted room for plenty of plunder.

A warrior testing the ropes that ran to the sails of one of the ships spared a glance up to the long house that the Jarl called home and held court within. The man himself stood at the edge of hte rock bluff the longhouse occupied, giving him a commanding view of the goings on within the large village. Even from this distance, the Jarl was impossible to miss. A tall man, broad in the shoulders, with a mane of hair the colour of rotted frost. He was a beacon to anyone that knew of him. Goðþormr Frostmane, Reaver of the North, and a rising star among the Jarls of the lands. His successful raids had been the talk of many, and had attracted the young from many surrounding villages that had little hope of inheritance adn sought to better themselves. Rumour and legend held that he had sailed for several season with the warriors of Jomsvik, and if such was true then he had been a member of the most feared company of warriors in the North.

Goðþormr turned away, and began the walk to reach the docks themselves. If all went well, the ships should be loaded and ready to sail before too much longer, and he wanted to be underway before the sun set. They'd lost enough of the year. He flexed his hands unconciously, the large, often scarred implements that he had used to carve his way to his current status. His life had not been simple, earning his npalce as Jarl not by birth, but by deed, lading more successful and efficient raids than the previous Jarl, and then defeating him in fair and bloody combat. The village had not been opposed to the change, finding Goðþormr to be fair in his judgements, generous with the sharing of wealth, and merciless in combat. The village had been very well built, rumour holding that it had been laid out by a man captured from far distant lands. 'Rome' they had called it, but such a place was a land shrouded in mystery. It's people ahd come north before, briefly, but the cold and fierceness of the people had not lent them much welcome.

Each building was constructed from a combination of stone adn wood, the stone coming partway up the base, lending each on a solid foundation to set on. The longhouse was no different, and the stone of hte bluff had been carved and hewn out to make proper steps to ascend. The outer edges of the village were more traditional, construction, more ramshackle in comparison, but still serviceable for those that couldn't make it into the inner buildings.

Goðþormr stepped onto the dock beside the ship he planned on sailing on, and looked to his navigator.
"Is all in readiness?" He asked quietly. The other man nodded.
"Aye Jarl. We're loaded, the men stand ready, we can be underway within moments of your word." Came the expected, the hoped for reply.
"The word is given. We sail with the tide." The other man nodded, adn stood, giving a bellow to the quiet morning air, shattering any semblance of peace. Men flooded forward, all of them eager to be on the way. Goðþormr ignored them for now, taking up his place at the bow of the ship, looking out across the calm waters. It wasn't long before the ship moved away from the dock, oars dipping into the water and pushing them along. Such continued until they cleared the short river that led to the sea, and the sail was cast into the wind, pulling them along. COntrary to other voyages that were sent, the ships bore to the west. New, rich lands for hte taking. Goðþormr smiled.
 


"Rowena! Wait! Where are you going?!"

An eyebrow curiously raised. Her head whipped around to see one of the other warriors - one Rowena had become rather close with, in fact - running quickly to catch up with her. A weak smile crossed the red-haired Seer's face as she allowed her pace to slow so the other female could catch up. "Hmmm? Change their minds, did they?"

"Not quite. But some are finding themselves wondering if there was truth to your words."

"Are you here by choice or orders, Isolde?"

"... Technically both. But choice was what made me first exit the room. Still, you are otherwise correct. King Bssil has asked me to find out if he could persuade you to return. Or, at the very least, not to do anything rash like you seem to be resorting to."

Rowena sighed, crossing her arms over her breasts as she leaned against a nearby tree behind her. She stayed silent, merely staring over at her comrade. Finally, Rowena began to chuckle softly. "Am I that easy to read? Has someone else suddenly obtained the gift of Sight within that group?"

"No, no. It's as you said; you are a bit easy to read when you're in certain ... moods."

"Fair enough," Rowena murmured, tucking a few red strands of hair behind her ears. "But ... what do they expect me to do? Pretend I haven't been seeing anything?"

"I can't speak on their behalf about that. However ... " Peeking briefly over Rowena's shoulder, Isolde attempted to take note of where exactly they were. With little more than the nearby forest being any type of clue, she looked curiously to the Seer. "So what were you intending to do, anyway?"

"Hide away until news arrived, be it good or bad. But if a massacre truly is on the way, then I don't want to put myself in unnecessary danger. Surely, you understand, do you not? I'm ont exactly a fighter like you or the others are, after all."

Isolde gave a reassuring nod. "True. But you have your own gifts and protections aside from prophecies."

"Be that as it may, they're not nearly as strong. My magic is primarily for healing and protection purposes more than combat."

Isolde lightly shrugged, "That's something. Surely, it's better than nothing, is it not?" The warrior paused, glancing around again before looking back into her friend's eyes. "How about this? I'll be your bodyguard."

"No! Not you! I don't -- "

Isolde clicked her tongue in annoyance, shooting an irked glare at Rowena. "Don't insult me. I'm going to be on the front line, you know? Even if I don't vow to protect you, I'll still have to put myself at risk."

"I understand. Still, I don't want to feel like that will be partly from my own demanding or doing."

Isolde moved her head from side to side, smiling weakly as she moved forward and wrapped her arms around Rowena, embracing the young Seer. "Don't be silly. Fate and Karma are fickle entities that surround us on a daily basis. Whatever happens will do so, and typically for a reason. Death is just one of those things. You do know even if not through battle, I will still die, right?"

"Well, yeah. But I'd rather it be more ... natural? Definitely less violent."

Isolde chuckled softly, nodding in understanding. "Alas, we can't really decide such things. We can only accept them. Do you still intend to leave, Rowena?"

"Should I not?"

"We need you."

Another breeze blew, this time causing a few stray leaves to dance along each woman's arms several times. Both raised their arms and rubbed their shoulders. Rowena, however, would be the first to speak. " ... If only for tonight, fine. I will remain here at least for this evening. But I meant what I said back there. I have no intentions of ignoring Scathach or what she's been showing me."

"Of course," Isolde gently answered, "I don't think anyone would expect you to do that."

A brief pause lingered before the two slowly began moving away, allowing the embrace to officially end. " ... If you wouldn't mind, finding someone to remain near me would be appreciated. But if you can't find anyone, don't fret too much on it. You all know where I am. I'll simply head back home to rest. The readings always take a bit out of me."

Isolde nodded, bowing her head politely. "I'll see what I can do. Take care, Rowena."

The two parted ways, with the Seer soon arriving into her bedroom. It took little time for Rowena to fall asleep soon after laying atop the soft, relaxing bed.
 
The sea was a home to the men on the ships.

Even if there was no need for it, every man present woudl have been on the seas sooner or later. It was a trait of his people. Salt got in the blood they said, called men back to the sea. SOme women too, but that was a rarer incident. Still, Goðþormr could cast his gaze to the other ship, pick out more than a few women sitting on the oar benches of the ship, every one of htem armed for war, ready to fight. Several of them he trusted in battle more than most of the men. He turned back to the waters, staring intently out over them. He'd even amde two of them members of his Housecarls, inviting more than a small degree of specuulation as to the reason for the appointment. Warrior or bedwarmer? The fiercest of them, Yrsa, had wounded a dozen men, and slain two more over such accusations, showing timer adn again that whatever place she had she earned through blood and steel.

From the other ship, Yrsa spared a glance at her Jarl. Frostmane was not a man that was easy to ignore, and not simply becasue of his hair. A full handspan taller than most other men, and distinct beyond even that. His eyes were like chisled shards of ice, a light blue that almost radiated chill. His face was burnt from wind and sun, lending him a darker hue than one might expect. The bones in his face were distinct, cheekbones high and a straight nose that stayed narrow. Unlike moost of hte warriors, he kept his beard clipped short, out of the way. The way he looked made some wonder if his ancestry might be mixed from another land, and such may well have been true, but his conduct made him a better viking than most anyone else. He had promised her wealth adn glory, and thus far he had been good to his word, earning him her loyalty.

They had been at sea for some time, but checked their bearinngs through stars and sun daily to ensure that they still bore west, alwasy tot he west. Others had gone before them, claiming to see the rich lands there, but all had born North, Goðþormr aimed to a more southern course. They would find lands not yet truly touched by the iron of his people. Goðþormr ran a hand along the rising dragon prow of his ship, feeling hte careful lines that had been carved into the prow, the high arcing dragon head that seemed to be roaring from where it was perched. He turned away for a moment to see how his people were doing.

The sails had ben carrying them well for several days, letting them save their strength. He allowed himself a content smile, noting that none of his people seemed to be shying away from whatever duties were needed to keep them in motion. He heard a call from the other ship, and looked over to see who was making such a call. Yrsa no less, was at the top ofthe mast, having scrambled her way up with some degree of ease. She was pointing to the fore, adn calling out a single word.

"Land! Land!" She roared in a voice that carried clearly over the seas. Goðþormr turned to look, straining his eyes. Sure enough, he began to hear before he saw, the roar of waves slamming into a shoreline. Goðþormr gave a grin.
"Stand ready!" He roared. "We make landfall soon!" He called. Men scrambled to collect their war gear. Armour was shrugged on, weapons checked. They needed to be able to find places ot raid, but once they did, they equally needed to be ready to strike hard and fast. He felt his pulse quicken in excitement.

They had done it. New lands. And he was going to take what wealth there was from them.
 

Had she simply imagined things?

This was the question many people asked her as the next few days passed. Nothing had happened, no ships had arrived. Well, none matching the description she gave the king and others, anyway. A few vessels they often traded with, but nothing that would otherwise imply a foreign enemy. Admittedly, Rowena was finding it odd herself. And she would have eagerly opted to simply agree that perhaps her Sight had, for once, failed her.

... Had it not been for the fact Scathach continued to repeat the dream. Not only were they more clear, but they lasted longer. Newer details were added, too. It was getting to a point where Rowena was more on edge now than she'd ever been in her life. She was eager to leave, to hide away.

Alas, Isolde kept finding ways to talk her out of it; something that irritated her just a bit. Yet at the same time, Rowena couldn't help but be a bit proud too. It meant Isolde was doing her job rather well.

"How have the past few evenings been for you, Rowena?" Bssil inquired as the last of the people summoned entered the hall.

By now, it was easy to see Rowena was actually a bit paler than usual. The toll from the previous nights had worked their own versions of magic upon the Seer, and it was clear as the sky outside.

"Have you made any preparations, m'lord?"

"Should I?"

Rowena quickly nodded her head, "I beg you, you must!"

"Rowena ... " Bssil paused, beginning to gather his thoughts and formulate a clear, direct response. "Has, perhaps, Scathach simply given this as a test? A trial to see if you can discern when to heed her images or when to ignore them?"

Rowena's mouth fell agape. He had not seriously just said that, had he?!

"How can you dare utter such a thing?!" she cried out in disbelief, "Name the last time she gave me such a test!"

.... No one spoke.

And before anyone could, a lone and obviously terrified foot soldier ran through, pushing the doors wide open. Even if he could have somehow hid the horror, his expression made it all but impossible to do so. "They're here!" he cried out. "The serpent ships! They're really here!" Slowly, it began to dawn on everyone how dire the situation had gotten. Including the king himself, whom turned his attention to Rowena ... and sighed softly.

"Silence!" he called out, waiting for the order to be heeded before proceeding. "Move out! Everyone who can wield a weapon, start going towards the shores! Rendezvous up with these men and ensure they don't get anywhere near our town!" His head turned once more to Rowena, "Go gather the non-fighters and help them hide away."

Of course, the 'non-fighters' were primarily the other women and children, save for females such as Isolde.

Rowena quickly nodded, though not before shooting a very irked glare. One that silently said 'See? I told you what I saw, and this is what you're going to get for ignoring me'. The stare, however, wouldn't last long, nor would Rowena's presence within the king's hall. Knowing she'd been given a very vital task, she quickly pivoted on her feet and broke out into a frantic run. Houses she found would have their doors knocked on.

"Raiders! Women and children citizens, follow me!"

The word 'citizens' had been added to help imply that should any of these two types of people know how to wield a weapon and shield, they were needed on the front lines. Now, not later, too.

Slowly but surely, Rowena began making her way through the village, gathering more and more of the population. She did have a place in mind, thankfully. All she needed to do was finish finding and gathering everyone before leading the women and children away.
 
The bottom of the ship scraped along hte beach, digging in and landing firmly. Goðþormr stepped off the bow and dropped to the surf. Water flared under his impact, adn he took a few long strides towards the beach proper. There was a series of further splashes as more and more men dropped to the ground. As Goðþormr strode forward, he knew that the force he brought to bear was a mighty one. Smaller perhaps, than was possible givent he ships, he still had one and a half long hundred warriors. It was a force that would take some dedicated resistance to even slow. As the men assembled, Goðþormr drew a horn from his hip. He raised it to the sky, a gesture to call attention to what he did. He opened the cap of the horn, adn poured a measure of the mead within ontot he surf, a thanks to Njord for safe passage. He titlted the horn to his lips and drained the rest of the mead. He let the horn fall, and accepted his shield from one of his men.

They moved on without a word, each warrior being well practiced in this craft. Most of hte warriors were in step behind him, but more than a few swept out in a wide circle, moving to act as flanking forces if battle was joined. Failing that, they could help corral any prisoners that might become available. There was the faint sound of shouting. However it had happened, it seemed like those that lived here had known of their coming, adn had started ot react. Goðþormr gave a whistle to call his people to order, adn formed up into a cohesive unit, adn advanced on the sound. They broke fromt he cover of the woods, adn emerged intoa field, a village before them, the target of this raid. And what was more, there were warriors surging towards them. Goðþormr allowed hismelf a grin.

"Meet them!" He shouted. His own warriors gave a roaring shout, the sound rising far beyond the level that any single human could achieve, the call of battle nearly a physical thing the way it hammered from the coming raiders. They all moved closer, closing ranks, and preparing for hte coming battle.

Each warrior carried a shield, a spear, and some varient of a perosnal weapon. The spears became rather important as the warriors trot forward a few paces, before drawing back adn throwing. Spears lanced out fromt he front rank, the sparpened iron points sabbing into more than a few of the oncopming warriors, in other cfases slamming into shields with enough force to arrest any momentum that the foe may have been gathering. Screams of pain adn fear were starting to permeate the air now. The village may have more than several warriors, but hte oncoming force was enough to shatter small armies. Outnumbered by a large margin, the Viking warriors came on.

Goðþormr swept his shield around, and pushed a spear away from hismelf, only to slam an axe into a body. Blood sprayed fromt he wound, the mist of it painting his face and chest with a spatter of red. He didn't hesitate, didn't flinch. A man was now dead at his hand, but he ignored it and kept moving forward. The tight ranks of his people were shattering hte more scattered reistance of the other warriros, and they came ever closer tot he town. There was a part of him that fervently wished that someone among the enbemy would take a mroe proper command, organize the resistance, give them a proper fight that he could be proud of overcoming, that woudl show him true glory for this raid. The Vikings kept moving forward as an inexorable tide.
 

"What's happening?"

"Rowena, is it true? Are we really being invaded?"

"What do we do?!"

All of these questions and more had been thrown at the Seer quicker than one could toss a stone at a thief. Her hands rose into the air as she tried to calm the crowd down. It wasn't an easy task, even less so when Rowena herself was a bit anxious. Scared even. But if they caught onto that, it'd lead to the exact panic the king had been so horrified of causing. It'd only make the death toll that much worse if they lost their logical sides and ran blindly away from Rowena's side.

"Even I can't honestly say what they're here for. Scathach has simply allowed me to see a few things about these newcomers. They definitely come here with anything but good intentions. It may be as simple as they just want treasure. Whether that's it or there's more ... I know not. Either way, let's not wait to find out. Come everyone, this way."

Just in case anyone still had any doubts, the first of many screams and cries echoing throughout the air reassured everyone Rowena had been honest with them. Enough that now the women and children were running as quickly as they could, making damn sure not to fall behind.

It would take a while. Thankfully, the head start against the incoming raiders would allow them to see their destination coming up. On top of a hill in the outskirts of their village was a cave that doubled as a grotto. "Inside. Quickly, go," Rowena urgently dictated, beginning to guide everyone inside.

"What about you?" a young child asked, looking up with concern to the Seer.

Rowena merely smiled, patting the girl's shoulders. "I need to stay behind."

"But why?"

"I'm going to protect you all with a powerful charm. I need to stay nearby to ensure the spell remains in place. I'll hide, don't worry. It just won't be with you all. Now, go on. Follow your family inside."

Once everyone gathered inside, Rowena leaned down, picked up a stray stick off the ground, and began carving an intricate circle into the dirt. Both the interior and exterior of the cave would have the symbol. This was Rowena's way of ensuring no one could enter or exit the hiding spot.

"O holy goddess Macha, this spell is devoted in your name."

Closing her eyes, Rowena took a long, deep breath. Clasping her hands together, she began chanting under her breath. The circle glowed, getting brighter with each word that passed the Seer's lips.

"Ego vocare
Et animas
In fidem recipere
Pax ex nox
Omni malum apage te!"

As the chant finished, Rowena re-opened her eyes. The light from the circle had mostly died down. Enough to where it wouldn't light up again lest someone tried to pass through the barrier. Rowena smiled, mostly content with her work.

... Just in case, however, she took a moment to stay quiet. Her head turned as she listened, gauging how far away these men were from this area.

When she was certain it was far enough, she looked back and did a quick test on her spell. She moved forward ... and felt herself lightly shoved back from her own spell.

Good. This should hold then.

Feeling much more at ease, Rowena looked around one more time, now seeking a place to hide away. With herself using up a considerable amount of energy to keep the spell intact, making herself invisible wouldn't be the best option. It was there, sure. But it would risk revealing where the other citizens were. That was something Rowena couldn't afford taking a chance with.

So, even though it wasn't usually her forte, Rowena had to resort to something she didn't often do.

She bent her knees and jumped up, grabbing onto a branch above her head. Slowly, she began pulling herself up, starting to climb up into a nearby tree and hide beneath the cover provided with all the leaves and various branches.
 
It was an avalanche of blood.

The Viking warriors strode forward, dealing death wherever they cast their gze. Their enemies had infact managed to draw themselves into a semblance of order, preparing themselve for the oncoming attack. Goðþormr only grinned, adn raised his axe skyward, a wordless signal that called his peope to him. They assembled in a practiced rush, assembling behind him. Their foes had presented a shield wall, more of a square to be honest, making them a hard target to breach no matter what direction they might move in. But the vikings had long ago learned of the shieldwall, perected it's use. And their own God, Thor the thundered, had taught them the proper way to break such a thing.

The vikings came on in a steady, measured rush, Goðþormr at the point of hte wedge they had formed. Their foes seemed ot shuffle nervously at the oncoming mass of warriors. With a roar of exultation, Goðþormr came on, his frost-blond mane flowig behind him as he charged, his axe landing on a shield, biting in, lewtting him pull the shield away from the holder, adn he crashed the rimof his own shield into the man. Bone broke, sending the unfortunate to the ground where a swift booted stomp landed on hsi neck. Prying his axe out of hte shield, he lashed out wildily, driving people away from him as he plunged into the breach he was creating. The two men behind him followed in, the thrtee behind them doing likewise, adn so on, spearing intot he heart of the formation.

The square shattered.

The slaughter was in full force, the vikings butchering all that they could reach. It wasn't going all their own way, men falling impaled on spear adn sword, grevious wounds from harsh blows that managed to pierce armour laying folk low. Each warriors of hte North that fell did so with a smile on their face, eyes turning skyward to trya dn catch a glimpse of the Choosers of the Slain that must surely be coming to collect them.

Goðþormr wiped the blood from hsi axe, adn looked around himself. Yrsa trot up to him, he spear caked in gore, her arm weighed down byt he shield she bore, larger than most, and seeming to be covered in some kind of stone. A relic of her family, it had been called the Giant's buckler, but none had been able to verify such. Goðþormr knew that it had been proof against any blow yet thrown to Yrsa.
"They fled to the hills. I watched them leave. But...my Jarl, there was asomeone aomngst them that seemed to work some manner of Seidr. I do not know how we may defeat such." Yrsa admit.
"No matter. Lead us there, adn we shall find what has been denied us." Goðþormr answered. Yrsa bobbed her head in agreement. The vikings swept into the village proper, and began to tear it apart in search of loot. Once each bulding was pillaged, a torch was set to it. Fire began to rise quickly, marking that they had come to not only pillage, but to cleanse this village from the land.

Yrsa was true to her word, leading Goðþormr and a dozen of his housecarls tot he area that as to be protected. Goðþormr looked around. There was little to indicate that there was anything, or anyone, of value. Still, the hairs on the back of his arms were standing on end, usually a good indication that somethign was not proper, something that might be from the Half-world that spoke of thigns beyond the ken of mortals. He hadn't thought that his foes might have a practictioner.
"Spread out. I want to see some slaves from this raid." He said simply. The dozenj warriors spread out, thought Yrsa stayed close to him. She shot a glance back to him, as though verifying that he was still present, looking to ensure that he was not somehow laid low in this phase of the raid. Goðþormr didn't object. He heard a shout fromo one of his men, and went to see what he had found.

What was there was far more of a wonder.

He saw his man leaning against a barrier that had no visiable element, straining against empty air in a way that was impossible by nature, far too much weight was pressed forward to be explained away. He looked at the barrier, and strained his ears. There was a faint sound of fear, of whimpering from within the area that they were barred from. He looked about. Careful examination revealed the remians of a ritual circle, somethign that indicated that there was indeed a powerful practitioner among their foes.
"Your orders Jarl?" Yrsa asked. Goðþormr raised a hand, getting an idea of what way the wind was blowing. He smiled. Towards the grotto.
"Buld a fire at the barrier, as much green wood as you can. Smoke them out." He orderfed. Yrsa nodded, steppign away and callign orders. It didn't take long, a torch provided to get the flames moving. The pile of green wood and leaves smoldered, took light, and the wind blew the smoke inot the grotto. Soon it would be all the harder for anyone within to remain. The people within would be forced to either emerge from the grotto, or die within it.
 

It wasn't surprising the area didn't remain quiet forever. Rather, it was how quickly the sounds of so many foot falls began storming to this area. Rowena frowned. That alone already implied they were worse than what Scathach had allowed her to see. Her head lowered as she watched. One by one, all the Vikings steadily arrived. Her head curiously tilted as she caught sight of Yrsa.

... Women willingly fight like this?

Isolde was more than proof enough that it wasn't an uncommon practice. However, Rowena felt fairly certain the style of fighting taught here was nowhere near as savage and barbaric as what these people used. Hence why it seemed odd for someone like Yrsa to be among such a violent group of people.

They understand what the circle means? Do they themselves know magic?

Either way, the fact they could discern well enough what it symbolized was more than enough to make Rowena's heart sink a bit. Her head shook, trying to dismiss the negative thoughts away. Fine. So they weren't all brawn and no brain. But that didn't mean ....

Oh, but it did. It wasn't an unorthodox way to counter her circle, but it was one that could indeed work.

Oh no!

It was a correct assumption. Everyone would indeed be trapped and die from the smoke. Rowena gripped her lower lip, feeling her mind quickly racing. Since Sight was her true gift, she knew the moment another spell was cast, the barrier would fade away. It infuriated. But would it be worse to know she'd been the reason these people had died or would end up captured? Rowena's head bowed, her fists clenching slightly.

There was only one thing to do; the right action. Which, for her, meant choosing the lesser of two evils.

"Bel, pectus mihi confer mundum vires tuas mutuari.
Invitis igne marcescet.
Evanescet, si vitam pro te et non vult illud cum me.
Evanescet, et quod unum facturi cum vento statim magis.
Iota expecto enim verius acciri ... "

Yes, the chanting would indeed be heard, as she wasn't trying much to muffle her voice. Lower a bit, perhaps, and that was more to make it somewhat of a challenge to find her. But there was a point to her doing this new spell besides it was the morally right thing for Rowena to do. She was purposely trying to direct these foreigner's attention to her and away from the trapped women and children. Not wanting to take the chance of them simply building yet another fire, Rowena proceeded to jump down, wincing slightly as she landed a bit roughly. Not too badly to wound herself in any way, but the landing hadn't been completely graceful either.

"Wait!" she pleaded, slowly raising her hands beside her head as a good sign of faith, she spoke slowly, making sure at least one of them could understand her. Their tongue had been ... harsh. Foreign. But there had been a few times she made out some more familiar words, which suggested they could be spoken to. Not perfectly, but well enough; that was her hope, anyway.

"If you absolutely cannot let them go, then do not kill them. Please."

It seemed like the best compromise she could offer. And, hopefully, her revealing herself would make it easier for them to accept the offer. Yet, there was one other true reason for her giving herself up.

If she could keep most of them distracted and focused upon her, maybe it would allow some of the women and children to get away. Even if that number was very small and slim, as long as some could flee unharmed, that was fine with her. It'd help Rowena feel better for feeling like she had turned her back on the very people her king asked her to protect. Either way, with the barrier vanishing the moment the fire had, everyone had chance and opportunities to take if they so desired.

Whether anyone would actually do so ... well ... that would be revealed soon enough.
 
Goðþormr looked on at the building flames with an air of casual approval about him. He cast his glance around the area, wondering if there was a distance to the working. If so, they likely couldn't be far. His eyes tracked along the ground, seeing only trees. Trees...

Yrsa paced the ground, not far from her Jarl, but knowing that she was far mroe likely to be able to pick out any potential foes. She'd been widely regarded for her tracking skills. There were a multitude of footprints heading into the grotto, and that was obvious. But she was starting ot pick out a set of smaller tracks, likelt a woman or child. She cocked her head as she saw them leading away from the grotto. She strained her ears, picking out a sound that didn't belong. The sound of the fire faded as she concentrated, pushing the sound of steps from her fellow warriors, until she could tell what it was. A voice. And it was coming from above her. She drew in a breath to call out, when she heard Goðþormr call out an alarm.

The flames had abruptly guttered and went out, causing no few shouts of alarm. A warrior staggered, having been leaning on the barrier. Goðþormr gave a shout to call everyone back to attention, before he spied a form hitting the ground close to Yrsa. The woman arrested her instinct of either jabbing out her spear or slamming the heavy shield into the newly landed person. A raised hand was all that was needed to arrest the momentum of the warriors, giving this foreign woman a chance to make herself better known.

Yrsa adjusted the grip on her spear. There was a...scent on the air, one she'd not voluntarily been near in a long time. The Seidrman at the village had this scent about his hut, one that she associated with workings and the power of the Gods at work. Most didn't pick it up, but Yrsa spent too long in scouting details to not be able to rely on her nose. When the woman spoke, Yrsa twitched, almost reacting violently. The language wasn't one she followed, for all she knew the woman was trying a working on her Jarl!

Goðþormr didn't react as Rowena began to speak. It wasn't that he didn't care, but he was concentrating on her words. They were..strange to him, but familiar as well. Something that he had known from long agao, his mind recalling the words that apparently those from distant Rome had used. He had not met such men himself, but he had learned of them, spent time with some who claimed they had met such people. And as it turned out, they hbave actually been hoenst, for these words were phrased differently, but clearly enough that he could make them out.

"Not a Seidrman then. A Volur. How fascinating." Goðþormr said in his own tongue before turned back to Yrsa. "Take Hrothulf and check the grotto, see what we have in there." The woman stared at Rowena a long moment, as though considering disobeying orders, but then pulled her spear back up to a rest position, and walked away, waving one of hte men near them to folow her inot the now opened path.

"You now, you ask me for favours. Sparing hte lives of those within. Why should I grant such a request to you?" He asked Rowena dircetly in a more gutterally accented, broken version of the tongue she's used.
 

They didn't immediately attack which, already, was a great sign for Rowena. In all honesty, it was a miracle in its own rights. With how fierce she'd seen them in dreams and reality, it wouldn't have been too astounding if any of these foreigners opted to simply rush forward and attack. Instead, they gave her something she only half-expected; the chance and ability to speak and explain who she was. Of course, there would come the issue of whether they even understood her or not.

The fact she had picked up on a few words made her hope that there would be a chance, even if a slim one, for the answer to be a yes.

But until any of them spoke directly to her, she wouldn't know.

... Did any of them leave?

As much as Rowena wanted to look past the Jarl and towards the cave, she didn't dare. If she did, it would hint what exactly she'd done and how her spells truly functioned. Of course, that was also going off the assumption he hadn't yet understood how her magic worked. Her head tilted as tons of strange words passed what appeared to be the leader's lips. Seidrman? Volur? What in the word did those mean? They felt important but how he seemed to emphasize on them. Alas, it was another thing she couldn't prove. Not yet, anyway.

Her head turned as she watched the woman whom, by now, looked rather infuriated. Swallowing softly, a gentle sigh of relief passed Rowena's lips. It almost looked as if the man gave her consent to outright kill her. While he did end up relaying an order she wasn't overly fond of, it wasn't the worst. At least, Rowena felt that was the case. The way her spear was held, it seemed more like she would be prepared to attack at worst, but not immediately take lives unless it absolutely was needed. Knowing there were only women and children hidden inside, she doubted it'd end up taking a fatal turn.

Finally, the man shifted his attention directly to her. Despite having a rough accent, he proved there was a way to commuicate with him.

"Oh thank gods," she muttered, needing little more than three mere seconds to give a simple but effective answer. "Simple. Unless I misheard you earlier, you said you wanted slaves, correct? If you kill them, you won't get what you want."

Well, not many slaves, anyway.

Rowena realized with how this raid had gone, she'd at least likely become one. But if she could find a way to fulfill her task in keeping these people alive and mostly safe, so be it. And hell, for all she knew, Isolde - or someone - may have been able to get out of the fray and ride away to inform neighbors. With any luck, it could earn reinforcements in the future ... assuming her own gods had been smiling at some of the Celtics.

"It's just women and children in there. All unarmed. And none have capabilities like me. None of your people will be harmed."

Her mind raced as Rowena thought long and hard. Was there anything more for her to say? Nothing was coming to her mind, so ... no. Hopefully not. And with anymore luck, her message had been fair enough that it could come off as a logical plea and not a smart-ass one. She'd been completely sincere and serious, and all she could keep praying was this man would be able to sense that much. Rowena waited, not daring to move aside from breathing. Her arms otherwise remained by her head as she watched, trying to get a read off what the man would do or even say, and how he'd react from her request.
 
Yrsa was faintly seething as she led Hrothulf into the grotto. Being sent away on a fetch job for the Jarl was not what she wanted. She was his strong right hand, the one that he trusted to execute his will as well as his enemies. That thought did make her realize that he was probably sending her in here to make sure that whatever they found wasn't hidden away or spoiled by anyone else. It would do to have pockets of coin or gems hidden away. As they advanced, she heard a faint whimpering sound. She turned back to Hrothulf who nodded, and stowed his weapon to spark a torch to life.

The coming light showed a crowd of huddled people. The women and children indeed. Yrsa swung her spear off of her shoulder, and aimed it straight at the crowd. They flinched back, some faint cries of alarm and screaming happened until she gave a wordless shout. Sllence fell, and she swung hte spear around to the entrance, and jerked her head in a gesture that they empty. In fits and starts, nervous movments, people started to work their way out, Hrothulf nodding as they passed, keeping a count on how many were there. He was good with his memory, and would know how many women young boys and young girls would be passing by. Yrsa took up the rear, making sure the place had been emptied.

Goðþormr nodded in a contemplative fashion.
"Slaves are a resource for us. But only so far. An irritant can be discarded easily. When they emerge, however many there are, do what you can to ensure they remain a resource, and not an irritant. Know that if we carry nothing back but the goods and coin we've taken, and butcher every living soul here, I will sleep soundly and be content." He told Rowena in a calm, matter of fact tone, showing no real emotion in the promise of murdering the defenceless population of the village.

As the first people began to stumble out of the grotto, the housecarls began to form a cordon, making sure that they would be within weapons reach of anyone who tried to make a rbeak for freedom. Such was not happening here today.
 

Rowena had to bite down on her lower lip when she heard Goðþormr's response.

... Irritant? Do these people truly view anyone that isn't the same as them in such low regards?

Slavery was disgusting enough to think about. But considering it would be lowered to that sorta degree was ... worse. It made her stomach sink, her heart quickly following. Her eyes briefly shut as she slowly nodded. "I'll talk to them all. They won't ... misbehave." If she had to use a word to describe someone disobedient, than she'd do so in a more accurate and human manner than referring to anyone as an 'irritant'.

"What happened with your barrier?" one of the women asked, looking something between shocked and annoyed. Both of these were fair enough, given Rowena was feeling about the same. She hadn't really expected to be forced to remove it at all. But these ... what were they, anyway? Whoever these people were, they were smarter than she'd planned. And it had been a good part of the reason she sacrificed the fortification spell and used an elemental one.

"I ... miscalculated. I'm sorry. But if I didn't get rid of it, you would have died from being trapped. I couldn't just ... "

Her head bowed as the first doses of shame flooded the Celtic Seer. The same child she'd attempted to comfort ran forward, hugging Rowena around her waist.

"Shhh," Rowena whispered in a calming voice.

"W-What's going to happen now?"

Rowena looked up, briefly locking eyes with the Jarl as if to get an idea on what to say to that question. But then .... she had promised to talk and keep everyone under wraps. Besides, it'd likely be revealed later. So, she looked back down to the small girl instead. One hand remained beside Rowena's head while the other gently wove through the child's hair. "I'm not sure. But he's promised not to kill anyone if you follow their lead. Go back to your mom, alright? I'll ... be nearby."

Giving a few more pats to the girl's back, Rowena rose her left hand one more as the lass obeyed the Seer's instructions. Everyone else seemed to hear and heed what she'd said, because no sudden moves - save the girl going back to her parent - was made.

Looking back up to Goðþormr, her head moved in an up and down motion as she spoke, maintaining eye contact as every word passed her lips, "... Alright. They'll cooperate, as will I."
 
Goðþormr met Rowena's gaze easily and gave only a single nod in acknowledgement to her words.
"Hrothulf, what's the count?" He asked in his own language.
"Nineteen women, seven girls, six boys." The man answered without hesitation. Goðþormr smiled. A decent haul then.
"Move them out to the coast. Shortest route." Hrothulf nodded, and the rest of hte housecarls stepped forward to urge people along with casual shoves.

"We'll be going down to the beach now then. Best get moving." Goðþormr told Rowena as he slid his axe into the loop at his belt, putting it out of the way. He began an easy striding pace to keep with the group. As they moved forward, they were coming closer to the village.

Every structure that could burn, was.

Flames made it oppressively hot with the confines of the place, but the raiders seemed not to care, and kept people moving along. Every step they took brought them closer to the beach, closer to the ships, and closer to the loud cheers and screams from the surrounding area. Other raiders were seen moving around, bloody weapons in hand, grins of fierce pride and joy on their faces. As they rounded a curve in the road, Yrsa gave a shout to halt the company, the men doing so instantly. Goðþormr worked his way tot he front to see why they had stopped. The way the heat was pouring onto the the people it wasn't safe to remain here for long, they needed to keep moving. However, when he saw why she had made the call, he agreed with the desicion.

There was a man on the road, on his knees, blood caked all along his hands and arm, running down his face and onto his chest. There was a bear pelt on his back, the top of his head covered by the worked skull, making a kind of helemt. But there was nothing human in his eyes as he glared at the lead edge of the crew. There was a dead man at his feet, looking to be one of the village fighters. Who it might have been was impossible to know, the body torn and ripped as though by strong claws, the face torn completely off of hte skull. And there was what looked like some leftover meat in the teeth of the man. Goðþormr approached the warrior slowly.
"Gunnar. Hear me borther." He said slowly, quietly, a hand raised in a placating gesture. "You are a warrior of my cmpany, a friend and shipmate of mine. Remember yourself brother." The words were laced with an air of command, an order that was expected to be folowed. The man shook his head, growling, and leaping to his feet. He snarled once before Goðþormr was close enough to place a hand on his shoulder. Their gaze locked for a moment, before the other man, Gunnar, shook himself, blinking several times before seeming to come back to himself.

"I...my jarl, I-" Gunnar started, his words sounding slurred.
"Lost yourself for a time. It is all right. Back to ship old friend, we'll speak more on the water." Goðþormr said in a soothing tone. GUnnar nodded, looking about for a moment before finding his weapon, a stout club with bear claws mounted along it's sides, and jogging towards the ships. Yrsa signalled the group to get moving.

There were more prisoners at the beach. The raiders had returned in full force, bringing sacks of loot, chests taken from homes, and even a few pieces of crafted furnishings. Another half dozen people were on their knees at the landing site. Goðþormr raised a hand in greeting, and more than two hundred voices lifted in a wordless roar of welcome and approval, the sound almost a violent thing, washing over him and all rpesent in a wave. It made him smile. One man among the raiders was dropping down from the ship, a length of iron chain over one shoulder. Form that chain were numerous manacles, looking like he'd retrieved a slave coffle. He approached the prisoners.
 

So far, so good. Well, as 'good' as one could consider this situation, anyway. Still, these men hadn't tried ot abruptly lunge forward and shove a spear through any of the captives. That truly was a relief for Rowena to see; it meant her words had been understood well enough. Of course, she realized this also meant she was keeping her end of the bargain well enough. True as that may be, it was much more forgivable than if she'd been the cause of thirty plus deaths. Offering Goðþormr an affirmative nod, her arms slowly lowered as he put his axe away.

"To the shores, everyone! Follow!"

Each step towards their destination made her heart sink a bit more, the fire only making it just a bit worse as most of the village was set ablaze. Still, Rowena's head very slowly looked around. Among the sea of bodies, she wasn't seeing Isolde's ... and that was another miracle. Perhaps she had gotten away. Good. Maybe this wasn't a completely hopeless situation. It'd take a while, as even Rowena didn't know exactly who these people were. Which thus meant Isolde would need to find a way to learn that, also.

If she's alive and well though, then at least there is a chance that may be able to happen at all ...

Nodding to herself, Rowena shifted her gaze, looking completely straight ahead. Her opinion on these strangers hadn't changed. They were cruel, and incredibly cunning. At least, however, it seemed they had a decent enough control on their temper. They could be reasoned with, and hopefully that would help out in the long run of her new and inevitable future. If they'd been so sadistic that even negotiations couldn't be made, this would be much worse.

Scathach. please forgive my failure. Acknowledge I'm attempting to make up for it by keeping everyone alive and well. All those who grace people with wisdom, please ensure to comfort the women and children. Help guide them, especially after I'm separated from them.

Her head lifted, having subconsciously lowered when Rowena began her silent prayers. Taking note of the boats and the sea, she added one last internal plea in her mind.

And Dylan ... allow us all to get there safely. Let not the waves take any of the innocent here.

Taking several deep breaths, Rowena glanced back up in time to see the numerous manacles and chains being puled over by one of the Vikings. Rowena gulped softly, feeling nervous. A bit scared even; her emotions were simply being kept under wraps. The moment she gave into despair, the others likely would and ... it wouldn't end well for anyone. Not even herself.

"Stay put. Allow them to do what's needed."

The whines and protests - mostly from children - made Rowena's heart sink. "Remain beside your parents; you'll all be fine," she added, hoping it'd reassure them, even if only a little bit. When her turn arrived, she would finally do whatever was needed. If that meant moving some of her red hair away, so be it. Otherwise, she offered a leg or arm to be caught in the chains. Whatever was done would end up with a chilling click as the lock was secured in place, simultaneously sealing her - and the other Celts' - fates.
 
Goðþormr looked at the mass of people that were about to be made into spoils of war. His eyes picked across them, mentally marking them out for specific roles. Some of the women could be used as servants for some of hte radiers, several of them were young enough to be worth something. A few of them were older, matrons really, and they would have less use as labour workers, but there were a few families that could use the help with their younger children. The young boys were a simple call on the way home, there was an outpost from the southern lands established. They were always eager to buy the young boys. He didn't know for certain for what purpose, but he was also certain he didn't much care. They paid in good silver, even gold when the prize was good enough.

Goðþormr watched as the man with the slave coffle began to have each person dragged forward, their wrist fed into the manacle, putting the cuff onto a small portable anvil, and the locking pin hammered into place. The man knew his business, and was quick and efficient. Half of them were set up for one of the ships, and dragged to it. They'd be loaded. Yrsa appeared beside Rowena, giving her a gentle shove towards the anvil. She wasn't the first on the coffle, nor the last, she'd be locked into place with the others. The man witht he hammer didn't hesitate, recognize any kind of significance to her, he just siezed her arm, locked the manacle over the wrist, and hammered it into place. Once that was done, Goðþormr held up a hand. Motion of the newly captured people stopped. He leveled a finger at one of hte women. SHe looked up at him. She was old, a crone really.
"Not you." He said in the tongue that had worked with Rowena. "Too old." There was a moment of silence as the words sank in, before he gave a nod to one of his men.

The man was Gunnar, and he grabbed the old woman by her hair, dragging her away from the beach by it. Protesting screams from the remaining prisoners came, and a few tried to surge forward, only to have raiders unceremoniously pummel them to the sand. A few took additional blows once they were down, but all were careful not to inflict any lasting harm. No sense in damaging the merchandise. Gunnar looked back, seeking approval for his action from his Jarl, who simply nodded. He shifted his grip, and hauled the woman up, his hand around her throat, adn heaved, casting her away from him.

And through the door of a burning home.

Flames erupted from the new breach int he side, a fitting signal to the end of someone. Goðþormr noted that the woman had not made a sound, not through the entire proceeding. He nodded, finding some respect in that. He'd honour her courage when they sailed.
"Get these people loaded! I want us on the waters in twenty minutes or less!" He roared out. Men snapped to work, loading hte loot intot he middle of each ship, and finishing off the locking down the slaves. Tue to his demand, the ships were pushed off of hte surf, adn onto the waters quickly. Oars in the water, they made the turn, and began the trip back to the lands of the North.
 

... Now what?

So many questions, and yet so few answers. Because Rowena ended up being in the middle, she got quite the view of the coffle and how exactly it worked. From a distance, it seemed like a rather crude and overly simple device. When Yrsa shoved her forward, however, she saw that even if that was indeed the case, it was sturdier than she originally assumed. An anvil was what the manacle was attached to. An interesting choice, considering most metal things tended to be too heavy. Clearly, however, this had been created in a manner which made it able to remain on the ship but not put it at risk of sinking.

"Cunning indeed," she muttered in her mother tongue, shivering as a light breeze brushed along her exposed wrist.

"Not you."

The simple words made her turn her head. What had that meant? As that answer played out, her free hand covered her mouth in horror. It seemed ... unnecessary. Wouldn't just forbidding her from getting on the boat be enough? There was a low chance as things were for her to run back for help. And yet, that was exactly what the actions seemed to imply. Or maybe it was to avoid something else. Either way, Rowena grimaced, whipping her head back around as the elderly woman was hurled into the burning house.

"Dis Pater and Don," she whispered softly, "Receive her as well as you can."

While Rowena herself wasn't a druid or holy woman, it felt like the right thing to do. She was the closest person to holding such a position, and it thus felt right to send the thoughts above to the numerous deities watching.

No sooner than everyone was loaded onto the boats did a rapid tapping upon her shoulder make her turn. It was the mother of the same girl she'd been helping keep calm earlier. "What have you done to us?"

"Me?" Rowena repeated, moving her head from side to side, "Wrong. Like I said, I did miscalculate, yes. But I did not by any means arrange for you all to be forced into this. If anything, I was ready to offer myself for all of you. Alas, that was out of the question, so the next best thing was to --- "

SMACK!

With her own unchained hand, the other female brought it roughly upon Rowena's face. She kept her head turned away, accepting the slap.

"YOU COULD HAVE STOPPED THIS, COULD YOU NOT?!"

"No," Rowena replied calmly, "Unfortunately, no. Scathach only allows me to do so much. You know this. Sight is my true gift, not magic. Nonetheless, I do have both. One is weaker, and that's the simple price of it. Let me put it this way; even if I had somehow found a way to prevent this, it'd anger Morrigan and all others whose domain lies with Fate. Would you wish me to defy them? Even knowing everything that's been happening now would only become that much worse for you and your family?"

All Rowena got for an immediate answer was the sight of the woman's fist clenching. Probably going for another hit, though worse than a slap.

"If you're truly that angry, Alene, fine. But .... "

Soft sobs from behind her made her stop. Nodding her head past the elder woman's shoulder, she'd see her child beginning to cry. "I'd say Alys needs you more."

"Did you bewitch her?"

Rowena scoffed, rolling her eyes. "Of course not. I cast easier with both hands free, for one. Disregarding that, I'd never do that to a person with little chance of fighting against such an enchantment. Take care of what you have." Her voice lowered slightly as she whispered, "Some days, I envy you, in truth."

A family had definitely been something she'd thought about every now and again.

Right then and there, it was hands down the very last topic racing through her mind. Brushing the slapped area with her shoulder, Rowena stared out towards the sea, sighing softly. She gulped slightly and finally forced her head to turn, looking at Yrsa or Goðþormr, whomever was closer, let alone on the same vessel. "Who are you exactly, anyway? And where are we going?"
 
The sound of the slap caught a bit of attention from the crew. Goðþormr turned from his place at teh bow, seeing teh sudden screaming woman shouting at the volur. He half considered making an example of her, showing what might happen if there was too much commotion or noise from teh slaves, but it seemed to calm itself down. That was good. He spared a glance around hte ship to see where his crew had wound up. the men were just unfurling hte sail to let them catch the wind and be on their way, though across the distance, he saw Yrsa was delivering a hard blow to the head of one man, likely for trying to take advantage of their new merchandise. It wasn't opposition to the practice, but not before they reached home. It could distract from needed duties.

When Rowena threw her questions at him, he felt his brow lift slightly. They were simple questions, but ones that he ahd expected earlier, or to be accompanied by a great deal more curses. He left teh bow, moving closer to her, preferring not to have to shout. He stayed on the walkway beside her, making it so she would have to look up at him to speak directly. It was a small thing, but he appreciated smaller ways of reminding people that he was in fact above them.
"I am the Jarl of these people." He paused a moment collecting his thoughts. "The Angles call us the Danes. Southern places call us the Rus. Places near to you may call us the Normanni. But beyond all that, we are the Viking Norse." He smiled as he finifshed speaking, but it wasn't a smile that held any real mirth. It was still cold, and didn't reach his eyes.

"And we are taking you back to my home, where some of you will be our permanent...guests." That last word was rich with a kind of sarcasm. "I'm sure that you'll find us most generous hosts."
 

Would he even come over, let alone answer her?

Somehow, it seemed more likely to get a response from Goðþormr back in Gaul because the plea she made actually did matter. The questions she just asked were ... simple. Laughably so. And yet, they were just as important as asking if he could try to spare the other Celtics. Somewhat amazingly, he did walk over, signaled by the heavy thudding sounds his boots made. Should Rowena have any doubts, her head lifted to see whom was walking over.

Indeed, it did turn out to be none other than Goðþormr himself.

... Jarl. That term sounded a bit familiar. Vaguely, but enough that Rowena was almost positive she'd heard it at least once before. Where from though?

"The Angles call us the Danes. Southern places call us the Rus. Places near to you may call us the Normanni. But beyond all that, we are the Viking Norse."

Normanni ... that's right ...

It was ironic. And if it wren't for the fact she was being taken away - likely to become a slave - Rowena would have maybe laughed out loud. It was a huge maybe, one that kept her expression from even shifting to looking like she'd cave into the temptation. But now that he reminded her of whom his group were known as, Rowena understood why they sounded familiar. Because they had. In fact, the now late king Bssil had considered attempting to figure a treaty of sorts out among these people.

Ahh, the bittersweet irony indeed.

Rowena's gaze remained stoic as she looked directly into the Jarl's eyes. Simultaneously, there was no threat nor even hate in her eyes. More like curiosity as opposed to other emotions.

"I see .... " Rowena answered, nodding slowly as she heeded the man's words. Her mouth opened as she started to reply ... but stopped. Even though it was tame enough, that would just be her luck. That she'd voice her thoughts and get lashed at for expressing them anyway. There probably would have been something he'd hear and not be overly pleased with ... maybe? Probably. Either way, even though it was civil, she didn't want to take that chance.

"I suppose I'll find out ... "

Allowing the word to merely echo in her mind, Rowena offered the Jarl one last affirmative nod before turning, looking back out towards the sea once more. Raising her unchained hand, she used it to rest her cheek in, trying to get as comfortable as possible. If these truly were the Vikings, it'd likely be more than a day's worth of travel, even on boat. If ever there was a perfect chance to try acquiring rest, it was now when the opportunity was all but before her eyes.
 
She met his gaze without flinching, without pause, with no hesitation. That, that was something that Goðþormr could find respect for. These Gauls were not cowards, that much was clear by the way they had fought to defend what was theirs. The volur was practical, she had done what she could to keep her people alive. Not what Goðþormr would have done, but he wasn't a Gaul. He gave a brief nod to her, acknowleging that he had noticed such, and turned back to the bow of hte ship, resuming his place. There would be a great deal to do once they reached the outpost to unload some of hte slaves. And then it was off for home.

Njord was generous, sending swift winds to speed their passage, but not so much that the seas were broken. The ships angled for a dock that jut from a peninsula of land, one that seemed perpetually busy. Trade was swift here, and silver plentiful. Goðþormr walked amongst the ship, looking at hte slaves. He noted with a certain amount of enjoyment that he was not hosting any of the boy children. One less task he was required to personally oversee. Yrsa had command on the other ship, And fromt eh sound of protest, the solid thwack of a wooden haft hitting someone, and then the sobbing, the parting of child from family was not goign smoothly. No reason it should have. But Yrsa was a softer touch than himself. If he had to oversee it directly, then it was likely he'd have to kill someone, and that cost silver.

His sails had been recognized, and the agent that he usually dealt with was waiting for him at the docks. The agent was a short man, heavy with the weight of easy living. He had close cropped black hair, and his skin was darkened by his homeland. Aayan bin Alahir, a flesh peddlar he called himself. A less generous man might call him a slaver.
"My northern friend! Have you brought me many great things this day?" Aayan called. Goðþormr shrugged as he came close.
"Modest. Boyds for your lands. And should you make an appropriate offer, I can be persuaded to part with others." Goðþormr answered, glad that this man of foreign lands knew his tongue. Aayan looked over the side of the ship that Yrsa was on, noting hte young boys taht were being carried off by raiders, adn tossed onto the deck for the slavers men to take command. There was further noise from them, cries for a parent, reaching, but the men cared not, and bore the boys away. Aayan clucked as he saw the remaining people within, and shook his head. He turned his attention back to Goðþormr's ship, and his gaze settled on Rowena.

"That one. Perhaps we can come to an arrangement." Aayan suggested, rocking back on his heels in contemplation. Goðþormr looked to Rowena, knowing that if he left her status as a foreign volur out, her price woudl likely be high enough, but not unreasonable. "Perhaps...two full marks of silver? I've a khalif who would enjoy adding her to his harem. Does she speak your tongue?"
"She's Gaulish." Goðþormr answered bluntly.
"Ah. Then she speaks more to the Roman tongue then?" Aayan switched to a more fluidly accented version of the language Rowena had spoken, making himself very clearly understood by any from Gaul.
"Aye."
"Perhaps worth more then. Three Marks." It was a generous offer. Goðþormr knew that, but also knew if Aayan was leading with that, then her worth even without her status was higher than expected.
"She's a volur. Skilled. Ten marks." Aayan began to nod before Goðþormr finished. "Of gold." Aayan sputtered a moment, the price was outrageous, incredible. But still, perhaps...?

"Nay old friend, I will be content with the boys. Such is richer than my blood allows. None save perhaps teh Grand Khalif himself would spend such on a single woman." Aayan answerd.
"Then send word to your Grand Khalif. And then perhaps come to my village. There will be reasonable odds that she will still be amongst my people. Though her price may spike by then." Aayan only nodded.
"Perhaps I shall! The usual payment for the boys, and it is as always, a pleasure old friend. Until next time." Goðþormr nodded, and gave the signal. The whoel exchange of money and prisoners had taken less than fifteen minutes, and teh ships were underway once more.
 

Fatigue had helped her fall asleep, despite being in a very awkward position. She wasn't sure whether she was a bit scared, disappointed, or relieved that her slumber was uninterrupted by Scathach. For a few seconds, all three seemed to swim through her mind. This wasn't happening simply because she'd been dragged away from home. Was it? Her eyelids started quickly fluttering as numerous REM cycles demanded she wake up.

They wouldn't do that! They're not going to abandon you!

No matter how many times she tried to calm and reassure herself though, that very fear continued taunting the Seer. Unable to feel any desire to sleep anymore, her eyes quickly shot open as she panted. The cries started helping her regain more and more consciousness, with Rowena looking as content as the parents.

Empathy had always been - in her personal opinion - Rowena's true curse. Despite not being a parent, her heart ached as much as all of the women were lamenting.

... Wait a minute. Why am I still on the ship but the boys are being given over?

Was this some sort of trade? It was the only reasonable thing she could think of. Very few of the higher-up Gaulians - at least from her hometown - had ever owned slaves. This was a foreign concept, yet one often spoken of. With the change in language, it helped her understand perfectly what thy were talking about. Her being bought. Thee thought made a knot form in her stomach as her head lowered. She'd already acknowledged this would be a very high probability on what would happen to her. And yet, now that it was so close, she was starting to better understand the fear from the other women. There really was a nerve-wracking sensation that accompanied scenarios like this.

After all, being bought was one thing. Ensuring you weren't outright killed afterward - and other concerns - was a completely different story.

Already, she was not feeling reassured about this stranger buying her. Perhaps a more subtle way of the gods acknowledging they hadn't abandoned her, by allowing her to have a good 'feel' on whether this would end up being a good trade or not. Her head tilted as she picked up again on that word. Volur.

"Is that what you call a Seer? A Volur?"

Rowena would wait until the ships began moving again, not wanting to otherwise interrupt his transaction with the other Norse man. The actual word probably came out a bit wrong in its pronunciation. But Rowena would be damned if she couldn't say she hadn't tried to mimic the accent Goðþormr had used.

Regardless of what may or may not be said, the ships were moving once more which, implied, that had indeed been but a trade. 'Home', therefore, was still a ways away, it seemed.

Hopefully not too far ...

It hadn't bothered her up until she woke up. But now, Rowena was getting cold. These kinds of temperatures happened back in Gaul, but never to this extent. This felt .... like a range that threatened to kill anyone who was too weak to survive. Much like slavery, these types of temperatures had been spoken of among the druids and late king, but never experienced.

The Seer shivered as a few more chilly breezes caressed her skin. Rowena deftly reached up and pulled her cloak together as best as she could, doing all she could to keep herself warm.
 
She spoke again, and Goðþormr considered just ignoring her, but knew that such would cause more problems than it solved. Part of not having captured slaves become an irritant was by doing a small part to keep them somewhat content. Far less likely to revolt on you that way. And the volur wanted to know something that was fairly simple. He hadn't yet returned to his post at the bow, so why not. He ahd to try and parse through whats she meant by 'seer', since his first instinct was to take it at it's most basic, one who saw, which was most everyone. But there was more connotation to it, and he thought it over.

"A volur is a wise woman that may do working of the Gods for the benefit of people. They sometimes see the coming events before they transpire, but not all of them. Other places have called them witches. So...[perhaps yes...but also no. The word does not move well to other languages." The last was almost an admission, as though he knew that any explanation he offered was not going to be perfect. "If it is a man, we call them a Seidrman. The roles are very similar, as are the gifts most often." He paused, toying with saying more, wondering if he shoudl be asking questions of her in turn, but ultimately deciding against it, and turning away, looking out over teh side of the ship, knowing that home was coming. While a fast, hard raid was a fine thing, he did enjoy the feasts that celebrated their return, the renewed oaths of fealty from his men when he shared out the wealth, and the swift bargaining that came to determining the value of captured prisoners. And then would likely come the envoys from neighbouring villages. Life was precarious in the North, always a delicate balance between remaining fierce adn successful, buit to appear to be too successful or too fierce would bring foes to your door from home. A difficult people to live amongst.

"Get what rest you can Volur. Your new home will be upon us in days now." He warned idly before leaving her.

Goðþormr had been honest, it was a few further days before they rounded the last bend in the waters, and came into view of their own harbour. The village bustled with activity, and Goðþormr could hear shouts coming from the shore already as lookouts spotted the ships. The men expertly guided the ships to their berths and began to disembark. Several of the people that worked on the docks stepped forward to assist with unloading the cargo and take it to the mead hall. The slave coffles were unhoked from the ships, and the slaves pulled onto the dock. It was a brisk day, no sign of snow, but it was far from pleasant to any not covered in heavy layers of furs. One coffle had many empty links on it, evidence of hte young biys taken from it. There was a hollow look in the eyes of several of the women, and Goðþormr made a note to keep that in mind during valuing them.
"Take the to the hall." He ordered his people, before sparing a glance to Rowena. "Welcome home Volur." He said with a sneering edge to his voice, the false nature of the greeting dripping from the words. Teh chain went taut, pulling them towards teh raised hall.
 

Hmmm. So they have their own divine people of sorts?

Rowena merely nodded, simply tucking the knowledge away. She didn't confirm just how dead on he was right, and that the term was almost perfect in describing her. But Rowena also didn't deny it. In fact, she would have been honest about any question he would have asked. It seemed like a more than fair enough exchange, given she'd already asked several of her own inquiries. So when he opted not to do even that, Rowena couldn't help but raise an eyebrow.

... Such an odd one. Him and his whole group.

Every time she seemed to expect something and it didn't happen, it convinced her she needed to do a reading to better understand these Vikings. But not yet; it'd definitely have to wait until they arrived at their true destination. Even if doing so now wouldn't necessarily get her in trouble of any kind, it may be an easy way to risk losing her runes into the cold ocean. It was one of those things Rowena simply didn't wish to risk having end up happen at all.

Instead, she chose to heed the Jarl's advice. It wasn't really easy, even less so with the rather brisk air. But that was exactly why it wouldn't be until the sky became dark that she fell back asleep once more.

Sleep was, for the next several advice, rocky. A thing that came and went, similar to the waves bumping against the boats. All of the other women, thankfully, had enough will power to at least not die beside her during the travel. There was, however, an obvious toll from those whose sons had been dragged away, and Rowena could note it as easily as Goðþormr.

Poor Rowena already felt horrible enough as it was. Seeing the all but dead look in these female's eyes only made it that much worse for her.

Still .... what had been done already occurred.

"Better to be sold off than killed."

.... Fairly assuming that none of the mothers would easily take those words to heart, though, Rowena stayed silent. Only when she was helped up to her feet did she begin to move at all. The metal bracelet and any part of the chains remained in place. The anvil, however, stayed upon the ship.

"I can walk!"

The jerking was only tolerated because - true as that may be - she didn't know exactly where to go.

Hmph. He talks about irritants? His people are steadily becoming more of that than we are.

Weakly smiling at the irony, Rowena passed by dozens - maybe even hundreds - of other Vikings. A good majority were young, thirty-five or younger. The amount of men versus women was ... noticeable. Painfully so. About half of the people were children. Preteens, some as young as infants pr toddlers held in their mother's arms. But all looked curiously at her and the others as they were pulled forth. Either Goðþormr had never conquered Gaul before, or it'd been a very long time since he had. The expression in their eyes, however, made Rowena lean a bit more towards the former thought.

Finally, she was led past a pair of large, wooden double doors.

"Oh thank gods," she muttered, feeling an immediate change. It was warm, with a fire already crackling in a nearby pit. Rugs of various skins adorned the floor. It wasn't perfect, as a bit of the wind still managed to sneak through the cracks in the floor or door every now and again. But compared to how it'd been mere moments ago? It was definitely a much better change.

Rowena moved, trying to compromise with the Viking holding her chain. On one hand, she didn't struggle against him nor attempt to cast any spells to free herself. But she did keep herself as close to the fire as possible, or as much as they'd allow.

Another gesture that seemed fair enough. After all, she had to wait. That much was obvious. How long for, though, was unknown. And if it was going to be a while, why not?

So far, Goðþormr and his people had proven that despite their unorthodox attitude, they did have some amount of understanding and common sense. With any luck, that could be applied to Rowena even now.
 
Goðþormr let out a sigh as he made his way into the hall. The roof was high above them, vaulted into the air giving the feeling of space, and as he looked around, the main room was being set up for what would be a coming feast. Long tables were being set up, and wood was being stacked for a further, larger fire. The plunder from the raid was being stacked close to a raised platform, and several men that had grey in their beards were moving chests and sacks off to the side, adn seemed ot be counting the take. Scales were set up, allowing them to weigh each piece of plunder. They made tally marks on wooden staves, keeping track orf what was what. Coins were tested randomly with teh edge of a knife, ensuring htat the silver was in fact good. More and more warriors began to file into the hall, as the ships were given over to others who specialized in such.


Goðþormr let himself sink into his seat on hte raised platform, a high seat that looked down on all of the others. He lounged in the chair, looking down at the proceedings. There were more than a few looks at the pioles of stolen goods, and more than one or too leers at the captured women. Yrsa made her way up tot eh platform, and took up a standing position on his right, simply standing in a flanking position, spear at rest with the but on the floor, and her shield held loosely at her side. One of the greybeards seemed to have finished, and stood, approaching hte slave coffles. He paced around each woman, looking them over, seeming to weigh their worth in his mind before making further marks on his stave. He seized the jaw of one woman, pulling her face close to his to examine her. She spat in his face. He repaid the gesture with a sharp blow from his staff, sending her to the floor. He made another mark on his staff, adn moved on.

He moved through each of the slaves, examining them, before reaching Rowena for last. He heard a throat clearing from the raised platform, adn turned to see his Jarl. Goðþormr simply shook his head, and the greybeard made no motion to continue, simply returning to his seat. A complete tally of wealth had been made, adn handed to Goðþormr. The Jarl stood up, walkig tot he edge of his platform, and raising his arms, his heavy fur cloak falling open.

"My brothers!" he roared to the hall. An answering roar came, a wordless acknowledgement of their leader. "We have sailed far, adn returned in good order bearing the plunder of far off lands! There is a further world that we have not yet plundered! We are the first to such a shore this raid, adn we shall be back again to show them that they will know proper fear of our passing!" Another answering roar came, this time augmented by the sound of fists hamemring into shields, raising the din to a near deafening level. When it at last subsided, Goðþormr continued. "As is our custom, I offer a full share to all who accompanied me on this attack. Those who wish part of their share in flesh rather than coin, simply make your case, and such a value will be taken from your coins."

There was an instant flurry of shouting, many pointing to the women, a few reaching at them, tugging on cloth, trying to get a better feel. People shrank back from such, forcing them closer to the fire pit, more than one young girl clutched by their mother to keep them away from it all. Goðþormr looked on in amusement, letting the chaos reign a few moments more before he nodded to Yrsa who pounded her spear to the floor several times to call for silence, particularly when it seemed that Gunnar was preparing to climb over the table to get at the women. The movement stopped, and a more relative quiet reigned.
"All those who would lay such a claim, step forward, and know my judgement. I shall declare who shall take who from this hall." Goðþormr announced. Far far fewer stepped forward, many of them knowing that the Jarl would grant them no favour, for they had won no glory to be granted favour.

For the remaining warriors that did step forward, inly one caught Goðþormr attention. Yrsa stood among them.
"What favour might I grant you Yrsa?" He asked her. The woman nodded to one of the slaves.
"I require a servant in my household. I will take the dark haired one there." She aimed her spear at one of hte women, and Goðþormr nodded.
"Done." He smiled before he spoke again, knowing that this was going to be hte more challenging portion of this ceremony. "Who amongst any of you desire...that one?" He aimed a hand to Rowena. Three men grinned, and called out an acknkowledgement, all of them seeming eager to own her, possess her. "So any of you will wish to possess the forgien Volur?" One man fell silent, looking at Rowena with a sense of uncertainty, before withdrawing, shaking his head. "Then you two souls shall claim to want her? And responsibility for whatever devilry her working might wreak?" The faces of hte two men fell insantly. Rowena now no longer seemed such a prize. Any misfortunes might be attributed to a foreign, likely hostile, Volur among them, and to be held accountable could quickly become untenable. "Will no one take her? Is she without worth to any in this room?" Goðþormr called loudly. Dead silence from the Norse came, the only sounds came from the fire, and the occasional sounds from the slaves. "Then I suppose as your leader, it will fall to me to take such responsibility to myself. I shall take the Volur, as no one else shall." There was an agreeable murmer from the assembled men, and Goðþormr spared Rowena a glance and a cold smile.

"You belong to me now." He told her in her own tongue.
 

Though not from a high-up spot, Rowena also watched the counting of the plunder. Her head lowered every now and again; not out of shame, but sneaking peeks back down at the rugs. They seemed to have been made almost flawlessly. So ... these people could hunt. That was what she gathered from this. Her head tilted as she shifted her gaze, focusing once more on the silver being counted.

Then ... why do they do this anyway?

It just didn't make sense. It felt ... unnecessary. And this town hadn't looked anywhere close to poor, nor getting to such a point. They knew enough, including trading with other places and people. Did they not have enough? Was it as simple as these Vikings were just that greedy? That last thought as a good possibility. It was one of the primary reasons for slavery, or so she'd heard. If it wasn't greed, it was generally an easy excuse to have a woman to lay with or someone to work for you. Often times both.

Rowena swallowed at the thought. She'd kept herself pure. Not because she had to. She just had never found anyone that earned her interest. But now, she was understanding that may not matter. If it weren't for the fact her spells required components or her to speak, she'd do something now.

And also maybe if she weren't still attached to the coffle. It wouldn't be fair to put anyone at risk just because she was considering trying to keep her purity safe. She could wait. Even if she wasn't back home, there had yet not been any definite proof the gods abandoned her. An opportunity would arrive. And when it did, she'd see about asking Scathach - or anyone, really - for help. She'd been loyal to them and vice versa. It seemed right that somehow, they'd still help her out.

Though he still used the strange language, Rowena noticed out of the corner of her eye that Goðþormr was suddenly pointing at her. Somehow talking about her; that much was easy enough to figure. It was just as easily confirmed as she noticed a small handful of men staring hungrily at her. A frown spread over her lips as she backed instinctively away. Just in case she'd been mistaken, there it was yet again. That word ... Volur. Now Rowena didn't think Goðþormr was speaking of her. No, now she knew it.

... Why? Why did it suddenly get quiet?

Her head turned, gazing among all the people in the room. From the other slaves to any of the Norse, she tried to look for a clue. A hint.

... But hell, none of them had even tried to speak with her. So either they lacked the ability to do so, or they were just refusing to try communicate with her. She started to open her mouth and ask some of the Celts beside her if any of them could comprehend what was going on. Instead, her attention was grabbed - almost literally - by five powerful words the Jarl finally utteredd, looking right at Rowena as he spoke.

"You belong to me now."

Confusion was the first emotion to hit her hard. Almost as if Goðþormr had simply slapped her himself. Fear steadily crept in next, mingling with the lingering bewilderment. If Jarl was essentially a king, what would become of her? Rulers were either the best or worst types of slave owners; another rumor she'd heard time and time again. What was the truth, more so when it was directly applied to Goðþormr himself?

A grimace had subconsciously formed on her face, her head lowering back down to the floor. Her free hand rose, tucking several red strands behind her ears.

Just as the hall seemed to be quiet moments ago when Goðþormr had spoken of her, she appeared to return that gesture ... to some extents. It was also an attempt to think, to gather her thoughts, to come up with some response.

" .... Fine."

Swallowing again, Rowena lifted her head, fighitn back a set of tears that wanted to finish forming and fall down her ace. This was beyond unfair. It was feeling more and more unnecessary with each second that ticked away. More and more, Rowena was hating that she hadn't bargained for the other women's freedom. The guilt was beginning to take its toll. The main thing stopping it was her own will. She'd promised to keep everyone behaved. And they had.

What good would it do if anyone saw her break down and cry now?

Tears could wait; that was the end verdict she opted to use.

"Fine," she repeated, nodding to help confirm Rowena had heard Goðþormr's words. "I understand and accept this fate."

Agree with? Never. But if she was going to keep surviving in this new land and lifestyle, she'd select everything relatively carefully. So, even though she definitely was scared and a bit infuriated, those remained hidden away for the time being. Should Goðþormr have expected to hear her ask anything along the lines of 'What now?', Rowena would opt not to toss such petty questions over. She expected and assumed that would be elaborated in due time.

So, she waited. Everything would happen soon. Hopefully when it all did, she could be as ready as possible.
 
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