Azaria Blue

[MEDIEVAL, REALISM] Marches of Man: The Black Shields!

Seemingly the only one unfit for warfare was having her own little tussle. The man lunged at her with his arm straight out and she forced it down with a blow to the wrist. She then lost her balance on a glob of moss, seeing him slide his hand from under the stick and slither around her.

She felt the weight of a sack of shit on her back as she was kneed into the ground. She swung the stick out to the side and traded positions. He was on his hands and knees on the ground and she held the stick in both hands - the thinner end pointed right at his stomach. She should have ran.

He scrambled to his feet and smacked the stick to the side, knife ready to pin to her throat before she could even push him back. He was backing her up with the blade shining in the soft light, his creepily delighted expression made her grimace.

'Stupid bitch. I oughtta learn you to act better,' he spat at her.

She could barely stumble backwards fast enough to avoid the blade. She shuffled to the side and felt a thorn prick the back of her arm. She paused just long enough for her to smell his breath.

In one motion she dropped the stick, put that arm on his opposite side and spun around using all of her strength to shove him into the bush that pricked her. She toppled on top of him as the thorns swallowed him. The red-faced man was desperately trying to free the arm that held dearly to the knife as she laid on it, her eyes never moving from the blade.

There was a half of a moment of stillness as the bastard struggled to get his arm free and she heard shouts in the distance. She couldn't hold him and it was likely that her comrades were being slaughtered at this very moment.

[MEDIEVAL, REALISM] Marches of Man: The Black Shields!

@Errant Son Thank you :) I was less distracted and had more to go on. Everything needs some balance I suppose. *shrug*

[MEDIEVAL, REALISM] Marches of Man: The Black Shields!

Ellinor had been watching the fire slowly roast for much too long and had become drunk off of its allure. She was brought out of her trance by a voice shouting - not much unlike a spoiled child. The log she used as a stool clumped down into the dirt as she stood and joined the chattering bunch. They were soon silenced by a booming voice. She listened in to his commands before being picked out to gather supplies. It was to be expected, all these clangy-armoured broads probably couldn't tell a crumble berry from a dirt berry. She kept these remarks to herself.

The closest thing she had seen to any sort of royalty were the guards who broke up fights about overpriced chickens at Barren Flats during the market. She wasn't used to seeing any sort of leadership or power, the rulers of the land she lived upon were more like ghosts who sometimes ordered you to give them things, but usually didn't stir you. Those around him seemed to flock like ducklings to a fat mama, the children holding on to every word as without question. In a way, this man was like a mother - an ugly one who lacked any womanly charm.

She agreed to trample in the mud with them, she hadn't had time to see how fruitful this area was. As they walked Ellinor had to remember not to hum a foraging tune, not only would it likely be difficult to convince them of its luck, but it could put them in danger. Instead, she picked up a rather thick walking stick, both to turn over the sticky moss that flourished here and to help her pull her boots out of the mud. It was nearly winter so her findings were limited to a few mushrooms that were flat and yellow like the sun. It was slightly too dark and much too loud to poke around in many bushes, so she decided to leave that for another time.

Ellinor would not have noticed the camp herself, but thankfully the others could make it out through the trees. She decided that she should scramble around her brain to make fertile findings a second priority and encampments her first.

Before she knew it, the scrawny Northerning slithered ahead and took count as if they were livestock. They decided to make quick of the people, although Ellinor knew to not question their authority.

'Very well then,' she gave a quick nod and glanced down into her old barley sack, mumbling to herself, 'Perhaps I could begin cleaning these green fluff-covered things,'

At once, they were gone. She had watched many animals hunt before, humans even, but this felt more like a wolf pack hunting. Peculiar, I would have expected more trumpeting and prancing around. Instead, they are like dogs, surrounding their prey and growling like- her thoughts were cut short by a squelch in the ground behind her. She had been stalked by a wolf before, they are much more careful.

It was best not to freeze up. At least, that's what she told herself. She eyed her stick, laying by her feet and the mushroom in her hand. Only now did she realize this was a foolish decision.

Another muddy footstep, just over a meter behind. Pouncing distance. In one motion she turned and slung the mushroom in the general direction of the sound as she adjusted her vision to see where the shadow stood. The coward was pressed up against a tree and ducked from the flying fungus. She crouched herself, quickly picking up her stick and holding it out in front of her horizontally as she had been taught.

[MEDIEVAL, REALISM] Marches of Man: The Black Shields!

Sir yes sir. Would you like me to add that to my post or do you want him to act first@Errant Son

[MEDIEVAL, REALISM] Marches of Man: The Black Shields!

@Errant Son Exactly. I have no clue what I'm doing c:
Just think of it as free form thought.
Absolutely f<3cking worthless.

On second thought, that one didn't make sense either.

[MEDIEVAL, REALISM] Marches of Man: The Black Shields!

Heh sorry. I just didn't really know where to go with it so I just kinda ran around. But okay, thanks for the guidance and such.

[MEDIEVAL, REALISM] Marches of Man: The Black Shields!

'Get yourself to some good use!'
The slam of an iron kettle pulled Ellinor out of her trance. It was almost like her mother had joined them this evening.

'May I help you?' she said, wiping the flour off on her apron as she turned around. She was met by the face of what appeared to be a bear dressing up as a human.

'You can get to the job! Soups!' he smacked his hands on the side of the kettle.

'Oh dear,' she said, running to pick up the kettle as if it were a newborn, 'You are quite right, although I can't make this soup without a special ingredient,' she looked down into it solemnly.

His drunken anger seemed to subside for a moment, 'I can go and the find it, Miss,' he stood up straight and fixed his jacket as if he were a proper man.

'Oh no-no-no, it's a complicated task. Even the plant itself is dangerous if not handled correctly...'

'None sense! I help maiden!' he turned at once and headed out the door. Well, to the wall and then to the door.

Ellinor breathed a sigh of relief as she continued to work the dough. She liked baking, she could focus on the methods and wonder at the science behind it as she worked. How could a simple starter cause the rest of the four to swell and give off that starchy scent of fresh dough? She could only guess. Either way, there were a lot of warriors waiting on 'Soups' after their long day setting up camp. Although today it was less soup and more tunnbröd with whatever meat the others had put together. It seemed like an interesting mix between waterfowl and a few mackerel.

---

'Such a shame, about that girl. Never even got to have kids,'
'She's much too young to be a widow,'
'I wonder who ol' Igor got mad this time,'
'He was always such a nice boy,'
'May The Good God help her,'

Ellinor stood in silence with downcast eyes. She wasn't sure which perspective should make her angrier. She didn't dare let their words, their feelings, or their gazes touch her.

His mother lay with her eyes on her palms, looking out at him tearfully. The preacher finally closed the large, oaken box and he was soon lowered into a square in the ground. She felt something rub against her leg.

---

'Oh, hey there you,'

The silver eyes looked up at her in silence. She slipped a few pieces of fish to her and jostled around the bread. One more minute perhaps.

The drunken man returns with a fistful of rose thorns and tosses them into the pot. Ellinor is quite beside herself and just gives him a nod, 'Thank you,' she said flatly.

And it was quiet again.

---

Although Ellinor could not read, one could learn anything they wished by listening to the whispers long enough. After the service she informed Igor's mother that she would return to her family. Although she offered her house, Ellinor said it was where she belonged and wished her well.

She never had an intent of returning home. She, instead, flowed into the step of those gathering for a sort of battle. Something for a very important rich man in a very distant place. She did not care. He was prepared to take her in and use her skills, which was all she ever really wanted. The man had fifty people to organize, the guy with the odd facial hair had fifty people to train, and she had fifty to feed. She looked to her side and ran her hand down the plush fur. Make that fifty-one.

[MEDIEVAL, REALISM] Marches of Man: The Black Shields!

Maybe they're just available on the weekends c: School and all.

[MEDIEVAL, REALISM] Marches of Man: The Black Shields!

Was wondering myself the same thing c:

Once Upon A Time?

Interesting! But not really my thing. Have fun anyway :) And thank you