Igraine

Loki's Laugh

Svala's eyes adjusted quickly to the dim light of the healing house, Haakon's warnings ringing in her ears. The coppery smell of blood and split viscera was as suffocating as the heat and the screams of pain and fear - and an unholy hunger. And there, just beneath the hideous chaos wafted a sickly sweet stench that turned her stomach, the stink of black blood she knew all too well, could never forget to her dying day.

Survival required no thought, only reaction as Haakon slammed one charging draugr back. Tora was in here, and Vigi and even the companion of Orran, the Christian monk Anndrais - but... Was Orran here too? Where was her painted friend, her promised teacher -

Svala shouted with revulsion as she felt something wrap around the ankle of her booted foot, caught in an impossibly strong grip. Her axe blade swung down on a slender, pale wrist, but Amma did not scream - she was far, far gone from the concerns of the living. The half of her that could still move, could still feed, still had another free hand that she swung clumsily at Svala. Bloody black intestines left a slimy trail over the dirt floor of the desecrated healing house, Amma's cloudy dead eyes focused hungrily on the living flesh that lay just beyond the young woman's skirts.

Svala screamed furiously, her axe swinging once, twice, the blade buried again and again in the draugr's skull. The stinking black blood arced over her head with every blow, even when the thing that was once Amma no longer moved. Svala lost all sense of time, of thought as motion became all, her axe blade biting into unliving flesh time and again, a snarl on her lips.

But it was Haakon's shout that snapped her attention back to this world, like a much-needed slap in the chaos. She swiftly followed the path he carved out of the healing house, after the enormous thrall with the carved up back who carried Tora in his arms, out into the cool, grey morning light and Hallerna's waiting hands.

She could only watch Svala's back disappear into the healing house after Haakon, just as the first of the injured who could still walk on their own, or assisted by family, friends began to appear. Hallerna swiftly inspected each for a bite mark before setting them down to the ground some distance from the healing house, every second that passed a small, agonizing eternity as she waited for her eldest daughter to emerge again.

A small, strangled cry of relief choked Hallerna when Svala finally appeared after Tora and the slave Wilfred, whose torn back she had stitched only yesterday. She grabbed her daughter by the shoulders, yanking her closer before she began to pat down Svala's face, her neck and arms, dread and relief coursing through her veins in equal measure as she searched for the bloody, tell-tale semicircles that would only mean death. "Were you bitten!?" Hallerna asked, desperate to hear the only answer that mattered to her in that moment. "Svala - the draugr, did any bite you?"

"No, Madir no please... I am all right, not bitten, you see?" she asked, holding out her arms, axe still in hand even as she shook her head. Svala tried to smile, tried to give her mother some small reassurance. There was simply no time for anything more. Haakon's words were to ensure none of the draugr left the healing house, and so she pulled away from Hallerna, ready to take up a spot at the exit to see his words done -

"Oh... Oh gods Madir look!" Svala hissed, deep blue eyes wide with shock as she peered over Hallerna's shoulder, at the contingent of armed and armored raiders marching to the healing house, torches in hand.

**********

Whatever childish resentments she might have kept disappeared like morning mist in the sun when Eyja saw Raudr sprinting beside her. Suddenly it did not matter that Raudr was only just a little older than she. Raudr had a shield, and he had a sword - or a dagger, or whatever it was, but it was still sharp she bet! And Raudr was saying all the right things too as he raced beside her, just like a grown-up would say - even if he was no taller than she was either.

All Eyja had was her strong, fast legs and a rolled up drawing of a wolf on paper, getting scrunched up in her belt even now. There was little she would not give to have wolf teeth right now, wolf claws, for four faster wolf legs. With Raudr here though, there were four legs. He had a tooth and a claw, and they could be a pack - or at least she could pretend long enough to keep the fear from making her sick, and want to hide like her kitten Tore did.

"I'll stay... With you... Raudr... " Eyja panted, not slowing even the tiniest bit as she glanced at him from the corner of her eye, smiling her thanks widely as the pair flew along the icy, muddy roads past yet another long house.

Loki's Laugh

I uh... Just PM'd you? XD I hadn't planned to post tonight, but I could probably put something together fairly quickly if you've an idea for Raudr and Eyja - just, well... PM me back?

Loki's Laugh

I saw that, bless Raudr! I was going to try to incorporate it all in my next post, just didn't want to step on anything or get presumptuous about how many draugr there might be, or how many uninjured people from the healing house might remain ;)

Loki's Laugh

Whoa! So much of the reading today, such fun!

So is it all right to assume, it's open season on the draugr as we see fit, or even to help some of the un-bitten out?

Pieces of 8: Bones of the North

DotCom said
Eh?

World Cup? *grins* Yup, apparently there ARE Americans following soccer!

And yes, just put up a small something because that last post there was seriously making me nuts...

Pieces of 8: Bones of the North

Given even a moment to reflect, Veti would have groaned with frustration, knowing all too well that of course not a one of her beloved pack were going to take even the slightest chance to escape. No, of course not. Heroes - or would-be-heroes - each and every one. Superheroes maybe, in many senses, but this was a god. The woman was not paralyzed with fear, not like her wolf, cowering and whining in terror in a dark corner of her mind. But it was nothing but the bald, stark truth: she really was damn sure afraid.

That didn't stop her from taking the pistol and magazines Semyon gave her with steady hands, noting with approval she had a magazine of hollow points, incendiary... And silver. Veti didn't really believe any of these would have a real, lasting effect, but it was a damn sight better than standing around looking helpless.

Well, even if that was exactly how she felt.

Thad had, apparently, been listening very closely to Henry, crafting a spear of magic and alchemy, hurling it at the Fenrir. Daisy had made a cavalry charger of Artie, the ephemeral scythe a... Crossbow? Siya was, as always, not much more than a blur even to her preternatural eyes as she streaked for the Fenrir's legs. The new guy Gabe was completing a set of acrobatics all about the demigod with sword and pistols, while Jay-Jay seemed ready to light yet another thing on fire - no shocker there really. Atticus was... Well, she honestly couldn't see Atticus at the moment, and her heart leapt for a moment for the boss guy -

With a snarl twisted on her crimson lips, the werewolf tucked the magazines of silver and hollow points into her bra strap for lack of anything else like a belt, and slammed the magazine of incendiaries home. This was no guardian from the Library of Alexandria, though Semyon was climbing up his hide as easily as the werewolf had scaled the onyx anubis. Positions perfectly reversed with the wight this time, she raised the Stetchkin and shot for the eyeball closest to Semyon. The whole time she prayed - just under her breath, to the God she thought her parents' Catholicism hadn't quite made stick - that the flaming, searing ammunition would at least distract the wolf-god from crushing, eating or otherwise annihilating one of the people she loved.

Masques and Daggers (Derren Krenshaw & Igraine)

For no particular reason she could have ever put her finger on, Galina continued to read some minutes longer, even past the time she knew Souma had succumbed to the drug. This was not a thing she would ever confide in her Papa. No, she could only imagine the look of confusion - concern even - that would creep over his chiseled features as he tried to read the purpose behind his little wolf's odd whim.

And so these small moments in time she would keep for herself, entirely. Not even Souma himself would know the melodious cant of her voice as she read the first of the tales, soft and low and very near to tender. Nor would he - or anyone in all the world - know those few precious minutes when she set the novel aside and simply looked on that sleeping face, humming sweetly, just under her breath. A small, wistful smile shone as her as her fingertips traced the lines of his handsome face.

But Galina knew she could not linger. No, not another second longer. Carefully she rose, settling Souma easily onto the loveseat with a small pillow beneath his head. She placed his arms comfortably over his chest, holding his hand in her fingers for a moment as she bent to place a small kiss on his forehead.

The theft itself seemed near anticlimactic now, a rather routine bit of thievery in truth. Of course she had memorized the home's blueprints, and to Galina's knowing eyes the location of a false wall was as glaring as if the architect had shone a spotlight on the place he intended to place a safe. The Winchesters were so confident in their subterfuge that they had not even bothered to secure the door to their interior vault. Cracking the safe just behind the panel was a job she might have accomplished when she was still just a little girl.

She rolled the rifle schematics into a thin scrolling tube, tying it off with a few hair ribbons before dropping them from a window to the shrubbery below, to be collected when she and Papa were on their way for the evening.

And that was a moment she really ought not put off any longer. The theft of the schematics would likely remain undiscovered for some days yet - no sooner than the following Monday, in all likelihood, at worst. But this brief mission had, without fail, gone off without a hitch. Logic said there was little sense in putting herself at further risk for discovery, or even the slightest suspicion.

All had been put swiftly back to order, as if her brief sojourn through the Winchester home had been nothing more tangible than the passing of a wraith. Still, Galina's dark eyes could not help but fall back to the sleeping man, an uncommonly decent man at that, perhaps too decent to see the wolf beneath the woman? She tore her gaze away, taking up both champagne flutes before she left the room swiftly, descending unseen to the first floor while disposing of the remaining contents - both tainted and not - in a passing potted plant.

Finding her Papa was nothing so difficult in the least - the Baron Demidov was, as always, the gravitational center of most any social gathering, holding his own impromptu "court" outside on the grand lawns of the Winchester estate. Still, he tsk-tsked with genuine concern when he noted the too-pale visage of his beloved daughter - was she feeling a touch ill, perhaps?

Heavy-hearted pardons were certainly begged, as profuse as the well-wishes for the young Baronessa and the genuine disappointment that the Baron too must be gone - and yet a devoted parent's duties were never really done, and certainly the Winchesters would understand this undying fealty as well as any, would they not? Ah, but of course they would...

**********

Vasily rolled the schematics into the brass tube, before turning his gaze once more to his daughter, sitting so still across the coach from him. Her long, dexterous fingers were folded in her lap, as still as the rest of his little Night Wolf. Galina's gaze had turned solemn, far and away from her father, from the coach they rode in as she peered out its window, to the full moon riding the sky above them.

"You did well tonight, Galina," he said softly, reaching across the coach to take one of her hands in his, giving her fingers a squeeze.

Startled, she turned to her father, a surprised smile finally curving the corners of her lips upward. Galina did not reply though, only nodding her head in acknowledgement for his praise, patting his own hand reassuringly before her gaze returned to the moon that seemed to chase their coach.

Tides of Dusk: A Piratical Tale of Fantasy

All the rogue really wanted to do in that moment - well, besides run after Jax and Nicolette, to either confirm or dispel her ugly suspicions - was burst into loud, raucous laughter.

Oh Thomas... Dear sweet, merciful heavens above but her lovely man was, quite simply, mad. Stark raving out-of-his-mind, but of course only in the very best way. Only her unshakeable, professional discipline kept the facade of Antoinette in place as she watched Thomas mince so prettily about the suddenly revolting Capitaine Poutreau, and then the Commander. Oh yes, the rogue was undeniably entertained! As far as she was concerned, her lovely man might have gone on and on with his little act - the horrified visages of both targets for Thomas' erstwhile attentions were eminently delightful.

On and on indeed, but for the fact she was not here tonight to be amused. Antonia had a job to do, and apparently she was making quite the hash of it thus far. To hell with the stylish hair, the resplendent jewels, the elegant gowns and the haughty airs that were the very lifeblood of the backwater 'aristocracy' of Port Royal. Not a jot of this mattered - not a single thing she had accomplished this past day - if the information she gleaned from the Plume's hapless captain had been compromised, or if Commander Murray somehow suddenly deserved some of her more brazenly roguish attentions.

And no matter her suspicions, she honestly had nothing to pin them on when it came to Nicolette's sudden break from their company. For the first time in some years, Antonia found herself at a complete loss - and she enjoyed this feeling not at all. She felt very much like a spider knocked from her web, without a grasp on those precious thrumming threads she so desperately needed to make sense of her world.

She needed an out as well, a breather, almost as desperately as it seemed the First Mate did.

It was the gentlewoman's tremulous hand that clapped to her mouth, those matchless grey eyes wide, horrified and brimming with glistening tears that had yet to fall as her gaze darted between Captain Lightfoot and her beloved Commander Murray.

"Saint Kitts?" she finally managed, shaking her head as if by this act she might somehow erase the words she had only just heard. "Robert? Is this... This man saying what I think he is saying?"

Her full, rose petal pink lower lip quivered with emotion as she peered up into those dark, thunderstruck eyes. "My father might be an Englishman, but in my heart of hearts, I am a Frenchwoman!" she began to wail, softly at first though her voice began to raise precipitously toward a heartbroken croak.

"And I will thank you, pretty man, to remember we French do not all carry a puanteur!" she hissed at Thomas, wagging her finger at him furiously before she turned on the Commander again.

"But being French, well... There may have been something we might have worked out together Robert, if you had only been up front with me from the start! Your bon ami certainly is lovely enough - we might have shared, or come to some mutually pleasing arrangement? A night with me, a night with your pretty man - communal weekends, perhaps? Why, we French are certainly not so bound by your silly English Puritanical notions as all that!"

"But to discover such a thing here, like this? That you would keep this from me? The humiliation, Robert!" Mortified tears began to course down her cheeks - a rather nice touch really, Antonia thought with some small satisfaction.

"You just keep your pretty Thomas then, and your... Your... Your nights in Saint Kitts as well, you duplicitous man!" The gentlewoman's hand shot out, delivering a stinging, openhanded slap across the Commander's cheek.

And with no further ado, Antonia turned on her heel to dart through the thronging guests, using every last grace in her impressive arsenal of shadowy moves to lose herself in the ball-goers and guests and servants. She bolted past the golden lights of the torches on the periphery, and made for the deepest gloom of the surrounding forest.

There had only ever been one man in all the world, after all, who could find Antonia when she went to hiding, and she desperately needed to speak with her beloved Captain Silverfish - almost as much as she needed her next breath.

Loki's Laugh

Thank you Kuro and... I wouldn't argue at all if you posted? But I don't really know if my vote counts! XD

Pieces of 8: Bones of the North

So it would seem, but no worriers Serge. It appears that Lil or one of the other mods are on top of things, cleaning up and such! ;) And so good to see posts from both of you, Serge and LP! *cheers*