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Post by GuardsGhost on Dec 27, 2014 18:40:18 GMT -5
To the Gods of the North I pray...
Sigvald woke from his slumber with a start, growling as he forgot his surroundings. Sweat was pouring down the big mans face, his chest heaving with adrenaline as he grabbed his axe to fight whatever creatures had invaded his cabin, his lips curled back in a snarl with his teeth bared for a fight.
It was only after his eyes scanned the area that he remembered where he was. He was not on a battlefield. He was not in danger of some assassins blade. And there were no vengeful spirits seeking to shuffle his soul off to the clouds before his time. He sagged back a bit, letting out a long exhalation of relief. Night terrors. Always the damn night terrors. I'll need to speak to the damn Raven seer again about this. The big man stood up, moving over to the water basin, and the reflective glass that hung above it. The oddity was a legacy of one of his raids, allowing the big man to look over himself while he washed his face.
What he saw was unacceptable.
His eyes were sunken and rimmed red. His beard was a mess, untidy. And he looked as if he had been stricken by fear, not as if he was the Captain of a Svarjhold raiding ship. With a quiet growl, he cupped his hands in the basin and splashed his face furiously, as if the water itself could ward away what haunted him during these fitful hours of rest that he tried to claim. After washing his face, he removed the wooden comb that rested in the drawer, and began to trim his beard. When a few strands of the thick hair refused to bend, he drew his razor and cut them down. The pieces fell down into the basin, and Sigvald watched them fall, and then float, stubbornly refusing to drown.
He made the sign of their Gods then, shivering for some unknown reason.
Sigvald turned over to where his fur cloak hung, and wrapped it around his shoulders. He walked out of the cabin. The rest of the crew would be sleeping below deck, where the oars were in the event that the wind failed them. All but three, the pilot, navigator, and the look-out, the new blood of the crew. The Half-Orc woman who had been raised in Svarjhold, just another example of the oddities that had emerged from his fathers first contact with the entity known as the Horde. It was raining out, and the rain pattered onto the deck of the ship, running off of the curves, but still making it slippery.
Sigvald had no trouble of course, his ship was like an extension of himself. He had been sailing for almost as long as he could remember, a little drizzle hardly concerned him. In fact, he welcomed it. His face would be even more disguised by the rainy night.
The man stomped over to the front of the ship, climbing onto the bow and holding onto the carved figurehead inplaced in it with his hand. That is how Sigvald spent most of his nights lately, staring out at the darkness as the ship rocked against waves and rain, continuing its journey onward as he ignored the water that slapped the boat.
"Have you gotten used to it yet, Fresh?" He inquired of Gris, using the nickname she had been given. Even though she was only a few years his junior, she was new to the sea. She was fresh of the salt. Hence her name.
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ThreeDawg
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Post by ThreeDawg on Dec 27, 2014 20:30:27 GMT -5
The gentle slosh of the open sea, as black as the sky above, threatened to lull Griselda to sleep. Yet the steady beat of rain upon her leather hood served to remind her purpose out here at night.
She was a Half-Orc, as such her vision was superior to pure Humans. Not only could she see further in the day, but at night the subtle light of the stars was enough for her to see for leagues around. Gris took her eyes off the waves to scan the horizon, it wasn't like anything could sneak up on them out here but every second could count in their favour. Or, so she was told, Gris enjoyed the five minute breaks she regularly gave herself. They allowed her time to herself, something hard to get when on a ship full to the brim with warriors. The night granted the only solace for her thoughts, thoughts of home and future. Thoughts of battles not yet fought and how to avoid going home without an arm. Thoughts of her lost father and the sea.
Sea was a relatively new thing to her, it moved like a slow river yet stretched for days without sight of land. Even though wood was as solid as Earth, the movement of the waves made it seem otherwise. The first few days she had felt a sickness in the pit of her stomach that yearned for the safety of land.
A weakness she was sure to be rid of quickly. No Svarjholder worth their salt would be sick at sea.
Perched atop a crate of spare rigging at the bow of the ship, she had a good view of the sea in all directions but behind them - a problem she solved by taking a much needed walk every now and then. She was just about to get up when a figure rounded her sight, fur clad and taller than she was.
Immediately she recognised him as the captain, her employer and to whom her honour now belonged. She had no reason to trust Sigvald, except that he had taken her on. The stories from his crew spoke of his bloodlust in battle and his cunning as a commander, admirable traits in a leader yet this night he slumped his shoulders as though a stricken man. She had rarely talked with him in their voyage so far, outside of calling out what she could see upon the sea.
"I hardly feel Fresh anymore, if that's how you mean." She spoke of the nickname the crew had given her, as if she were but a green blooded youth on their first trip out. The Svarjholders aboard didn't grasp how much of a challenge the name was to her, a proud Orc. Orcs were never one to shy away from a challenge and claiming she was any less prepared for this voyage than they were played upon her mind.
She longed to prove herself.
"You don't look so fresh yourself, Captain. It's my watch out here this night, yet here you are out of your bed. Can't sleep? Miss the sea's siren song that much?" She broke a smile, baring her sharp white fangs to the son of the reason she existed. If but to ease the troubled mind some.
The stars grabbed her gaze again. The Centaur rose over the horizon to the right, an arrow head point at the pale pink moon above. Her sister, born yellow and small, skirted nearby.
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Post by GuardsGhost on Dec 27, 2014 20:52:40 GMT -5
Sigvald turned to look at Griselda, arching a brow at her. He then chuckled lightly, shaking his head at her questions. "Closer than you think. The Sea is where I belong. You could consider it a ritual of sorts for me I suppose, coming out here and making sure the old girl still has her kick in her." He slapped his hand against the wood of the ship, patting it twice more before turning back to her again.
"You won't be Fresh yourself after this." He remarked, walking over to her. "You know why I put you on sentry duty? A new to sea sailor who has never been on a voyage before? It's simple really. It's an honor. You're to be the one who wakes the men, and announces that we have found our foemen at last. And then, when the old girl hits the shore, since this is your first journey with us, you'll be the first one to jump off the boat and hit the shore. You'll be the vanguard that hits the enemy, and announces that the reapers have come for them at last. As well with that, the first one onto the shore has the best pick of the loot and choice of thralls to take home."
He paused a bit, staring Griselda in the eyes. It was a hard, flat look, and the hint of weakness that he had unwittingly shown before was gone. "..That is...if you can take it. The only thing worth a damn in this world is what we can pry from the enemy. Some call us thieves. That's an insult. Any man calls you a thief for taking loot earned in battle, cut his tongue out. He's a fool. We get what we take by the only true right in the world, the right of the strong over the weak. We'll give the fools time to prepare themselves and rouse themselves out of bed, and if they're unable to defend against us, then their possessions are ours. Their wives and husbands, ours. Their children, ours. Their lives, ours. There is only one rule I have for you-"
He moved next to her, leaning over the ship. "See this sea? How many great beasts do you think lurk beneath the waves? Waiting for us to one day go down and slay them? Plenty. But I know this will be lost on you. Think instead, of the greatest hunts of your life, before you joined my crew. Did you gain any pleasure or satisfaction from killing a bear cub? I imagine not. My one rule, is you do not kill a child. There is no true sport or honor in that, and to do so would bring upon us evil omens. All creatures in this world have a right to grow old, if they're strong enough. If only so that something stronger can truly enjoy the fight that precedes the kill."
Sigvald fell quiet after that, allowing her to mull over what he had said. As he did, he reached down to his belt to remove his flask of ale, taking a long gulp from it before corking it and putting it back in place. The rain continued to pour, seemingly heavier now. But Sigvald did not mind, the rain was good for them. Rain meant mist. Mist meant cover.
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ThreeDawg
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Post by ThreeDawg on Dec 29, 2014 21:15:48 GMT -5
The first to land. The first to fight. The first blood, her right. Griselda's blood pumped even at the thought of glorious battle. To earn ones honour at the forefront of a mighty wave of warriors was a universal longing to all Orc warriors, even Half-Orcs like herself - and clearly Svarjholders too. From what her mother had told her about Orcs and what she learnt amongst true Svarjholder Raiders, she could see why the two peoples suited so well that offspring was quickly created.
Yet all this talk of not thieving, of warning an enemy before an advance, bothered Griselda somewhat. Chivalrous there was no doubt, but she thought it potentially suicidal. There was honour in fighting a prepared foe, yes, and in the case of a fight against fisherfolk or farmers it would be correct to give them a chance to defend themselves. But in a fight against a foe of equal or greater power, surely surprise is a useful tool?
Gris would not tell her new captain these thoughts, nor would she betray his laws. At least, not with him so aware of her breaking them. She would not wish to sea first hand the monsters beneath the depths. Scylla, Murloc, Neraid...
She stared out to sea alongside her captain, she spoke softly like a whisper, yet loud enough to hear it without strain. "The first step in any hunt is to track the prey. Identify them, where they are, what they are doing. Numbers, sizes, weaknesses and strengths." She drew the sharp tip of her nail across the side of the ship. It flecked a splinter out of the hull, leaving it smoother and solid.
"The second step is pursuit, countering its strengths and using its weaknesses against them. Use a bear's weight against it, separate the wolf from its pack. This followed by a quick and clean kill. There is honour in the hunt done correctly, honour in the kill and respect for the prey. What you - we - do on this voyage is much alike to a hunt, isn't it?" Her lips parted in a smile, again exposing a hint of sharp fang, upon seeing yet again the similarities between the peoples that bore her.
"There is honour in taking the pelt of a good kill, like there is honour in taking the trophies of a battle well-fought. To steal from these people would be like trapping a Cold Wendigo without giving it a fight. You get the pelt, but what is the point in riches and gains without the story to tell?" She turned to Sigvald, wondering what he thought of her words. He was smart behind that brash Svarjholder exterior, as was she (proudly able read both Orcish and Runic) so his thoughts were a curiosity.
"I would, Captain, be honoured to lead your Warriors in this hunt. To track the prey so we might all bring stories of glory to share over a mug of mead. Or rich Eastern wine? From Fonté? We could all drink it upon the bed of Southern silks we will plunder in my first find!" She laughed, heartily and deep, being hopeful was her forte.
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Post by GuardsGhost on Jan 2, 2015 21:41:09 GMT -5
Sigvald listened to his newest addition speak, and let out a deep chuckle at her eagerness and spirit. "There's a good woman! Don't worry, there will be a grand hunt. I'm not suggesting we make it easy on them, just allow them to form a sturdy defense! But sometimes...sometimes, we'll find a fisher who should have been born a warrior, and he'll make a fine opponent to fight. The way to increase your standing, with the crew and our people is to seek out the foe's worthy of meeting you." He grinned at her, looking over the sea. "Loot's always good too, after all, challenge is great and all, until you run out of coin."
He unhooked a flask from his belt, handing it to Gris. "Here. For the watch. You shout when you see land. We should be approaching the Ionian coast sometime soon. Now, a Captain needs his rest. And I'm damned tired." Sigvald grunted, running a callused hand over the ship as he shouted over the rain.
"Keep your eyes peeled, and good fortune. Perhaps you'll even spot one of the great sea serpents." He jested, but quickly knocked on the wood of the ship as he approached his cabin door. He threw it open, and stepped inside the dark cabin, closing it behind him. Once he was alone, he unclasped his cloak, tossing it onto a make-shift hook on the ships door. He climbed back into his bed, and attempted to fall asleep, comforted by his talk with the Fresh meat. He figured she should perform well enough that he didn't need to be stalking the ship.
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ThreeDawg
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Post by ThreeDawg on Jan 3, 2015 17:42:23 GMT -5
Great Sea Serpants, hah. They don't exist... Right?
Griselda felt renewed after her talk with the Captain. Perhaps it was a new sense of purpose, a real reason for her to keep an eye upon the waves. They were supposedly nearing land and, it was true, the mists soon begun to roll in. The mist was cold, almost as cold as being submerged in the waters themselves, but Gris paid it no mind. Her leathers and fur kept her warm, even if they grew damp.
The ship creaked along the waves, edging ever closer to the Ionian shore. The moons had danced across much of the sky now and hung high, their light piercing even the fog to shine down upon the deck. It gave the Pilot a ghostly pallor, Gris thought, like one of the long dead raiders in a dark story. They hadn't ever been her favourites, those stories. Myths and beasts, magic and un-living things. Gris found all that unnerving, preferring to stand by her axe or bow. Regular axes and bows couldn't kill demons, so the stories said. She shuddered and turned away from the grim faced man, back to the seas before the ship.
A crowing caw struck her first, distant but just audible. The sound of gulls was not unusual at sea, but it was something to look out for nonetheless. She stood upon the edge of the ship, clinging to the Maiden. For eyes to pierce this fog would be inhuman, but she wasn't was she?
"Land!" She shouted back to the ship, the crew, "I see land!" Barely was a dark shape visible to see, jagged and sharp. Too large to be a ship and as they moved closer, Griselda could barely make out the cliff-face itself. All crags and nooks, sharp and foreboding, no doubt softened by a beach below.
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Post by GuardsGhost on Jan 6, 2015 20:01:11 GMT -5
[[Sorry for how long this took]]
The few crewmen who were awake took up her shout, and soon the entire ship was filled with shouting and the noises of men and women rousing themselves from sleep. It happened quickly, within several minutes she'd find almost the entirety of the crew that wasn't otherwise assigned to a post on the deck with her, most of them fully geared in their armor and weapons. Sigvalds crew were professionals. All of them had a weapon strapped to them at the least, and were now staring over the railings at the land. It had been a long voyage from their snowy homeland, but at last they had found something that could potentially provide some loot.
The crew was an odd mix, wearing their different forms of mail and leather armor, wielding a variety of weapons designed for the sole purpose of killing an enemy. Svarjholders, Human, Orc, Half-Orc, and even the Svarjholders strange allies, the quiet Plains Elves that lived to the east of them, their features hidden behind helmets and hoods. All were on the ship, male and female. There was no distinction on Sigvald's ship, so long as you were prepared to fight for your keep. "Land?" One of the Humans growled, slapping Gris on the back. "Good eyes Fresh, I wouldn't have seen that from your post." Another jeered at his companion, his lean form and hidden features hinting at one of the plains Elves. "That's only because you'd be too blind from drinking Hareld."
There was some good natured laughter, and some less than good natured taunts. It was at that moment that the cabin door thudded open, and Sigvald walked out onto the deck of his ship, removing the queer device that he had brought with him. It was a tube like device, that extended a distance only a bit shorter than his arm, the end opposite of his eye gleaming in the sun light as the rays shined off the glass.
Sigvald was silent for a few moments until one of the crew spoke up. "Well, Cap'n? Are we landin'?"
He took a deep breath, and then clasped the strange device shut and looked over his crew. He then spoke the words he knew they had all been waiting for. "We land."
There was a loud cheer as the sea weary men exulted in the news, shoving their fists into the air. Some of the less careful ones did so with weapons in hand. Sigvald gestured for silence, and then spoke again. "Fresh will have the honor of leading us ashore, seeing as this is her first voyage with us. She'll start the fight. First blood for the Fresh meat." He gestured at Gris, and some of the crew unconsciously urged her forward into the center of the circle, towards their Captain, for another man had finally come to the deck, dressed in the fur hood and ornaments of a Seer. The old man was blind, but those pale eyes seemed to focus on her.
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ThreeDawg
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Post by ThreeDawg on Jan 7, 2015 19:46:40 GMT -5
Griselda found herself overwhelmed by her fellow crewmates quickly. They filled the deck, the first time Griselda had seen the majority of them in one place on the vessel. The sheer size of many of them, not just Orcs, and the weight of their armour and weapons made Gris wonder just how the ship remained afloat. Gris took the slap on her back lightly, laughing alongside her new companions as the jokes begun to fly. It was a strange feeling, acceptance. She had performed her job and, she felt, she had earned some respect from that. There was an air of comraderie on the ship that broke racial or sexual boundaries, Captain Sigvald had gathered a mighty crew. She respected that his host wasn't bound to stygmas.
The crew grew suddenly quiet, and Griselda took her eyes away from her new-found-land. Her leathers rustled as she shifted her weight to view her captain. She was shorter than many of the crew, so her view was limited behind their mass. He lifted a strange device, using it to glance at the land in the distance - gleaming like fresh snow. A crewman spoke up above the silence, asking the question bore across all their lips.
Land. The cheer rose up quickly in the crowd, Griselda finding herself following the call. Her roar pierced her throat, so unused of late that it quickly grew hoarse from her cry. She stopped, panting slightly to regain her breath, once Sigvald shown for calm. She expected his words, but did not expect to feel so proud to have others hear them. Snarling, she turned her tusks upon the first to shove her - unsure if she was being assaulted for recieving this honour or if the lout had just been overly brutish. Her anger turned to shock as the next in line urged her forwards, and the crowd pushed her out into the circle that had formed before the captain.
She looked to the crowd, then her captain, giving him a questioning glance. The Elder stepped from behind her Captain, immediately grabbing the Half-Orcs attention. She had seen a Seer but once before, walking with guards through the markets of her old home. He was far older than this one, requiring an aide and a cane to walk the streets. Yet he had bore power that radiated to her very core, an old and mysterious feeling. Mother had called him a Shaman, the Orcs name for people of similar roles back in the Hordelands. Griselda immediately felt the same respect for this one as she had so long ago. Her head bowed to the blind one, she crossed her axe-arm across her breast.
Even blind, she would not dare disrespect this man.
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Post by GuardsGhost on Jan 14, 2015 14:30:34 GMT -5
The Seer walked over to her, the crew bowing their heads respectfully as he moved slowly across the deck of the ship, a clay bowl in his hands. He dabbed his fingers in the bowl, and began to slowly speak in a tongue that none could recite nor follow, except for the Seer's themselves. The words conveyed an ancient authority with them however, and the Seeker closed his blind eyes, removing his hands from the bowl. The tips of his fingers were covered with a dripping red liquid that at a brief glance would look nothing less than blood. When he pressed his fingers against her forehead however, she'd realize that it was paint.
"Close your eyes." The old man rattled out softly.
The Seer's chanting seemed to slow down as he painted a red line across her forehead, and then dabbed his fingers into the bowl for some more paint, making a repeated line across each of her cheeks, curving in a slash motion.
"You will be the first ashore. As such, you will lead us in our devotion to the Gods that these weaklings have forgotten.." He slashed his paint dabbed fingers over her forehead again, creating another slash that went across the horizontal line he had previously made, turning it into an odd X like shape.
He withdrew his fingers from her face, and clapped the cover over the bowl. He then shoved said bowl gently into his robes, and turned to the rest of the crew.
One by one, the warriors of the ship came over to the Seer for the blessing of the Gods. Even those who were not particularly faithful on other occasions sought out the Gods of the Svarjholders, a pantheon of debauchery and murder, where the Gods only smiled on those who could honor them with blood and loot.
Some crew members took it a step further, asking for a plant from the Seer. The Seer handed each man a piece of a crumpled leaf that had been rolled up into a small ball. Sigvald muttered into Griseldas ear when he did. "Yarion's Leaf. It's named for the God of War and Blood. It's used by those who need help entering the berserk state in combat. The idiots will use it from the beginning of the fight without a care. The clever warrior will use it only when he has to. And the strongest have no need of the leaf at all."
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ThreeDawg
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Post by ThreeDawg on Jan 27, 2015 11:57:20 GMT -5
Never before had a Seer touched her, yet his power immediately made its presence known as his fingers touched her skin. Thunder raced through her blood at his blessing, thrumming a sense of power into her limbs that ebbed away as quickly as it had come - leaving her invigorated and longing for more. Griselda had never put much stock into Gods, into magic and myths, but the Shaman's touch stunned that part of her into submission. Perhaps such power could only be granted by a God, and it wasn't mere conjurers tricks.
As the Seer stepped away, so to did Griselda, avoiding the flush of crewmen as they crowded the hobbled man for his blessing. Hers still tingled upon her forehead. She found herself next to the Captain, his presence over her shoulder both a comfort and its opposite. Yarion's Leaf, he whispered to her, was some type of plant that caused others to enter a rage on the battlefield. She found herself frowning at its description. "I have yet to fight a battle I could not win with my own strength alone..." she mumbled back.
It was true, although she had never fought a full-scale battle she had hunted many animals and occasionally Humanoid prey. They had yet to best her combination of wits and strength, although several had bested the latter on its own. Sigvald's words struck her, 'the strongest have no need for the leaf at all'. Not only was it her first thought, but it almost sounded like a challenge to the Half-Orcs ears.
"I will have no part in that, our enemy shall know my strength by what I am not what I borrow from a plant." she snorted, keeping her voice low enough as not to offend the crewmen that asked the Seer for the herb. "Of course," she continued, "I would not wish to offend anyone lest I charge from the ship with no crew behind me." Her lips curled in a smile around her tusks, "Of course then it'd mean more glory for me, maybe a song or two."
Gris cut off her grin, turning sternly to her Captain. She raised a fist to her chest with the respect that had been drummed into her, humour was for celebrating their victory not beforehand. "Captain," she requested, yet simultaneously informed, "I leave your presence to prepare for the coming battle. I require arms." She bowed her head and as quickly as her mood had changed departed for below deck.
The ship was dark and cold, without the bodies of the rest of the crew, and all the good weapons had already been taken. Griselda had no personal weapon of choice, her hunting bow and hatchet not suited for true combat. Luckily the ship had plenty spare, most from previous raids with some Svarjholder or Orcish craft. Those were all gone, she noted. She grabbed for a metal buckler, it's light weight belying the strength of its metal. She couldn't tell what make it was, and it was smaller than she wanted, but a bash from her hand made it clear it was indeed solid. An axe caught her attention too, it's wooden haft made of a strong wood and its plain head was sharp and not dulled. Gris gave it a spin, liked what she felt and headed back up for the deck.
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