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Post by Salandis on Oct 3, 2014 21:39:48 GMT -6
~Warning: The following events took place in early first century Ireland and are intended for a mature audience. Scenes of violence may occur. (closed RP)~
Raine wearily held his stance, blood splashed on his simple leather armor. It ran down the length of his claideamh, making the bronze blade itself seem like it was bleeding, and making his hands dangerously slick on the grip.
Behind him he heard the ford where the ambush had started, a muted rush of water over stone. He knew without looking that the river would still be running red downstream, the dart-pinned bodies of many of his companions still caught on the rocks that bordered it. The sun was setting sword-side to him, somehow making more vivid the blood that painted the grass before him.
To his heart-hand, the last of the cows were still visible. They had fled when the fighting started, but were trained enough to stay reasonably close, cropping the grass as they waited. It would be the fools own job to round them up, but Raine had no mind for that now.
Instead, his pale green eyes were locked ahead of him, almost unfocused at the three remaining men of the creach rígh, the cattle raiders from a rival clan. One of them was wounded, blood pumping sluggishly from his side. His face pale, he nonetheless held his sword firm, though back a step from his clan-mates. The other two seemed as unhurt as he himself was, and as splashed with blood. They eyed him warily, their stance defensive though they were a hand or more out of his reach.
The bodies of two more of their number were in front of him, giving reason to their caution. Raine had been one of only three survivors of their first, devastating attack. The rain of heavy darts had quickly reduced the eight man detail by five. The three of them had rallied, and had taken five of their enemy down before Raine had been left standing alone.
That was before he had killed two more on his own. Those had come in confident, sure he was worn down enough to be easy prey. They would never learn from their mistake.
watching, Raine decided these three would also attack. Despite losing so many of their own number, they were three and he was still only one. And cattle were valuable, the clan currency and part of its honor.
So he moved, stepping back and circling to the left. That put the injured one behind the other two, removing him temporarily from the fight. The closer opponent slashed at him, a blow to the ribs he easily blocked with his own sword. The other clansman had stepped around him, though, and in a practiced maneuver slid his sword under Raines, seeking a gut wound.
Raine stepped forward, adroitly stepping around the thrust and bringing his elbow up into the face of the first raider. His sword free, he drove it quickly into the others' throat. Twisting it loose, he turned to the first and, in a short but furious rally, slid his sword between the others' ribs.
As the corpses' weight dragged his sword down, he suddenly felt a hard blow against his back. Raine grimaced: wounded or not, the third raider had managed to circle around the fight, and had landed a solid strike across his spine. Yanking out his blade, he turned around to catch another strike, this one to the face. Raine straightened, and his sword flicked out with the ease of long practice. One quick strike to disarm the man, another to knock him to his knees. But the man wasn't even trying now. His eyes seemed to bulge, his mouth gaped. It was not hard to know why: Despite two solid strikes that would have killed any other man, Raine showed not even a scratch. Raine raised his sword to deliver a killing blow, and hesitated.
The man was unarmed, now, and injured. He was not even trying to fight back. Killing the man on his knees would be dishonorable, and despite his years and youthful rage, Raine extended honor in combat. He could not kill this man, not now. Not as helpless as he was.
But he couldn't take the man prisoner. Should he return with him to the clan, his secret would be out. It would be a matter of time, then, until the dark looks turned into open accusations. He had heard it all before, that he was no true son of Mil. Exactly what he was varied, but normally settled on a member of the unseelie court. And then he would be driven out, forced to find a new home. Again.
Abruptly Raine reached a conclusion. He lowered his sword to the ground, letting the point touch the grass. "Wha.. Who are yeh?" the man said, his voice barely above a whisper.
"Bind yer wounds." Raine responded curtly. "And then go home." He fixed his sternest glare on the man. "Aye, go. And tell yer king tha' this clan be defended by Raine Baeg’Rua’Rian." And then he gave the man a wintry smile. "If ya want ta take from us, ya king will need all his men. Aye, and himself, if he has tha manhood to take a sword ta me."
But the man was already scrabbling backwards, holding his side. Not even reaching for his dropped sword, he headed off into the sunset, obviously determined to get away from the strange demon that spared his life.
Raine sighed, and pulled a sleeve off his tunic to clean his sword. That task done, he turned to survey the site of the ambush. He wouldn't have time to build a cairn, not by himself. But he would at least lay out the dead in order, and close their eyes. It was the least he could do, with the cattle still to return home. And his companions would understand.
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Post by ThisLittleBluebird on Oct 21, 2014 22:14:54 GMT -6
At the edge of the stream lie 'The Washer at the Ford', as was customary as carrion birds in the skirmishes of the area. She too could be considered one herself, flittering from field to field drawn by lust for blood and battle. The shiny black feathers cropped up from her skin helped the metaphor, too.
The witch leaned over the body of the freshest dead, his soul barely lifted from the skin before the task of scrubbing his armor clean had been completed. It was then that her inky talons could tear greedily through thick flesh at the ripe heart beneath. If the witch had been with her coven still, the battlefield's bones would be picked clean before the next dawn.
But it was only her. Eldest of the three, taking up her role on her own, a coven bound in blood both in oath and in vein disintegrated. Clearly she seemed to do just fine, as the spirits here would walk this plane no more- if they relinquished their bodies to the battlecrow.
Morgan looked up from her quarry at the sound of footsteps, at the remaining man standing before her, all blood and bronze and fire. She eyed him warily, blood dripping down her chin and feathered forearms. Not a word she said aloud.
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Post by Salandis on Nov 2, 2014 0:18:45 GMT -6
Raine looked at the creature in the ford. She was human looking, but for the feathers she wore as a mantle. Her hair was grey, her form otherwise that of an attractive woman. Enough that Raine had to quite firmly step on a stirring of lust, as the rush of battle still coursed through his veins. It was easy enough to quell, really: She held the corpse of one of the fallen in the ford, the blood of her previous meal still running down her chin.
Raine sheathed his blade, his body responding to conclusions his mind was only barely grasping. If nothing else, this was no child of Mil, which would make her a child of Dana at the least: Bronze would not harm her, only cold iron. Various legends flicked through his mind, but among all was the one whispering thought. Perhaps this is such a one that can harm even me. But perhaps not, and all legends alike called for no show of fear.
So, showing no sign of his own uncertainty, he walked forward until he was a mans length away from the creature, and then crouched. His memory settled on one legend of such a being, in which case a deal might be struck. "Three fer three, if the legends be true." He said, marveling that his voice came out calmly. "So ask three questions, that I might answer true and ask three in return."
Legend held that the washer would not lie, if she found those asking worthy. And that they could tell much, even predicting the death of the one asking. Raine was uncertain of what he might ask, but perhaps this fae being could answer some of the mysteries of his own existence. The opportunity could not be passed up.
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Post by ThisLittleBluebird on Nov 2, 2014 16:48:59 GMT -6
The witch took her time in responding, slowly wiping the blood from her lips with the back of her thin hand. She gently set the corpse back against the water's edge, brushing back the bloodied hair from the warrior's forehead and crossing the arms. It wouldn't be befitting to just throw around what had once held life, especially not one who had died honorably.
Morgan then turned her attention to the living warrior before her, which was a rare behavior. But, as she appraised him, decided her attention had been captured rather than assigned. He was small but otherwise appealing, and had showed paranormal prowess on the battlefield. She quelled a smile.
Finally, now, she spoke. Very well... I have come to the conclusion that with your beyond impressive performance here, even without my favor or influence, that you are no mere man. What are you, then? Are you Fae or beast?" Morgan then realized that had been a two- part question, and offered a grin. "It appears I don't have the way of speaking that the Fair Folk pride themselves in, apologies. Though I am terribly curious, what is it you would seek of me?"
She studied the warrior's finely boned features with great interest, surprised that he'd had the bravery to approach her first. Only a rare few had prior, and far more often to her younger and fairer sisters.
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Post by Salandis on Nov 2, 2014 20:43:01 GMT -6
Her voice was almost musical, confirming her nature before she could with words. Still, for all their beauty, Raine felt a flash of disappointment at her questions. Simply by asking them, she revealed that she would not answer his. But truth for truth, and he had come this far already.
"I am a child of Mil, a man born." He said simply. "I am not of the Daughters of Dana, the fae folk, nor the people who came before, the beast-kin, the Furbolg." He sighed. "What I am now, I cannae say. Ah stand before ya a century old, looking not a day past twenteh. Fire cannae harm me, Blades willnae cut me, and falls that would kill a lesser man leave me barely winded."
He studied the Fae before him, wondering if sharing so much was wise. But then, he had agreed to answer truly. "Mah only fear is the cold, for tha I still feel. Perhaps I am some kind o' winter embodied. Who can say?" He laughed softly, bitterly. "I had hoped that you might tell me more, fer yer kind are known to be wise beyond the ken of mankind."
The rush of battle was fading, and Raine found himself seeking the center that had meant his survival in the early days of his life. With a deep breath, he put himself at a true calm, and turned his attention back to the Fae.
She truly was striking, even with the last trace of blood at her lips. Her care with the dead even as she fed on them showed an honorable nature that had initially seemed at odds with her actions; Now he knew it was a true form of honor despite being a little alien to him. Unconsciously he brushed hair away from his face.
"I would ask, lady. Do you know anything of my nature? And Do ye know anything of my death, should it come to pass?" Some instinct called him to hold his third question, and he instead sat calmly in the blood-splashed grass.
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Post by ThisLittleBluebird on Nov 2, 2014 21:30:54 GMT -6
The witch raised a silvery brow at the warrior's explanation, more and more intrigued as the story developed. "Perhaps you have been gifted," she offered, "if you are truly a son of man." Then she frowned, "or a curse. Though that, I believe, is solely dependent on yourself. I can offer no omniscient answers regarding your power, but earthly advice, should you seek it." He fascinated her, these odd powers unlike that which she had seen before. They were around the same age, she noted, perhaps this was something older than her coven had known.
Then, her thoughts hushed as his second question came. They always asked about their death. Why, she did not know. It only made their remaining time miserable and paranoid. This was an inquiry she did not wish to answer, but she was forced. When she gazed to the cutting of his string, she found... unusual results.
"I don't see it," she said, brows furrowed as she stared through him. "It is too clouded. You are not mortal. However, this does not mean you are immune to death's hold, either. You will survive far past that which is natural, that much I can say."
She shook her head in frustration, feeling useless for being so at a loss to what he'd asked. "Apologies..."
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Post by Salandis on Nov 4, 2014 3:15:35 GMT -6
"Gifted, Lady?" Raine said softly. "Cursed, more surely. But I can think of no reason why the child I was would have been so cursed, so as to lose all to a mad priest." The last words were spoken with venom, and a fire flicked in his eyes despite his calm.
But that memory faded, and the look of fire died to be replaced with one of settling wonder. "Ah had wondered, as ah lived these scores of years witho' aging. But tah have slipped beyond mortal, tah truly know death as an aquaintance..."
He shook off that line of thought, as the reason for holding his last question came to him. Abruptly Raine wondered if he should be so daring. Myths spoke that men who captured the interest of the Fae could ask this and live, for while the deal required she answer truly it did not provide gurantee that they would live to use it.
He studied her, acknowleding her beauty and wondering if he fascinated her as much as he did him. And decided to find out.
"Tell me lady, as my last question." He started. "What be yer name?"
He tried to resist holding his breath. That she would answer, he had no doubt. But names had power, and if she decided him unworthy to keep that knowledge, she would surely try to slay him afterwards.
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Post by ThisLittleBluebird on Nov 4, 2014 10:29:42 GMT -6
A bit of icy apprehension swirled into the witch's thoughts. She was bound to answer, and regretted using her own questions so recklessly- moments ago only wishing to hear him speak his.
A mistrustful expression flitted into Morgan's garnet eyes- surely this warrior knew that with her name he held power over her, if he'd known how to initiate this little chat in the first place. But, maybe she could trust him. He'd proven honor in combat, sparing a defenseless life, perhaps he'd show the same respect to a witch like herself.
The moment of hesitation had passed, and she replied, "...Morgan, plainly. Should there be more, it has never met my ears." It wasn't the first time she had given her name, but each left her as nervous as the last. Her sisters had once or twice been forced to come to her defense and free her from such a tie, but the time of their aid had passed and if trouble came, she'd be on her own to face it.
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Post by Salandis on Nov 5, 2014 2:59:46 GMT -6
Raine tensed, expecting attack at any second. The agreement to truthful questions was no promise of protection, and he prepared himself to leap aside from mystical attack.
Instead she only watched, until at last the words she spoke sank in. He relaxed, seeing her strangely vulnerable.
"Morgan" He said softly, savoring the word. "Perhaps, but there be nothing plain about you." He smiled then.
"I am called Raine Baeg'Rua'Rian. It is an honor ta know you, Morgan Da'Danann, Daugher of Dana."
The sunset darkened, but he kept his eyes on her. "Ah know you'll treat my friends with honor, tho' Ah'll lay out those yah have yet tah touch. And then Ah'll need to gather the cows, to return my clan it's honor." He said this, knowing it had to be done.
And yet his eyes remained on the Fae, captivated until he felt himself ask almost against his will.
"Will ah see ya again, lass? Or as the legends say, will ye vanish from me tha' moment my eyes look away?"
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Post by ThisLittleBluebird on Nov 8, 2014 23:55:17 GMT -6
Morgan silently, tentatively tested the name in fascination. She flashed a wide smile, moved a bit by his trust, or honor code, whichever his so freely given name was given by- it hardly mattered as the action enough was more than simply a pleasant suprise.
"You needn't worry about that," Morgan assured Raine, "should you desire it so, I will remain. My presence is not quite as fickle nor fleeting as the other good neighbors."
She stood, stepping away from the bank of the ford. Now was the time she'd usually disappear, a crow escaping into the canopy instead of a water witch. But strangely, she was enticed to stick around.
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Post by Salandis on Nov 20, 2014 2:29:13 GMT -6
(Bah. I need to catch you on skype, probably this weekend, or this next post will be short, strange, or boring XD)
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Post by Salandis on Nov 23, 2014 0:16:44 GMT -6
Raine stood also, awkwardly stepping back and giving a half bow. "If yah don't mind, Lady" He murmured. His gaze left her with difficulty, as he turned to the dead. He began with allies, Laying them out straight, clasping their hands with weapons, Closing their eyes. His eyes strayed often to the fae at the ford. Morgan. A fae, a creature more than human. Someone who would not shun him for what he was.
He turned to another ally, a friend. Tears prickled at the back of his eyes, but he would hold them for later. Instead he hauled the man, a friend he could not bring himself to name now, to lie next to another ally. It was only right, until a more fitting cairn could be raised for them all.
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Post by ThisLittleBluebird on Aug 20, 2015 1:41:48 GMT -6
If Raine were to glance back into the trees, towards the babbling stream, he would find no trace of the witch. It was if Morgan had never existed at all- or that she'd lied about not leaving her warrior. Her sisters would certainly do that, playing with men's minds wickedly, but Morgan was always the crone. Her role was too important on the battlefield to go flittering off to the cot of some clansman. But now that she was alone... perhaps she could spare the time, to divert from her role, that was. Not to go flittering off. Morgan did not flitter.
A shadow whirled around a nearby tree, just inside the redheaded warrior's peripherals. It materialized into Morgan's black robes, darker than any fur. She was ghostly pale by comparison, a star clothed in the folds of the night sky.
Talons curled over Raine's shoulder, gently, the sharp tips just barely catching over the rough fabric of his tunic. Just enough to suggest she was there. Her voice was but a whisper in his ear, "they would be proud of you, you know... their deaths were not in vain, thanks to you. They will sleep well, thanks to you, rather than wander the moors seeking their final vengeance..." Her nails brushed up his shoulders and trailed through the warrior's rich red hair, but it was as if she were made of air. Morgan seemed only half-corporeal at this moment, more a ghost than a person, and faded out as quickly as she'd appeared.
She wasn't gone long, and stepped out from behind a nearby tree. "What will you do now? Return to your clan?"
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Post by Salandis on Aug 20, 2015 2:30:27 GMT -6
Raine was startled by the touch, and by another demonstration that however beautiful the creature he met was, she was far from human. The words she whispered freed some tears to wet his cheeks, and the nails through his hair brought a rare pounding to his heart. But he waited to finish straightening the last of his allies before straightening himself and looking to the Fae by the tree.
“Aye” He said. “They must be told o’ this. And Ah must return the clans property, else they be poor and starve over the winter months.” He braced himself somewhat, and then continued. “They ah mae clan only by adoption, Ah am to them an outsider yet. Mae home clan…” His voice trailed off, and his eyes turned cold and hard. “They died.” He said shortly. “Any tha live are scattered to the plains, and long daed to boot.”
He bent again, this time straightening the first of the enemies he had cut down. The man was young, likely not even twenty, and seemed to stare in shock at the sky before Raine closed his eyes. He pulled him to his comrades, and then lay them out likewise, aligned to the setting sun. “This’ll mean war, y’know.” He said as he worked. “Young bucks all, but they knew what they were about. Had they won, they could claim innocence. But they lost, and now our clan will cry for retribution.”
His eyes again sought the Fae. “Ah’ll fight again there, and win, for this curse willnae let me die in battle. And then, Ah’ll have tae leave. No clan has seen me in battle and let me stay – Each time, even winning great victory, they see me as unseelie, and cast me to the underworld.” He smiled crookedly. “Ah’ve never seen it, so the curses mustna be taking. But I leave, for I cannae stay where I am feared and hated so.”
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Post by ThisLittleBluebird on Aug 20, 2015 13:48:47 GMT -6
"I smell blood yet-to-be-spilled," Morgan noted, pursing her lips and furrowing her icy brows in consideration. "That much is true. You should not have let that one live, your mercy may lead to more death- not that I am complaining."
She took a step towards her warrior, musing, "though, why fight for a clan that will turn you away the moment you save them? Why bother, when you know the outcome? They'll cast you aside if you are lucky, or drive you off their land with bronze and iron if you are not." She shook her head, hair floating as if she were moving underwater. Concern, or maybe just curiosity pooled in her rose-red eyes as she struggled to understand how the warrior thought.
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