Open Chronicles Aftermath

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Ianthe

The Smuggler
Fae Courts
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20
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"Do Northmen not know the word please?"

Ianthe pushed a few strands of slightly damp blue hair behind her ear and skewered the Beserker with a dark look that, if looks could kill, would have skinned him alive and hung him from his ankle to bleed slowly to death. Magic of this volume for a long time was beyond her level and she was already feeling the drag of exhaustion after the first, more powerful blast. She certainly wasn't going to spend all her energy helping an arsehole. Instead she hopped onto the docking pier and cut the mooring lines of two ships which stood between the fire and the rest of the ships. The gap would stop the fire spreading so quickly.

"Better to sacrifice two for the rest, no?" she quirked a brow at him with a dark smile before turning her attention back to the fire. The smile quickly disappeared into a tight-lipped scowl. With a deep breath she begun to raise the sea again. This time the waves were smaller but still large enough to crash over the hull and deck of the ships still burning.
 
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Ivar

Son of the Exile
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288
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Ivar grimaced.

He couldn't fault the creature for her logic, but there would be trouble. Northmen didn't leave much of their possessions shipside. The vessels were far too open to store anything safely, but the loss of the ships meant they wouldn't be getting home.

At least, the journey would be far more cramped. "Hrm."

A grunt was the only answer Ianthe would receive.

Ivar did not lead the men here, not by far. The Earl who had brought them here had been invited to a feast at what remained of the castle. It had been a gesture of good will, one that was decidedly undone by this little event.

As the waves clashed over the remaining ships Ivar watched the flames slowly die down. Near half of the northmen's ships had been taken by the flames, three more had been saved by the Northerners themselves, and the other three had been seen to by Ianthe.

"I'm going to find whoever the fuck did this."​

Torsten came up behind Ivar, a bucket in his hand, soot on his face. "Easy, we're no-"

"Fuck off, Ivar. Whoever did this is getting strung up."​
 
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Ianthe

The Smuggler
Fae Courts
Messages
20
Character Biography
Link
Ianthe sat down heavily on one of the uncharred barrels that had miraculously been saved from one of the ships and stared at the sight in front of her.

Blackened skeletons of ships bobbed and there was an ominous creak from a few masts which still stood on the only-charred ships that she suspected meant there was going to be repairs needed before sail. It looked more like a graveyard than a dockyard now. In her years she had been witness to many occasions where drink got the better of people and their decisions, but even she had to admit burning ships seemed a touch to far for just a little bar fight. Especially when when they had left it had seemed moods were coming to a cool.

A niggling feeling, a fae feeling, wriggled in the back of her mind. Chaos churned and she didn't think the fight had been the centre of it.

"Where... is your Lord tonight?" she asked casually. Ianthe didn't particularly care if the man died per see but more fighting here would impact her business. "I can't be certain but I'm certain a few of the men I passed were not from the bar."
 
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Ivar

Son of the Exile
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288
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"The Palace, castle, whatever the fuck its called." Ivar said as he jerked his thumb back towards the center of the city.

There was a frown on his face as he said it, though in truth he'd not quite caught up with what Ianthe had been suggesting. The other northmen besides him though seemed to grasp the meaning of her words quite quickly.

Torsten jerked his head towards Ianthe.

"You think they'd go after the Earl?"

There was an anger to his voice, the sort of seething rage that preceded nothing good. Ivar scowled slightly, glancing towards Torsten. "If they want to cut down Sigurd they'll need more than a mob."

Ivar pointed out.

Sigurd was a beast of a man, said to be half-giant, though Ivar wasn't entirely sure about that fact.
 
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Ianthe

The Smuggler
Fae Courts
Messages
20
Character Biography
Link
Ianthe patted herself down, found a flask of Fae Ale, and uncorked it. The sweet smell of honey and spices hit her nose and with a fond smile she took a small swig of the potent stuff. Only whisky seemed to come close amongst what the mortal bars had but nothing could beat this. She wet her lips and then let a shrug roll over her slender shoulders as she glanced back up at the glowering northmen. There weren't many mortal men who made her feel short but the pair did a fine job.

"I'm merely thinking if I was mad enough at someone to burn all their ships, that I had no intention of a lot of those people making it home," and she would start with those who were the strongest or the biggest threat. If this 'earl' of theirs was alone and at the castle he would be in a vulnerable position. "Even if it wasn't their plan by inviting him there, if word reaches them of what's happened here..."

Her eyes flickered over the ships.
 
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Ivar

Son of the Exile
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288
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"Ah fuck." Ivar said as he reached up and rubbed his face.

The Berserker let out a loud sigh, glancing over towards the ships and considering. He knew he wasn't in charge, he knew he couldn't control these men if they truly wanted to go wild. Yet perhaps pointing them in a direction would work.

His finger ran over the haft of his ax. "Torsten."

The man snapped his head towards Ivar, his gaze narrowed. There was something in his eyes that told a story, something that expected another bit of rebuke.

"Get a dozen or so of the others." Ivar frowned. "We'll head towards the palace and make sure Sigurd is alright, but..."

He raised a hand. "We move quickly, no time to gather up whoever did this."

Torsten looked at the ships for a moment, then towards Ivar, and then gave a quick curt nod.
 
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Ianthe

The Smuggler
Fae Courts
Messages
20
Character Biography
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Ianthe wasn't sure how she felt at the idea of having helped mortals. It sat oddly in her. In the past her help had earnt her gold, or a favour of some kind. Some had even offered her the law of surprise which was a wonderful trade that had bought her many odd goods. For a Faerie, the thrill of the deal was almost as good as what came at the end of it. Never had she given her thoughts or opinions with the hopes of getting nothing in return. She told herself, quietly, that it was because she was annoyed about the fire nearly torching her own ship.

She took another sip of her skin and then got up. The Northmen could see to themselves from now on.

Instead, she wandered back over to where her donkey had been left and begun unhitching the wagon humming a quiet, haunting sea shanty.
 
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Ivar

Son of the Exile
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288
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As the northmen gathered, Ivar only watched in a quiet somberness. There was a slaughter brewing here, a blood bath. Whomever had set this fire would have to pay. Such was simply the way of the north. There was no arguing.

If Torsten and his friends could not find justice in protecting the Earl, then they would find it elsewhere in this town.

That was imply their way. That was how they had been brought up. Anything else was out of the question. A fact which hung over the night now. Ivar glanced back towards the woman that had warned them, watching as she unhitched her wagon. "They almost burned your ships as well, eh?"

He gestured towards the scorch marks aboard her vessel.

"Perhaps your little auction was the start of all this." Though whatever vengeance had come upon the north was certainly the instigation.
 
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Ianthe

The Smuggler
Fae Courts
Messages
20
Character Biography
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Ianthe raised a slender brow and fixed him with a bemused look before shaking her head and going back to tending to her donkey.

"My auctions usually leave everyone feeling good about themselves, happy that the misery they have faced is leaving. The only difference this time as been you," specifically him. It was a silly thought but it sprung to the forefront of her mind and nearly followed the rest of her sentence out of her mouth. After all, things have been going wonderfully at her auction until he had stopped his friend from bidding on her talisman. She sniffed to emphasis her point but also to cover up the lingering knowledge in the back of her mind that perhaps she was overreacting.

Then the cogs began to turn.

This dockyard was the Northern one and the man was right, even if she was loathe to admit it. Her ship had nearly suffered as had a few other merchants who hailed from the Tundra.

"Maybe it isn't just a problem they have with you and your men," she said slowly and glanced back towards the town as if searching for some sign.
 
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Ivar

Son of the Exile
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288
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"I tend to leave a bad taste in many people's mouths." Mostly though that was due to his ax buried in their jaw.

Torsten let out a laugh, though it was a bitter one.

"Aye, ask his last woman."

Ivar rolled his eyes, half turning towards the Northmen as he returned with a pack of a dozen warriors. Ivar knew each of them by name, they were solid, though two of them tended to be rather...harsh in the midst of combat. Not that he could judge them for such a thing.

They didn't call him a Berserker for nothing.

"I've seen it before." He told Ianthe softly as he turned back to her. "Townsfolk start lookin' for someone to blame, resources they can use to rebuild. Gold that might have been taken that they can reclaim."

His head shook. "You should come with us, I'll have the rest of the men guard your ship along with ours."
 
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Ianthe

The Smuggler
Fae Courts
Messages
20
Character Biography
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The look on Ianthe's face quickly turned the laughter to awkward coughs. There was something feral in that look and far darker than the big man wanted to chance taking further. When she was sure he wasn't going to crack another vile joke her eyes panned to Ivar. The fae almost seemed unaware she had pulled a knife from her boot and had begun to slice an apple from her supplies into thin strips which she ate from the knife's edge.

"So now they will blame everyone from the North," she mused to herself. It made sense; they would owe the Northmen money for fighting their war for them and Ianthe had goods they needed and probably didn't want to pay for. There were other Northern traders docked here too, not smugglers like herself but honest folk trying to make a living in timber and fur.

"If people try to touch my ship they will get a nasty surprise,"
it wasn't quite clear whether she was talking to the men who were to stay behind or she meant her threat for the townsfolk. With a sigh she finished her apple and made the knife disappear. "Fine, I will go. Perhaps your Earl will need a ship to help transport some of you home."

Gold was never far from the forefront of her mind.
 
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Ivar

Son of the Exile
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288
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At this point he would not doubt it.

They'd lost near half their ships, and although they could squeezed onto what remained he was doubtful that the journey would be a pleasant one. That was even if they got the coin they were supposed to receive from actually completing this little battle.

Something that was now very much in doubt. "Good."

Ivar said, pulling himself up.

"Torsten, keep close." There was a low growl from the other northmen, the man stepping towards Ivar.

"You are not chief. Stop acting like one."​

For a moment the Berserker seemed to ignore the comment, not saying anything at all. Then he turned on the other man and grabbed the lapel of his heavy fur coat. He drew Torsten close, his voice low. "I'm not, but I'll be fucking damned if I let you and yours get me killed. I'm here for the coin, not to settle scores that can't be settled."

A feral look entered his gaze, and for a moment it seemed as though the two men would come to blows. Then a second later Torsten only nodded, and the journey towards the Palace began.
 
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Arnor Skuldsson

The Axe of Knottington
Nordenfiir
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215
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Mercenary work was rarely pleasant.

But killing men employed, or loyal to Menalus? And then getting paid for it?

Call that a good day.

Arnor wasn't exactly a legend outside of the spine, nor particularly well known, in fact- but there was one who heard of him, and services were offered. Arnor was a simple businessman in a sense, he offered a service, and someone paid him for the service. The matter of life and death was therefore a simple transcation, same as buying an apple to Arnor. It was cold, it was ruthless, but it was the way wars were fought in the Summer Lands.

That, and Arnor could turn into a giant fucking bear at will and rip men apart.

But all of that mattered little, when Arnor stood on the shore, after having escaped from the burning wreck, drenched in ice-cold seawater, watching his ride home and onto the next task burnt by forces unknown. Cowardly tactics from a defeated enemy- the thought crossed his mind, but the siege was a frontal assault, and the broken enemy was driven away, and would've had ample opportunity to attack otherwise.

The Northmen began to march to the Palace, which raised a brow to the Nordenfiir. He at least had to inquire why- or if they knew something they didn't. Such as how to collect the other half of the payment he was owed. Which was of more concern than the concern of a collection of berserkers and free-men.

Arnor turned his head, seemingly unbothered by the ice-cold water drenching his body. Disregarding the coat- he walked over to the stable where Rhi was stabled, and mounted the mighty horse. Nordenfiir were not known to bond with horses easily. But Rhi was greater than a packhorse, and had a penchant for drinking beer... of which Arnor provided him.

He put on another shirt from his pack, and a fur-lined overcoat. A true Nordenfiir, in every aspect... down to the marks on his face.

He rode near the Northmen marching to the palace, Rhi trotting up to them, though Arnor stayed a good distance behind them. He didn't say anything, he simply observed for the moment. He had no real reason to interact with them- after all, he didn't know them. They simply completed the same job together. Didn't make them friends.

Though, not being able to get paid would mean they'd become bonded in a sense.
 
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Ianthe

The Smuggler
Fae Courts
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20
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Ianthe's dark eyes roamed from one Northman to the other as they squared up. For Ianthe, this was akin to how humans watched animals in those odd little menageries they were so fond of. It perplexed her, entertained her, and made her decision to follow them a whole lot easier - she didn't want to miss out on any chaos that might erupt from this. The fire had been chaotic but nearly losing her own ship had put a small dampener on the joy of that particular event. But if the monkey men began punching one another? That wouldn't involve her. At least, they would regret it if it did spill over to involving her.

Torsten gave her a dark look which she responded to with a cold smile, then followed over Ivar.

The little procession didn't come up against any resistance as they marched through the town. The sounds of revelry floated to them on the crisp night air and the soft haze of the large bonfire grew brighter as they drew closer to the centre of the town. Fortunately they turned away towards the roughly made castle before they got close to the fire. Still, she cast it a wary glance as they turned away which was when she spotted the newcomer. Her head canted to the side curiously as she studied him atop his horse. He didn't smell of the other Northmen but then mercenaries had come from all over for gold. He didn't, however, have the usual stench of the North. Perhaps that was why she nearly missed the subtle hint of bear.

Her lips twisted into a grimace as though she had eaten a sour plum. The Nordenfiir had never been a friend of the Night Court but then maybe that would change with the new order, whatever that ended up being. Still, she found herself reaching for the dagger up her sleeve and thumbed it till the handle settled comfortingly in the palm of her hand.
 
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Ivar

Son of the Exile
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288
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Ivar did not notice the bear.

He'd met a few of them on a journey long ago, but it seemed almost a distant memory now. When he had been seeking the past of his father.

Right now his mind was elsewhere, on the task at hand. For him, all that he cared about was getting out of this city and ensuring that he made it past the walls another day. He had come here for the gold, and he would make sure that he left with it.

The small procession turned a corner, and what they found there was near enough a riot.

Dozens upon dozens of people had gathered around the outside ring of the Palace. Several sections of the inner keep wall had been destroyed by the stones of a trebuchet, and within them stood Knights arrayed in their full armor. The crowd bustled around them, calling for food, for gold, for the spoils that the 'Northmen' were taking.

Ivar sucked in a breath. "Shit."

He said with a scowl.

"That way." He motioned to the other, jerking his hand and pointing those with him into a nearby alleyway. There was no way of breaking through the front door, not without starting a slaughter.
 

Arnor Skuldsson

The Axe of Knottington
Nordenfiir
Messages
215
Character Biography
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Arnor paid no mind to the Fae- as much as anyone else, truly speaking. He'd spent enough time away from his people to put aside their grudges and hardships.

He pulled on the great horses reins, tying up Rhi, the king of horses, and whispered soft words in his native tongue to the horse. The horse, curiously seemed to respond happily.

Arnor sauntered up, rolling his bulky, chainmail covered shoulders.

"We don't seem to be popular after we won their wars for them."

Or after surviving one of their burning ships. Either or.

He crossed his powerful arms, simply following the group. He seemed relax- moreso the fact that out of the group, he had the least likely chance to be outright killed. The only downside was being naked after the fact.
 
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Ianthe

The Smuggler
Fae Courts
Messages
20
Character Biography
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Ianthe's dark eyes seemed to reflect the light from the torches held up by the villagers. Her smile was smaller than it had been before yet the way the shadows fell across her face made it look far more sinister than any feral grin. She didn't take her eyes off the shouting throng of people until they rounded a corner into a quieter side street. The truth was the kelpie could have stood and drunk in that chaotic violence all day until she was full and sated. It made her hunger for the wars she had fought before, the blood she had spilt in the name of a king who had used her as nothing more than cannon fodder. It was the latter aspect to her previous life she had to remind herself of when she found herself growing homesick.

Shoving her hands into her pockets she gave the bear a sideways glance when he spoke and raised a brow. She hadn't realised Nordenfiir rented themselves out as petty soldiers. The beasts she had met in her centuries hadn't liked the thought of leaving their precious Tundra. A small snort escaped her before she could stop herself.

"They're hungry and they have giant men in their halls eating what little they have," as far as she knew her delivery of food had been the first one in two weeks and some of that had been bought by the Northmen for their return trip.

"Perhaps you should forget this Earl and leave before they slit all your throats," she offered the group of men walking ahead of her, more to see their reaction than as a real suggestion. Men seemed odd about their loyalties.
 
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