Open Chronicles Aftermath

[Ianthe]

Ianthe watched the soldier slide down the wall and then scramble to his feet and launch after his friends. The group of Northerners simple watched: there was little point trying to stop them. Still, the kelpie was disappointed it hadn't come to blood already. With a soft sigh she listened to the dull and simple plan that every hero-who-refused-to-accept-the-title announced and refrained from rolling her eyes. Just about. The knife appeared back in her fingers and she let it dance between them like a mummer would a coin.

"If you have something of his I can find him," she offered with a casual shrug then paused when she saw a golden vase tucked into one of the alcoves. The knife twirled into the air then vanished amongst her person before she picked it up, weighing it considering. She caught the doubtful look from one of the men in its reflection and she glanced at him over her shoulder.

"Finding things is a part of my job," she looked back to the vase, chewed her lip then put it back down with a reluctant sigh.

 

[Ivar]

Ivar glanced over to Torsten when the Faerie asked her question. His eyebrow perked, and the man seemed to answer in a low growl. There was a pause, and then he pulled a metal band from his wrist.

The man rolled it over between his fingers for a moment, then offered it to Ianthe.

"He gave it to me on my sixteenth name-day, Forged it and carried it all his life before then. Close enough?"​

This situation was slowly beginning to spiral. The mob outside wouldn't much care what the Northmen would say, and it seemed the Guards were well aware of that fact. If they didn't hurry they'd all end up with their heads on pikes.

Ivar spat on the ground in disgust, shaking his head.

Next time he would demand to be paid upfront.

A shout echoed from down the hall, resounding through the castle. It was the echoed call of a dozen guards, a horn blowing a second later. Then another.

It seemed the mob had breached the gates.

 

[Arnor Skuldsson]

Arnor was a tracker, for certain. But tracking a target, an animal... much different than what the Fae were capable of.

He sneered, turning his head to the commotion behind them. The mob had begun to make a scene outside- and then inside.

Time was working against them. The grievances of years past came to the front of the gate, and the entire mob seemed deadset on addressing them peacefully.

And by peaceful, peaceful by comparison.

"We should also consider our escape plan."

 

[Ianthe]

Ianthe's eyes seemed to reflect the gold and sparkled with her eagerness to hold it. With some self control she managed not to snatch it out of the Northerners hands but instead plucked it like a flower and ran her fingers over it in a caress fit for a lover. A part of her distantly thought about how she should be thankful it wasn't iron but she was too caught up in the beauty of the craftmanship to dwell on the 'what ifs' of her offer.

"It'll do," it wasn't as good as something the man owned but there was enough of a residue on it if she concentrated. Seconds ticked by as her head cocked to one side with her eyes shut. Every now and then her ears twitched as though listening to something too sensitive for mortal ears. Then, in a sudden fit of movement she was off at a good trotting pace.

In a haphazard way she led them deeper and higher into the keep. The further on they went the path turned from normal, empty halls, to those marked by the signs of a fight. A group against one. Knocked over ornaments, shattered doors revealing dark rooms beyond, the splatters of blood. Ianthe barely gave it any look as she kept going. Eventually they came upon a final corridor. At the end six guards stood in front of a large, barred door. Upon seeing the Northeners they readied their weapons.

"He's in there," she said casually, pointing to the door behind them, twirling the golden torque around her fingers. "Just."

 

[Ivar]

Ivar had watched everything carefully after setting off after Ianthe.

This place was a winding trap, as most fortresses were.

The north did not tend to build places like this, not really. Kjos and other free cities had their walls, the Great Halls, but places like this? They were not common in the Tundra. It was more difficult to keep them than it was worth often times, a fact that had been learned long ago.

When a people could melt into the Tundra itself instead of facing executions it was easier to simply abandon the town than to hold onto it. As was the way of war for as long as most could remember it, though perhaps it was different for Arnor's kind.

"Step aside." Ivar said to the Guards.

His fingers looped around the half-moon blade of his ax, drawing it free from his belt and spinning it once in his hand.

"There need not be blood." The Northman said simply. "Unless you desire it."

 

[Arnor Skuldsson]

Theatrically and deception, acting and poise and grandeur had their place, even on the battlefield.

Arnor turned his back on the guards, dramatically dropping his equipment, carefully laying his swords and the leather and chainmail cuirass on the wall. He breathed in deeply, turning back to the guards, currently arguing with Ivar.

Then, of course- anyone familiar with the Svalen form knew that it was in fact, a magical process and that Arnor's clothing was just fine where it was.

But the dramatic effect was still there.

He turned and ran at the guards-

And suddenly, the great hall became the great big bear hall.

A giant fucking bear, brown in color- stood in front of the guards. Arnor stood up on his hind legs, outspreading his paws, letting off a terrible roar. The guards ran, as most people would, not wishing to fight a nearly nine-foot-tall bear.

What sounded like a bear chuckling echoed down the fortress, as Arnor pushed forward, knocking the knick-knacks, doo-dads and other items off the wall as he stampeded through the hall, carving a path for their party to push forward. He turned a corner, scaring another group of guards.

He was laughing.

Or as a bear, he was making more of a hah-roar kind of deal.

 

[Ianthe]

Ianthe hissed and skipped out of the way of the lumbering creature before it crushed her against the wall. A few of the other Northerners muttered too as they moved out of the way then peered after the carnage. It was hard to tell what had been broken before the bears entrance compared to afterwards but either way it was clear to see a fight had happened in the hall beyond the doorway. Blood smeared walls and the floor; several different people from what the fae could smell though it appeared most of the bodies had been moved.

Up against one wall a great hulking man had been bound and was on the floor with his back against the stone. He was grinning despite his injuries of which there were many. Those guarding him stood firmer than the others had despite being confronted by a bear and all drew weapons. It seemed fighting the Earl had prepared them for worse things.

Ianthe picked up a dagger that someone had left behind and inspected the golden hilt curiously before pocketing it and moving on to one of the other treasures.

 

[Ivar]

Ivar didn't hesitate behind Arnor.

The man barrelled forward, turning into a charging bear at the drop of a hat. There was something...discomforting about the sight, inhuman.

It reminded the northman of the Werewolves, though he knew it was not the same. Years past he had met a group of Nordenfiir, spent some days with them, even met their Queen. They had been a decent enough folk, but the transformations were still more than odd to him.

Still, in the midst of battle that hardly mattered.

The Guards had steeled themselves, some breaking away from Arnor and others quickly engaging the great bear with spear and sword.

"Guard the halls!" Ivar called to some of the others, ensuring that no one would sneak up behind them. Then he quickly charged into the throng, intent of freeing the Earl and getting the fuck out of there before any more problems could arise.

 

[Arnor Skuldsson]

Their attack was gaining traction, despite their small numbers. The problem was, no matter how well they did inside the castle, they still had to contend with the townsfolk outside, and thus, a hasty exit was their best course of action.

And more than likely, one that didn't end with them impaled on some very angry pitchforks.

The bear continued to wreak havoc on the guards- spears stepped on, shields broken by mighty swipes, teeth gnashing their way towards victory. Despite Arnor's destruction, his violence never reached the lethal point- broken bones, broken weapons and deep cuts surely- but no fatal wounds.

The restraint of a monk in the form of a bear. A rare feat for both a man, and more importantly- a Nordenfiir.

 

[Ianthe]

Ianthe left them all to it.

Instead she slipped around the walls examining all the different glittering prizes that nobody was paying any mind too. Vases of beautiful colourful glass from the Western Empire, gold plates with intricate engravings, and - to pardon the pun - the literal crowning glory. The fae stopped in front of the glass cabinet in which the glittering jewelled crown sat, her breath causing the glass to fog as she pressed her nose up close. Carefully she examined the box every which way to determine how it might be unlocked. There was no join as far as she could see and lifting it did little good - it felt as heavy as stone. In the end she placed her fingers either side and concentrated. Thin tendrils of water began to seep through along the edges, winding into the little gaps too small for the human eye to see. Then the water began to drop drastically in temperature until thin shards of ice splintered the glass apart.

With a satisfied noise she snatched the crown up and stuffed it into a sack she had been steadily filling with goods. It was a shame the cart wasn't up here or she would have taken some of the gold threaded tapestries too.

 

[Ivar]

The soldiers were thrown against walls, tossed to the ground. Bones were broken, weapons sundered, and yet somehow all of them managed to live.

It was a minor miracle that any of the Guards survived the encounter, though more than a few of them would find survival a tad more difficult in the future. It helped that in the midst of the northmen was a giant bear, the Nordenfiir wreaking more havoc than any five of the others could have.

Eventually the southrons ran, shifting and trying to get away where those Ivar had commanded to hold the halls smashed them into unconscious rag dolls.

Ivar quickly stepped up to the bound Earl, his hand first reaching towards the gag that had been tied between his teeth. There was a loud wracking cough, the man scowling and immediately offering a raucous rash of swears before shouting.

"Who the fuck do they think we are!"​

The man shouted. "We don't ha-"

"Fuck that! Where are the bastards? That goddamn King and his ilk? I want them fucking dead. Save their city and this is the fucking thanks I get? I'll be fucked if I leave that insult on the table."​

Ivar slowly rolled his head, glancing towards Arnor.

 

[Arnor Skuldsson]

The bear subsided, returning the man to the fold. Arnor looked sternly at the now-irate Earl, who, understandably, wanted revenge.

One of the Northmen threw Arnor his finely crafted swords, to which he weighed and practiced a swing, staring at the Earl with a passive anger.

And thus, the Earl had a mighty finger pointed at him.

"Spare me your petty revenge fantasies. We should focus on our lives, not our revenge."

All the involved parties were wronged, but all the involved parties also had a vested interest in being alive. Arnor, unlike the Northmen- and the Fae, who was presumably busy stealing everything she could get her hands on, had no qualms or cultural taboo about speaking to the Earl in such a manner.

He was just the man who was supposed to pay him.

 

[Ianthe]

A hush fell over the group like an ominous sea fog.

The soldiers who had been set to guard the Earl and were still alive and conscious looked warily at the Northmen. The Northmen looked uneasily back but also uneasily at their Earl. They wanted retribution. Anyone could see it from the way they gripped their weapons and licked their lips. But more importantly, Ianthe thought, they wanted to get paid. Oh, people always liked to think they were better than her. Had morals. But when it came down to it they were all just the same. Ianthe just had the decency to wear it on her sleeve. The great hulking man known as Earl began to grow red in the face and rise out of his chair, a coiled spring about to explode...

She cleared her throat bringing every eye in the room to her.

"If you're all done beating your chests," she purred and then lifted a hand to push against one of the stones in the wall. There was a loud clunk then a sound that seemed to echo round the whole room but slowly a part of the wall pushed inwards then moved to reveal a doorway. Cold air seeped into the room. The sea practically called to her. "I don't know about you but I have no intentions of being burnt by a bunch of people with pitchforks. We can discuss my fee on the way," she grinned and then turned with no care as to whether they followed or not and started down the steps.