Open Chronicles Dauða

[Skad]

Balgove Village Outskirts

"Help!"

Men fled, hurtling over root and stone through the dense outcrop of pines with panic laced through laboured breaths. Most did not hesitate to glance behind them although the odd man did, as though a demon itself was chasing them out of its den. They were not soldiers, not men and women trained to handle such affairs but mere woodcutters, who provided the timber that kept their village afloat. It was a simple life; idyllic in its own way.

"Demon!"

Until now.

Until the one-eyed demon had come hurtling through the trees with an axe, a knife and a penchant for death. The woman had screamed in an incomprehensible barbaric tongue, beheading one man with a vigour that could have only been described as zealous.

She stood there in vicious glory, the Nordwiir, Skad holding aloft the head of one woodcutter, a tribute to the Dark Gods that blessed her kind and her kind alone. Callous fingers tangled amongst" the hair of the dead, she thrust the decapitated head to the sky and declared tribute in a guttural tongue:

<"For Likami and the insatiable hunger!">

 

[Skad]

In the face of it all, there was one who stood firm; a woman, of course.

Skad proudly held aloft the head, her offering to the Dark God of Flesh in the face of her opposition and she felt true. Her heart beat for this reason alone, to serve those both above and below in sacred, visceral duty. She was made for this, ignited by the flames of blood and death.

"Men run but you stay?" the Nordwirr asked in broken trade tongue, amused by the steadfast nature of such an unassuming creature.

 

[Theolonious Montbank]

The skies were a host of fluttering wings that departed from the scene of the demon's actions upon the simple people. Wings that beat in hurried retreat from the noise and violence, all, except one pair of wings that did glide and circle over the scene as the sound was heard. Snow white wings dipped into the winds so that precise vision could survey the scene. The eyes of the decapitated head met Montbank's own, one dead and lifeless, the other orange with fierce perception even at the dizzying heights that the flying knight did command from.

A hand went to the sword, but a thought emerged. To engage in a swoop would take too much time to descend, and a slashing strike was not what was required. Something more steadfast, Montbank thought. This would require the arts of the lore of the flame. To harness a distraction and to make the foe recoil, this would be best, Montbank thought with sudden decision.

He began to descend, not in a sharp dive, but after orientating himself to the right place, he allowed his dead weight to simply drop from the sky as he tucked his wings in. His wings could beat shortly before reaching the ground...this part was practised. It would allow the knight to harness his magic, his taloned claw hands and owl visage dropping into view at sudden speed. His superior hearing picked up on fragments of the conversation as he plummeted from the heights he had been flying at, until only fifty feet was between himself and the ground.

His hands arced with electrical energies, and Montbank pointed his palms at this demon would so threatened the innocent. Such was the advantage of his training with the Knights of Anathaeum, to command the sky and command the will of magic. This burst would strike wildly, but announce himself into the combat properly. A ground assault wouldn't do, this was a strike and present manoeuvrer, his wings broadly spanned to present as much as a visual target as possible as he now beat his wings to prevent himself from colliding with the earth.

There was no quip on Montbank's beak as he hovered beside Tatyana, his eyes upon the foe. The electricity had gathered and spat out sparks from his claws, and in a pulse of light, arced from his hands to fire wildly at Skad so it might blind and strike them. It might prove completely ineffectual, but it would present Montbank as a target to be reckoned with.

The surge of electricity crackled and shot from his palms for four short seconds, before the magic was spent. The plate armour gleamed in the arcane light for a moment, and then as the electricity was finished sending, a sword was quickly drawn as wings did beat to keep Montbank hovering in place.

Montbank said nothing. There were no words required for duty's sake. Just action and placement of violence.

 

[Skad]

How swiftly the usual descended into the unusual.

Skad was accustomed to yellow men who seldom thought for much other than their own backsides. Even back home her raiding parties would beat in a familiar rhythm like a comforting nursery rhyme. The weak would run and in turn, their crimson would fill Haraudur's endless cup.

Bold women were an anomaly, owl-men even more.

The one-eyed woman was ill-prepared for the arc of light that sprang forth from righteous talons. The electricity touched upon her axe and in sheer reaction, she tossed both the weapon and the decapitated head aside as if the creature had cursed them.

It did not matter. Skad raised her hands; beacons of religious scarification in the honour of the Dark Gods and faced down her steadfast foes in more broken trade tongue:

"You fight?"

 

[Konrad]

Konrad observed the entirety of the situation from the top of a tall pine. He had the luxury of perching himself up there earlier, but nothing could've prepared him for the utter clusterfuck unfurling under his very feet. He laughed silently at the absurdity of it. A knight decked out in full plate, a norsewoman clad in tattered skins and armed to the teeth, and to top it all off, a tiny, olive-skinned girl who couldn't have been a day older than twenty.

To think he would witness an occurrence so entertaining in the middle of bum-fuck-nowhere...

Utterly preposterous, but in a good way.

Konrad's inhuman eyes observed the motley crew, their scleras glittering with impish curiosity, reminiscent of a pair of finely polished gemstones. He brought a hand to his face and, with one claw-tipped finger, proceeded to pick his teeth, removing bits and pieces of dead meat sticking between his jagged incisors.

He stretched like a cat, his feet firmly planted on the trunk of a branch that must've been as thick as a man's torso. Konrad's armored soles made little noise against the frangible bark, and he was at such an elevation that the chances of detection were slim to none. And besides, the knight and the barbarian woman appeared too preoccupied with attempting to kill each other to notice him. As for the girl? She looked about as threatening as a field mouse.

Konrad hopped off, positioning himself on the next nearest branch. In doing so, he partially abandoned the shroud of darkness provided by the thick grove. His lead-tinted skin and white hair presented a stark contrast against the dark greens and browns of the forest, making him stick out like a sore thumb.

Konrad tilted his head, his long, flowing hair whipping around his head in wispy tendrils. The owl and the barbarian, he thought, would be unappetizing, their respective bloods either too gamey or outright sour, not at all pleasing to his palete. But the girl... the girl struck him as one positively delicious morsel, and he could already envision the cold kiss of his teeth upon her bare skin.

 

[Theolonious Montbank]

Questions as to why the fight was presented to a foe who would continue to butcher without Montbank's intervention. Montbank rolled his shoulders and spanned his wings to present as much as a visual target as possible to the barbarian, a shock of white, a longsword presented with point forward. He snapped his beak in resolve and gave polite response, his tone awfully proper.

“Why, we of Anathaeum, knight sworn, are sworn to protect the people from those who can't help but be savage brutes. This senseless violence ends here. I fight,” Montbank said, stepping between the barbarian Skad and Tatyana, “Indeed I fight.”

Montbank knew he could not rely upon a shock of lightning any time immediate. This would be a fight of talon and steel, and Montbank fluttered in the air a few feet to offer intimidation.

“Away with you, or be struck down true,” Montbank said, digging his talons into the ground and hunching over, as if readying a sprint. He was about to surge towards in a surge of feathers and steel to slash at the foe and strike out with taloned claw. As he held poised, he surveyed the scene, his head rotating with eerie efficiency so he might see all.

Dash it all, more to contend with, Montbank thought.

He remained poised. He couldn't fight both this new comer and the barbarian at once.

Or could he?

He applied himself to the task.

Racing forward, he would attempt to assault Skad with lethal claw and punishing steel in a lightning strike worthy of the tiger, and swoop high after the attack as to survey the scene and intervene should the second potential opponent might introduce themselves. But it would require a hit and run strike, and Montbank was sure he was quick, yet perhaps not quick enough to not return unscathed.

He sprang forward and lashed out with claw, steel and beak, and would attempt to disengage to fly above Tantyana to dissuade the new comer from involving himself. The success would depend on Skad's reactions to such an overwhelming assault of weapons, natural and otherwise.

 

[Skad]

"Shame," came the detached reply from the raider, although ultimately it did not matter whether this woman wished to fight or not.

Although she did continue speaking.

Skad quietly appreciated her unfamiliarity with the common tongue of the mainland, as she was no doubt scolded by the so-called righteous. Although, the word 'savage' was becoming a mainstay in her conversations with the locals.

However, it was 'bloody' that caught the Nordwiir in her heart-of-hearts. The woodcutter's head might have been an offering for Likami, the God of Flesh but Skad's chosen patron had always been Haraudur. Dark God of Blood, of the bottomless cup. There was little else that made the one-eyed woman feel closer to Himnaríki than the shedding of crimson; it was her calling, both divine and true.

Bloodletter, throat-slitter, Kin-Slayer.

<"You shall ride to Heidur,"> she muttered to the winged-beast in her guttural native tongue, her vitae-spattered face offering a show of eager broken teeth, just as barbaric as the rest of her. He surged forth with a swiftness and grace and she welcomed him, spreading her arms out to the side as the knight attacked.

Skad grunted as she accepted his nimble onslaught. Claw gouging the flesh of her shoulder, steel slicing cleanly across her torso and beak piercing through meat of her cheek.

A divine warmth spread across her form, as her own blood began to flow freely as to consecrate these foreign lands anew. The sensation mingled with pain; yet another gift from the Dark Gods, a reminder that one was truly fucking alive! Skad hammered a fist upon her own chest with a heavy thud, sending spurts of her own blood outwards and grinned anew with red-stained teeth.

"AGAIN!"

 

[Konrad]

Konrad's keen eyes darted back and forth, capturing each minute detail as the barbarian woman and the avian knight tussled with one another in close quarter combat. The sight of bloodshed pleased him greatly. A jolt of pleasure shot down the length of Konrad's spine just as his forearms burst into gooseflesh. His nose twitched, drinking in the pungent, metallic aroma that threatened to overrule all logic and higher thinking. Compelled by the animalistic portion of his brain, Konrad's lips parted like fleshy curtains, revealing ivory-white teeth and receding, purple-red gums.

Konrad knew, or at least suspected, that the knight had taken notice of him and had tried to fly all the way up and... attack? That is what it looked like, but one could never be too sure. Regardless, Konrad had to act, had to deliver a preemptive strike against the possible foe, for he knew in his heart that the barbarian woman would soon expire, thus robbing him of the chance to kill two birds with one stone.

Knowing this, Konrad fucused the brunt of his attention on his forearms, willing the flesh to change and take on a new form. Suddenly, the skin began to bulge as the muscles and sinews underneath rippled with unnatural life. From them sprouted a pair of raptorial limbs, not unlike those one would expect to see on a preying mantis. Retracting, the gripping limbs rested firmly against Konrad's bare forearms. The sharpness of their edges, which could rip through steel and flesh alike, was highlighted by the manner in which the sun's rays winked off of their exoskeleton. The blades, fashioned from a material that was neither bone nor chitin but something else entirely, had a near-crystalline appearance to them.

Konrad steeled himself, crouching low and hopping from branch to branch with the swiftness of a deranged spider monkey. Unhindered by the weaponized protrusions, he scaled down the tree, digging his fingers deep into the wood, till he was a mere half-dozen meters off the ground. Then he let loose, allowing his large body to hurtle towards the ground.