Private Tales Falling Snow..

A private roleplay only for those invited by the first writer
Her entire body jolted as he stepped back into the room, her gaze wide with fear and her heart pitching in her chest. The dress hit her in the face and she grabbed it, her brow furrowing at his demands but she dared not refuse them. Pointlessly, she tried to keep herself covered by the blankets as she gingerly pulled the dress over her head, wincing at the various aches, pains and stings she felt at even the slightest of movements.

She wasn't sure how well she'd be able to walk, her leg had caused enough issues already, but she didn't offer any argument, she couldn't wait to get out of this room. It took her a moment to get the dress on, and her body trembled as she attempted to get herself to her feet, but she failed miserably and fought back tears as she fell back onto her leg.
 
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Rhist wasn't watching her, standing over by the oh so familiar desk and preparing something inside of a small mortar and pestle.

When she let out her small whimper of pain Rhist looked back towards her, frowning for just a moment as he regarded the objects in his hands. For a few more seconds he continued doing what he was, and then he turned on his heel.

Without a word he stepped towards her, putting one hand on her hip and then setting down the mortar on the bed.

"Hold still." He told her.

His hand reached out, pulling up her dress to reveal the wound.
 
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The moment he stepped toward her she pulled herself back into the corner, her trembling hands wrapping around herself defensively and a quiet whimper escaping her lips as he reached for her dress. Even as she realised what he was doing she looked away, doing exactly as he asked of her (aside the constant shaking- she wasn't sure she'd ever managed to be entirely still again whilst she still lived.)

Her eyes closed after a brief glance to the mortar on the bed, and she pressed her tremulous knuckles to her lips anxiously.
 
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The bandage that had been wrapped around on her thigh was slipped away, her festering wound showing itself as red and yellow.

A frown touched Rhist's lips.

The knife had not been a dirty one, but perhaps he should not have left the wound untreated for so long. He was about to open his mouth to offer a token apology, but realized it was rather pointless. His hand reached out and grasped her thigh with a surprising softness.

After a few seconds he took the mixture from the mortar, dabbing some on his fingers and slowly applying it to the wound.

Willa would feel a pain as he touched her, and then a soothing numbness wash over the injury.
 
Willa bit down on her lip as he removed the bandages and she spared a glance down at the wound with a grimace. Her body went rigid as he touched the salve to the festering flesh and she let out a quiet whine against her knuckles, her eyes squeezing shut for a moment, but as it began to numb she slowly eased. Her eyes blinked open and she looked down at his hand with a frown at how contrastingly gentle he was and she sighed in reprieve of the pain as her injury was soothed.

She stared at him for a moment, holding back words of thanks and clenching her jaw as she looked away in silence.
 
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"The salve will help with the pain and healing." Rhist said the words in that same dead tone he always seemed to hold when it came to speaking.

Though perhaps that was a good thing. The last time he had spoken with any emotion had not been pleasant for her. His gaze flickered up at her for a moment as he applied more of the salve, watching to make sure it worked.

"I'll need to apply it again in a few hours." He told her. "And you should make sure to favor your other leg."

As he finished Rhist began to tie a new bandage around the now dressed wound. "But we won't be going far today."
 
She didn't move, nor acknowledge his words of advice, she simple stared at an empty spot on the floor for a long moment before a frown creased at her brow and she parted her lips to speak.

She stopped herself and bit down on her lip a little harder than necessary, a reminder to keep her questions locked behind her teeth. They were pointless anyway. What did it matter where they were going or how far? She was an object being transported, a lamb being led to slaughter. She'd already found out just how useless her words were. Her voice was as broken as her spirit, neither of which she was sure she'd ever have any use of again.

Her arms wrapped around herself, but it made no difference, they didn't offer her comfort, nor heat. She lifted her gaze to her cloak that was draped over the end of the bed and looked back to him in mute question.
 
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The girl glanced over towards the cloak for a brief moment and Rhist nodded. "Yes, but it on. Hood up.
"


Rhist very much doubted that anyone would recognize her, but the passage he'd booked it would be best it no one asked any questions about her bruises and the like. Her face contained a blotch as large as his fist, and it would take only one good samaritan asking what had happened for it to all collapse.

He didn't want to kill more people if he could avoid it.

Not out of any moral reasons of course. One more lost life wouldn't blemish his soul any more than it already was. Yet every body left In His wake was another reason for someone to object or come after him. That was the last thing he needed. "Come on
"


He gestured as he finished binding the wound.

"We're leaving." Rhist said as he stood and buckled on his blades on the small of his back.
 
Willa lifted her eyes to him as he stood but said nothing, her lips pressed tightly together as she ran her gaze over the blades he attached to himself. She wondered if he intended on binding her wrists again, but the thought of trying to run now was far more of a gamble than it had been before, not now that she knew just how well he lived up to his promise of being true monster. It'd been a lesson hard learned, and one that she wouldn't forget. Her body ached as she pulled herself gingerly to her feet and moved with a frailty to collect her cloak which she pulled around her shoulders with a wince and brought her hood up obediently.

She hugged the cloak tightly to her, trying to soak even the tiniest bit of comfort from it as she could, a little warmth perhaps, or at the very least it added another layer of clothing to cover her. With her head bowed she stood by the door, her weight shifted to her right leg, waiting for him to move before she'd dare do so herself.
 
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Rhist shifted the cloak on his own shoulders for a moment, and then nodded his head as if concluding something in his head.

He did not look at the mirror in the corner of the room, did not even give it a second glance as he motioned towards Willa to follow. The dilapidated Inn had not changed in the least over the last night save for the steady sound of dripping water echoing from somewhere down the hall.

A couple was arguing in another of the roams, the sound of snoring could be heard, but other than that it seemed most people were still fast asleep. "This way."

Rhist said as he passed the small doorway that would lead into the common room and instead headed for another small door in the back of the hall. There he popped open a latch, pressing open an exit that lead into and alleyway.
 
Willa followed without hesitation, her arms hugged tightly around her and her gaze downcast. Her brow furrowed as she heard those in the rooms she passed, anger swelling in her chest. She didn't know them, they didn't know her, but she silently wondered what kind of people could listen to screams and do nothing.

She paused at the door as he opened it, and stepped out onto the alleyway, instantly shuddering at the chill on her skin. She could hear that they weren't alone in the alleyway, but her eyes remained on Rhist's feet, her face shrouded by her cloak. She couldn't bear to look up, she could've had weapons aimed at her for all she knew. She didn't care. They'd be doing her a favour.
 
Rhist moved quickly, glancing back every few seconds just to ensure that Willa was still following behind.

She could have run off, could have made a break for it, but Rhist wasn't really concerned about that now. All that he cared about was getting to that ship, and he knew that Willa wouldn't dare try to run away another time. Not after what he'd taught.

Fingers tightened for a moment as the crowd began to thicken.

No one moved, dozens of people standing still as they watched something in the distance. He could hear murmers, though what about he couldn't quite make out. His hand pressed on shoulders, pushing people aside as he shuffled forward, grasping Willa's arm to ensure that she did not get lost.

As they moved through the crowd a platform came into view, upon it a man standing in thick fur half draped in armor.

No weapons sat on his body, but instead a pair of manacles adorned his wrist. The Bandit did not give him a second glance, not knowing, and not caring what any of this was about. Rhist moved quickly, stepping through the crowd parallel to the Platform.

"THE NORTHERNER HAS BEEN CHARGED WITH ARSON, ROBBERY, AND MURDER. WHAT SAY YOU?"​

The accused looked up at the man reading the charges, spitting onto his feet in answer and letting out a boisterous laugh. "Why offer a splash of truth when I fight against a torrent of lies?"

His accent was thick, foreign, but familiar to Rhist's ears.

If only he'd been paying attention.
 
She bumped into shoulder after shoulder as Rhist pulled her through the crowd, her feet moving quickly as she tried to keep up, but her wounded leg was already growing tired and she stumbled and tripped, causing the crowd to part a little. She could feel eyes on her, and she'd already begun to panic and fumble back to her feet when the man's thick, northern accent caused her to pause. She knew those words.

Her head slowly rose, and she dared show her swollen face under her cloak to allow her to look up at the manacled man on the platform. Her heart seemed to flip in her chest as her gaze fixed on the man so obviously from her part of the world, his accent almost soothing to her ears. Not that he was in any position to help her. Her hood fell back as her chin tilted upward, her snowy white hair catching in the breeze. She hadn't meant it to, but she knew Rhist wouldn't be happy about it if anyone took notice of her at all.
 
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Deaths reach was eternal.

The white wolf found you no matter how far you ran. No matter what land you called home. No matter how much you carved your own face. Always she would find you, and always she would drag you back to her den like a wayward cub.

His father had told him that.

Ivar still remembered the words, still remembered looking down on the frail old man that had once been a mighty warrior. He could still see the hurt in the man's eyes, the constant struggle that he'd fought. His death had been a release, a way out of the tragedy that had been his life. Ivar had known it then, even though he had been but seventeen.

Now it seemed the same was dated for him. A release from a life of hardships. He had left his home, fled to join the mercenary bands and fought his way across continents. There had been love, there had been adventure, but always there had been pain. Yet here he was. Here he stood. The White Wolf coming for his soul.

He had accepted it, resigned himself to it.

Until he saw her.

It wasn't her face that drew his eyes. It was the bruises or the way she walked. It was her hair. He remembered that hair, it's silvery white, the odd way it flowed in the wind. He had seen it before, more than once. Yet the way it moved in that moment, it was just like that day.

His gaze caught Willa's, and in a second that felt like an hour he processed everything he saw. The splotches of blue on her face, the split lip, the slight crest of blood that still stained her neck. Most importantly he saw the man holding her with a vice like grip, pressing the soft cloth into her arm.

The pieces fell into place, and rage spiked within him.

There was a guard that stepped towards him, a figure moving on the other side of them.

Ivar didn't really think about what he did next, he only acted. Rage and anger overwhelmed him, and his manacles hands reached out. The chain lashed forward, snapping around the neck of one guard and dragging him into his grasp. He gripped the man, reaching down and chomping down upon his throat like an animal. Blood sprayed out and down his chest from the wound, the man letting out a scream of agony as Ivar grasped his neck and wrenched it to the side.

Horror and screaming erupted from the crowd as Ivar threw the now dead guard Into them, another man stepping forward with a sword drawn.

People began to run as the Barbarian grappled with his captors, slamming his forehead into the guards uncovered face and sending him reeling back. Willa and Rhist would find themselves jostled and nearly thrown as the people around them began to do their best to get away from the suddenly raging Ivar.
 
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Her tired eyes managed to widen as she watched the violence unfold. Whilst most screamed and turned to run, Willa couldn't drag her eyes away and her lips parted as she stared at the horror of it. Rhist had yanked at her but her feet didn't want to move, and the surge of people swept them into the chaos and his grip on her came loose.

She wished they would all stop screaming, and her hands came up to her ears to cover them as the sound tore it's way straight into her mind and caused further torment.The only sound she could make was a whimper. A pathetic, broken sound. She was suddenly knocked to the ground. People stepped on her in their rush to flee the square, even as someone twice the weight on her stood on her wounded leg she couldn't scream. Her mouth was open, her eyes tightly shut and her face a grimace of pain as she tried to pour the furious pain from her lungs and yet there was no sound at all.
 
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Chaos suddenly broke loose. The crowd screamed, the guards yelled in agony, the world became a caucophany of noise and sound. Rhist could barely follow any of it, could barely hear above the din of the crowd.

He felt Willa being torn from his grasp, watched as she was tossed to the ground and her hands covered her ears.

The Bandit let out a string of curses, his hand wrapping around the hilt of his knife. The blade wrenched itself free, cutting across the throat of a man who stepped too close, finding purchase in the thigh of a woman who was about to trample Willa.

His head jerked as he was half jostled by a massive guard rushing towards him.

Rhist's eyes caught sight of the Barbarian tearing through another guard, the chains of his manacles whacking someone in the face as he jumped forward and off the platform. His voice bellowed, though Rhist could not make out the foreign tongue.

A curse passed the Bandit's lips, and he quickly leaped towards Willa in an attempt to grasp her and pull her back onto her feet.
 
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Her body jolted as a man landed with a thud next to her, blood sputtering from his mouth and seeping through his fingers as he clutched at his throat. The scream of a woman as she toppled down on top of him writhing in agony.

Willa’s heart pounded in her chest and ears and she spiralled into panic. The colour bled from her eyes until they were pearly white orbs and the air around her started to freeze. She made her skin ice cold to the touch, the sort of cold that flesh would stick to and turn black with frostbite. It was a horrible feeling to be so frozen, but she wanted the crowd to avoid her at all costs.

She felt a hand on her and gasped in fright. She couldn’t see him, but she knew who it was, and as she was yanked to her feet she reached out to find his face with her freezing hand.
 
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Rhist tugged, grasped, pulled in a desperate attempt to drag Willa to her feet and away from the crowd.

Then he felt it.

The cold. The creeping frost that found his palm. Horror dawned on his face behind the mask, his eyes widening as he sought Willa's gaze in desperation. His other hand came forward, fingers balling into a fist as he desperately reached to try and strike her in the face.

Before he could though someone else In the crowd threw him off balance, jostling him and tossing him half off his own feet. The Bandit fell to his knees, one hand now stuck onto Willa's body as the other desperately tried to reach out and knock her unconscious.

He reeled back, and then her hand touched his face.

The icy cold shot through his skin like lightning. It froze his flesh and turned his blood to ice. Eyes shot up, crimson poured from his nose and then flashed into icicles as he looked down at Willa with that horrifying gaze. "I-should...have...ki-"[/color

His lips turned blue, and his throat froze.

As Rhist was claimed by the freezing cold Ivar continued his rampage. Chains thrashed bodies. Hands crushed throats, and in the distance the sound of alarm bells began to ring out. Soldiers gathered beyond the square, pushing into the crowd just as it began to disperse from around the platform.

The Barbarian rushed forward, breaking through his remaining foes to reach Willa and her captor.
 
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She wished she could see him. She could feel the horror on his face, she could hear the pain in his words and smell the frost-scorched skin, feel his blood trickle onto her hand and freeze like glistening rubies. But she couldn't see it. Her short, sharp breaths formed misty plumes on the air, her tears crystallised on on her cheeks, and she tightened her grip on the man that had broken her with no care or regard for anything else going on around her.

There was so much she wanted to say to him, but words refused to form, and so she'd just have to let the rage on her face say what she felt. Unless she was stopped, she wouldn't move until she felt his life leave him, she wouldn't drop her spell until she knew he had no chance of clawing his way back from death.
 
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This was all fucked.

Fucked.

He was supposed to have died a peaceful death. He had righted himself. Readied himself. The charges had been false, the men accusing him less than scum, but it had settled in his head that he was going to die. Ivar had been okay with it, he'd settled on it as fact.

Then she'd appeared.

Those bruises on her face, the horror in her eyes, the emptiness in her soul. It was as though the White Wolf had already held her in her Jaws, yet couldn't bite down. Death was there, but it lingered over her in life, a curse of hollowness that no one should suffer.

Ivar had seen that look in his father's eyes, and that was why he'd taken up the knife.

Yet he hadn't wanted to take It up again.

No. Instead he had acted the berserker they all thought he was. Instead he had doomed himself to another fate. A worse death if he was captured. A life of exile and hatred if he was not. The decision had come to him, and he had taken it.

Blood stained his clothes, his arms still stayed shackled, but none of that mattered. Ivar roared as he rushed forward, practically tossing aside those in the crowd as he rushed towards Willa. He paid the man besides her no attention, his only goal being her. His hands reached out, his shackles clanging as he reached low.

Willa would feel a sudden touch.

It was not gentle, it was not kind, but it was perhaps what she required. Ivar grasped and pulled Willa up from the floor, scooping her Into his arms and pulling her up against his chest like a man might carry the woman he loved over the alter of marriage. His steps never slowed, the beat of his boots forming a trance as he continued his rush towards the edge of the town square.

Willa's hands stuck to Rhist, clinging to him, holding on, and then suddenly tearing free as Ivar carried her away.

She would see his eyes, those terrible yellow eyes follow her. The bandits gaze took after the two northerners and then as her palm left him completely his body began to shatter.

The sound of cracking ice erupted, and then like a sculpture struck by hammer Rhists form shattered into a thousand pieces. Flesh turned to ice crumbling under Kysliths sun.
 
Her shivering body jolted as she was suddenly grabbed, her head shook and she tried to say no but only another foggy breath escaped her lips. She tried to hold onto Rhist, but her grip was ripped free as she was carried off. She shook uncontrollably, having held onto the spell for a little too long, and her eyes had returned to their crystalline blue as she squirmed in the man's grip, staring at him in fear for only a moment before looking back to Rhist. Right now, she didn't care who was carrying her, where they were taking her, even what they'd do to her... She had to know that he was never coming back for her.

The relief that washed over her was a sudden sedative, like she'd been staying awake only through fear of him. Her spell had taken it's toll, and the moment she saw him shatter, her body stopped shaking and her eyes closed. She didn't have the energy to fight, but she felt fur against her cheek and it was something familiar. All she could do was hope that he was kinder than the last man who'd abducted her.
 
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Ivar ran as fast as he could. His feet ached, and the boots he was wearing were meant for long treks and not short dashes. Still, he knew that If he didn't sprint they would both be fucked.

He'd killed three Guards, and probably injured a few more. She had committed murder right out in the open, justified or not, the courts if Kyslith likely wouldnt give a shit. So the only option they had was to run, and run he did as fast as he possibly could. His arms grasped her tightly as he banked to the left, pulling them both into an alleyway.

Up ahead he could hear the calamity of the docks.

Cranes were moving, ship bells were sounding out, and it seemed that despite the chaos of the square business was continuing. He swore quietly, then looked down at Willa.

"Hang on lass." The words left his lips before he knew he'd said them. Back home they would probably have him whipped for addressing her in such a way, but in the moment it didn't much matter. He ran as fast as he could, reaching the docks and rushing down the way as he spotted a ship just pushing off.

He ran towards the edge, and then jumped o to the deck.
 
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Willa's skin was deathly pale and her lips were of a bluish tinge. The jostling that came with him running wasn't enough to wake her, and she slipped even deeper into unconsciousness. The sensation of falling however gave her a kick just as they landed on the deck, and she subconsciously gripped at the furs he wore with a sharp gasp as she woke and stared up at him.

She glanced around only briefly, her breathing starting to pick up again, panic etched on her face as she realised they were on a ship.

He was taking her home..

She shoved feebly at him and tried to wriggle herself out of his grip, but her energy and strength was almost non-existent. If she could get to the edge of the boat, she could swim back, or drown, either way it was better than going home. The lack of voice frustrated her further as she tried to cry out for some sort of help. Not that she'd been getting much help by screaming these days. The look on her bruised face was an exhausted plea as she gave up, her chest heaving with each shuddered breath as she stared at him.
 
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"Hey hey! Calm down!" Just about the worst thing someone could say to a woman, especially in a situation like this. He couldn't blame her panic, but...well they weren't entirely out of this situation just yet.

They had run out of Kyslith and the docks were quickly drifting away, but the crew of the ship were now slowly surrounding them in both confusion and anger.

"Stay quiet." He obviously did not know she couldn't speak. "I'll get us to the other side of the river then you can go wherever the hell you want."

Didn't have to be with him, in fact he preferred it that way.

Ivar was sure that somewhere out there was a retinue of people searching for Willa and if they found the two of them together he was liable to get strung up and murdered. Such a fate was...well not any different then what he'd faced just a few moments ago, but with his own people came the added shame. Shame that his father had felt.

"Stowaways? We don't take no fucking passengers on this ship."

Ivar looked up from Willa, his hands hidden beneath her in a vague attempt to keep the manacles out of sight. "Stowaways? No no. We're not looking for passage. Just to get across the river."

The man doing the talking stepped up, drawing a knife. He had the look of an Alliria about him.

"Look I have gold, just get us across and you can have it." That was a lie of course. He didn't have a single red cent, but...well he had to try something.

The boat was listing further and further into the river, and Ivar knew the more progress they made the less likely it was the ship would turn back.
 
Willa stilled, her icy blue gaze moving timidly to the man approaching with his blade, her fingers curling into Ivar's furs as she stared warily at those who were staring back at her. He had got her out of there, he'd told her she could go on her own way, he said they were only crossing the river.. She chose, for the moment, to believe him. His accent helped. And he was warm.

She frowned as he offered gold. She doubted that to be true, given that he'd been about to be publicly executed, and she had nothing at all. Not even the dress she wore was hers. All she could think of doing, was reaching out a tremulous hand toward the man who opposed them, a mute plea on her face in the hope that he'd lower the weapon. She was a sorry sight, and she hoped the man had some sort of empathy. If not, she may have had just enough energy left to give him a little frostbite.