Fable - Ask Not Much Room for Decent Hearts

[Vida]

Not in any ideal state to understand the implications way Skad had mentioned losing her quarry, Masile could only assume it had something to do with the rather crude follow-up regarding tongues and explicit activities that could be done with them. How Skad thought it related at all to what she had said earlier, Masile hadn't the faintest clue; she simply gave a chiding look in reply to that.

"I'm certain that would have went about as well as you think."

Which was to say that it wouldn't have went well. Like, at all.

Of course this potential offer was all delivered with that same, utterly implacable northern accent. An accent that lent well to Skad's eccentric and more than a little filthy vocabulary, continually putting the alchemist on the defensive about whether Skad had ever actually meant anything she said.

The fact remained that there was some fucking to be had with tongues, just not in the way that the Nordwiir would have seemingly preferred. And Masile had to wonder considering the ease in which the woman spoke of these things, if the act was seen much, much differently than the way southerners saw it. Skad made it out to be the most natural thing in the world, even going so far as suggesting - scornfully or not - of laying with someone she hated.

And who'd ever do that?

Nonetheless, she was getting off-track. And had hardly noticed that there were more words after this little segue; the fog in her mind clearing momentarily at being asked to do the "cooking" after distinctly remembering how she didn't want to do that. Her words of refusal that she meant to speak were still resting upon her tongue when she looked up, noticing that Skad was now looming above her with a bundle of furs slung across the woman's arm, with Masile now inching aside so that the blade could be taken without any accidental throat slitting.

Then came the one thing she could answer without any threat to her own life.

She took a minute to interrogate her muddied, brackish memories as if she were sifting through a swamp, and in the same moment her body made the monumental effort of standing along with Skad. She was thankful that at least her legs were still obedient, despite the growing ache of her head and the hesitation of her feet finding solid footing.

Masile mulled over the question for longer than she should've, having enough time to massage the base of her neck while those owlish eyes blinked around the room as if seeing it for the first time; her eyes finally resting upon Skad's own. She blinked.

"I do believe it's the first room on the left of the hallway, it should be the only one there. It's not a big establishment."

At least she hoped that was the case, having explored very little and remembered even less in the state she was in. As for whatever she was thinking in the moment - especially after the designation of being the sole cook - she wisely kept to herself for the time being. "I think some rest would do me good as well, you're right."

Masile spoke with a sudden invigoration; the room around her temporarily spinning in such an intense dive of vertigo that her mind nearly went blank, the blackness eating away at her peripheral. She was never much of a drinker.

When her gaze dropped to the table, she found a hand pressed flat against its surface - a lovely little island out in the very wide sea of the wine they were both drowning in. That meant she could stay standing, for now, and so looked again to Skad as if she wasn't seriously struggling with the task of keeping herself at least vaguely upright. Her smile was a modest one. "Please do sleep well, Skad. I hope you know that I've enjoyed your company, despite the ton... way you word some things, but I know that you struggle with our tongue."

All that was missing was a proper bow of farewell, but she had no interest in attempting that and so nodded, instead.

 

[Skad]

The Nordwiir hummed, the noise reverberating from the back of her throat caught between acknowledgement and appraisal.

It was rather amusing watching the alchemist battle her struggling equilibrium. The table now provided support for legs well-lubricated by wine, and it didn't go unnoticed. It was akin to watching a fish flop helplessly on dry land, and in the same manner that one would respect the order of nature, Skad did not intervene.

Even if the idea of tripping the woman seemed extremely funny in an intrusive, juvenile way.

Kin-Slayer wasn't entirely certain that she was capable of hindering or helping. She seemed to handle the physical effects of alcohol better than the small, curious creature before her. Still, a collaborative effort to guide Basil through the inn would have undoubtedly resulted in a terrible racket and perhaps a concussion. Or two.

The fact that she was even thinking about it was sign enough that her judgment was about as stable as the other woman's legs.

"You are strange," Skad commented, which, by her standards, was probably considered a compliment. "Trying not to fall, yes? Do not wanting to waking the jarðpúki."

With her parting words made, the Nordwiir staggered away to the first room on the left of the hallway as directed, only gently leaning into the wall on her brief journey before disappearing into the mainland decadence of having your own private room.

Despite not being in possession of every instinct that made Skad the perceptive opportunist loathed throughout Eyjarnar, she was still paranoid enough to exercise some form of caution. She was not entirely content with the idea of sleeping completely undefended in a house of mercenaries and gremlins that asked far too many questions. So, to ease her mind, the Nordwiir made a half-hearted barricade at her door, dragging a wooden chair across the room to prop up against the door. At least that way, intruders attempting to make silent entry would be foiled.

However, not much effort was made beyond that and content with her basic protection, Skad proceeded to remove her borrowed clothes haphazardly. Drow's shirt was simple to untangle from her body, but his breeches were problematic. It was less like undressing and more like peeling. Was he really so slight? Or...

Perhaps she would have to skip breakfast.

After a protracted struggle, Skad eventually succumbed to the call of sleep and found herself collapsed onto the bed atop the blanket with the man's trousers only half removed, still clinging to her upper thighs.

 

[Vida]

"Quite right, we wouldn't want to be doing that, would we?"

Masile had readily agreed to the statement, despite having next to no clue what a jarðpúki was or how it pertained to anything even remotely connected to not falling over one another in the attempt to reach their rooms down the hallway. Not that it mattered, whether Skad had meant to convey her desire not to wake up the sleeping inhabitants of their establishment or some strange northerner spirits, the alchemist found the point valid in either regard.

And so she watched the other woman stumble towards her room for a few moments longer before following in turn. What came after that was a difficult, shuffling gait that resembled something more like a walk of a penguin than that of a human being, making certain with every wary step she took that her feet found a firm surface before the next was taken. More than once she had faltered to the point of needing to plant her heels into the floorboards while her hands frantically searched for the nearest surface that was not the floor - because that's where they would've ended up - with her precarious balance only corrected whenever she found a wooden beam or whitewashed wall's surface to desperately cling against.

But she was brave in her own ways, she knew that. Even while the others scoffed.

That was why she was going to make it.

Masile's deep and uncompromising certainty over this was challenged, somewhat, after she had looked up from where she was currently half-crouched to find Vida looming overhead, not looking particularly pleased.

Not that Masile understood why at the time where the displeasure came from; she took exacting effort to remain as soundless as any burglar in the night.

She certainly did not hide the confusion in her face as to why their leader had approached the nearly prostrate alchemist; the latter looking expectantly, if a bit tiredly, to what precisely had drawn the woman in all her sudden nakedness from the room she had told the rest of them not to disturb her from. When no answer was yet forthcoming during this contest of wills, she opened suddenly dry lips to speak.

Only to be silenced with a shake of Vida's bedraggled head; the consternation in her sleep-deprived eyes clear.

Was there anything that this evening didn't have? The wine and the chiding conversations that at times bordered on undisguised hostility, not to mention the ridiculous exchange of cultural ideas, so alien to the alchemist's sensibilities that she hardly took into consideration how odd it was that the sellsword was actually helping Masile to her room. Not exactly in a kindly way, to be fair. That would've been downright ludicrous, rather than just odd.

She also found that trying to thank Vida for the fact was an effort of futility, as her words had since taken on a new tint that were completely at odds to her clear-spoken words to Skad merely... moments earlier? It was rather difficult to tell just how long she'd been sitting there, really.

And not that it would've made much of a difference to the strong-armed woman how thankful she was, either. Not while Vida herded the company's alchemist ahead of her with the same efficiency as she would a dumb, placid ox. There was a hand at the small of Masile's back pushing her ever forward were she to pause.

Someone wasn't happy.

When they were finally at Masile's room - and the not so precious cargo was deposited onto a sheep-skin cot - was when she was left again to her own devices. In the comfortable silence she had tried her best to navigate her bed in a single, careful movement so as to more comfortably settle onto the mattress beneath her back, only to outright give up half-way through the act. She couldn't do it. And, apparently having decided that she was more than content to remain where Vida's hands had left her sprawled out, she simply lay where she had fallen.

Masile hadn't even gone through the effort of changing out of her uncomfortable attire as Skad had attempted, instead opting to control her revolting stomach with a few careful breaths. She found her forearm draping across her face of its own volition, and wondered why it was there? The only reason she could think of was that it provided some illusion of darkness of the room, still awash in the flickering brilliance of a bedside lamp.

She'd have to make sure to darken it when she was able to, and her stomach wasn't as tender.

Then with a sigh that was a combination of exhaustion, drunkenness and relief, she slept deeply.

***​

The morning always came quickly, regardless of the intentions of those who had spent the evening drinking as if they could forget its eventual arrival, if only for a while. Vida had certainly tried to forget, even when she knew how paradoxical the concept was: for it only made things so much worse. With the pale light of a morning's dawn worming its way into even the darkest corners of the room, exposing its occupants with the gentle caress of the long, deep shadows it had cast.

Vida had stirred then, coaxed into a semblance of life by the unkind illumination.

With bleary eyes still struggling to process what lay beyond her squinting, she had rolled into the sanctuary of a cushioned pillow she had made sure to pack in the scenario that the locals' own offended her. Which of course they did. So many things offended her that she ofttimes needed to keep a tally of the who and what, in order to remember.

What she was remembering now was decidedly different than her usual grudges, however.

She directed her glowering face to the offending window as she sat up in her bed, which had... admittedly little effect, but she had to get up anyway and that meant facing the source of the sun no matter what, so it wasn't really that much of a problem.

She allowed its chilly air and distant, weak rays of light to brush over her face while she tried to piece together the events of the night, or at least the rough strokes of it. Her mind was one that was lost in a haze of vague, sweltering memories; the sudden and abrupt end to a night spent battling the sweat that ran hot across her flesh, then the awakening from it with the noisy, pathetically stumbling alchemist, and then now.

And as the first to wake up, she hadn't bothered with any gentler methods of allowing the same for her companions. Instead her voice was like cold water in the early hours of the day, prodding wearied drunks awake one by one; her tongue was sharp and utterly unforgiving to their inebriation, for if she could do it, then so could they.

Varnehy was her first victim, he was by far the closest and she didn't have to go far to force him awake with a casually possessive hand that found itself lifting his jaw towards her; his eyes brought into focus with her own.

"You can deal with Skad. Make sure she's up and leave me out of it."

With the drow's orders given, she had spent a few quiet minutes dressing herself in what was left haphazardly thrown against the trunk in the room, taking less caution as she had yesterday and opting instead for comfort; with a plain blue and cinctured tunic without all of the earlier adornments of before, alongside dark, skinny trousers. When she had finally finished, her attention was again turned to Varnehy with little warmth in her words, making certain he remained awake. That he would not simply roll over when she departed. Because she knew he bloody well would've.

And for a long moment Varnehy had waited there, his own body unwilling as it rebelled against every accidental movement.

But he could hear Vida's sharp voice in the halls, unwavering; she would not permit herself the only one to be awake.

And so without much choice, and next to no enthusiasm, he had departed for Skad's room. There would be no mercy from him in this task, nor any warmth from his lips either to ease the Nordwiir's suffering. She would be getting up whether she liked it or not, as Vida's companions had.

This was evidenced first by the knocking upon her door and then, eventually, the half-hearted attempts to push it open after an indeterminate time had passed. His knocking having gone unanswered.

Varnehy's brow perked up at the barricade on the other side, though he made no comment on it, nor did he try again. With nothing more to do, he occupied himself with finding a comfortable place against the wall next to her door to wait out the woman's stubbornness, distantly hoping she wouldn't be too peeved. Today was not the day to be dodging axes.

Besides, didn't northerners thrive on a little suffering?

 

[Skad]

It was a well-sedated sleep, one not plagued by foreboding visions or the strange abstract stories that Prestsfrú so often spat forth, guiding their respective people to victory or doom. Skad was not spiritual in that sense, usually greeting the serenity of the void when she slumbered and instead choosing to find her faith in action at the end of a blade.

The Nordwiir stirred at least once in the early morning, finding her open-mouthed drool had coated the straw-filled pillow while she slept.

An uncharacteristic sense of dread crept in, only complimented by the taste and stench of death. It had already been established that Kin-Slayer's breath was less than fresh, but it could only be apocalyptic when Skad was aware of that fact. In a half-considered thought, still plagued by the wine, she resigned herself to a few more hours of rest.

Not enough rest.

The knocking upon her door was already an unfamiliar greeting to the woman who was more accustomed to the outdoors' more open policy. Her lone eye, bleary and irritated, looked to the door as if expecting an enemy to burst through it. At least her ramshackle barricade had held fast, even if the person on the other side wasn't making a particularly violent effort to break through.

A parched groan made the sins of the previous evening known, and Skad took to lethargically rolling off the bed and onto her feet with all the enthusiasm of an irritated slug. Her skull felt entirely too small for her brain as a headache began to crest.

Taking stock of her surroundings, Kin-Slayer was quick to notice the trousers halfway peeled off around her legs in what had undoubtedly been a struggle for the ages. An average person might have taken a moment to steep in their shame, but not her; no, the Nordwiir instead prioritised finding her blade, which had slumbered peacefully beneath her sweaty carcass.

With blade in hand, Skad awkwardly staggered towards her barricade, dismantling it haphazardly by wrenching the chair from its resting spot with a scrape and a clatter, sounds that her enlarged head did not entirely appreciate.

Opening the door, she slithered out knife first only to find Drow waiting casually, his trousers still half-wielded to her thighs, a fact which the Nordwiir ignored as she levelled a frustrated glance in his direction.

At the very least, she had lowered the blade.

"Why... you are waking?" Skad asked, or more accurately demanded to know. It wasn't quite as stoic a greeting as they had become accustomed to; it bordered on threatening.

"It is not time of plan. Is there problem?"

 

[Vida]

There was a valiant effort to be made in making himself appear unperturbed, as unruffled as the rest of his appearance was in contrast to Skad's own. Where she wore very little, including the articles of clothing that she was wearing, Varnehy was far more presentable in comparison, with him wearing another blouse and even tighter beige-colored breeches than before, accentuating what little there was in the most forgiving and deceptive of ways.

As if the excesses of the night before mattered little, and with the hangover that plagued the rest of the party mattering even less.

His expression was not particularly unperturbed, but neither did it possess the reaction the Nordwiir might've hoped for; the faintest traces of amusement held in those cat-like eyes of his would've told her as much. That same sense of self-assurance that seemed to hang around the drow like a cloak no less diminished in the waking hours of the day than it had in the night before.

Perhaps more now than ever, for being awakened for seemingly no reason did no favors for Skad's usual state.

Still, he was careful not to push the obviously distressed condition the northerner was in, as much for his sake as it was for hers. The more unseemly aspects of Skad he tried to ignore; the swollen features, the sleep-deprived eyes, the blade she had in one hand as if she was some bristling beast, prepared for a fight with any provocation. And all the marks of a sleepless night.

He didn't blame her.

"Vida is under the impression that waking at a decent hour of the day has its merits, she rarely sleeps in," Varnehy spoke with the politician's silver tongue, not exactly answering the question, for he had no answer for her; the fact that Vida was always early to rise mattered not at all when it came to making certain that everyone else awoke at the same time, but he couldn't just say that.

Nor did he necessarily agree with it - if the puckered look that briefly flitted across his face gave any indication from a resident of the underdark as to what they thought about rising before the midday.

But that look was quickly replaced by an expression far more quizzical as he noticed that his breeches were still sticking to the woman's flesh, finding it wise to make no reference to them even as it pained the drow to gaze upon such a travesty. There was a time and a place to comment on some things, he knew, and found it best that his next words made no comment about that particular indignity.

"As to answer your question, there is no problem, so you must forgive me for waking you."

Varnehy's head dipped in the approximation of an apology, his idle gaze shifting past the Nordwiir and to the empty room beyond her. It would be an impressive display of being dead to the world if she could sleep through the rest of the day with the way their party was rumbling through the confines of the small inn, but he doubted the woman would appreciate the logic in that.

His eyes returned to Skad's own, head still lowered in an expression of regret; the way his eyes flickered to his ruined breeches put a faint dent in the gesture, however.

"But may I suggest an early breakfast, perhaps a bath? It might do you well to feel more human before making preparations for tonight. Yes, it might seem rather pointless, yet waking up as you are when there's physical labor involved...?" That much was true, at least. There were indeed preparations to be made later in the midday, and in the evening they'd already be on their way to positions close to their target before waiting for night to fall. "I know that Basil was eager to teach you about the surrounding area in the chance that you remain unfamiliar with it, as well. Today will be busy, so it might be wise to get an early start on it."

To be awoken for something so silly as some arbitrary, personal rule by Vida of all people might've been an unpleasant fact - or even a grave offense - but if anything it was something that she could be counted on to remain consistent about. If that mattered to Skad. Like at all.

Otherwise, there was simply no elegant way for him to put it beyond the explanation he just gave, independent of Vida's rather curt orders, in the hope that the barbarian woman found it more acceptable of an excuse to put an end to her sleep. Whether it was before or after Skad responded, he would've pushed himself off the wall with one fluid motion.

Waiting, watching. Worried? Probably a little bit.

 

[Skad]

She didn't need to understand the rest of his explanation; the word 'Vida' was more than enough to clarify why she had been awoken to suffer such a fate. Perhaps a person with a better grasp of the common tongue, not in a state somewhere between still drunk and hungover, would be more equipped to respond.

Skad grunted, a noise of beleaguered acknowledgement.

After all, he was merely the messenger, which was surprising given that the Nordwiir would have expected the woman to enjoy the task with unbearable smugness. Perhaps she worried that she would have reacted poorly. It was a fair decision, really, given that she stood there near-nude and holding a blade.

As all of them were wont to do, Drow kept speaking, his words almost entirely lost in a haze of wine and regret until the mention of Basil came up. If Skad was in this state, then how was the alchemist faring? She hardly seemed like the type to wear a hangover well, more the type to suffer dramatically as a bundle of moaning human flesh. Perhaps she had a trick or two up her sleeve, a herbal remedy, if there was any hope to be had.

Ah, there was little point in speculating.

"Break-fast."

To her credit, the grumbling almost sounded human. His word was repeated back to him in the same manner that a wild beast might have done, fooling all who witnessed it into thinking it had some form of sentience. What fresh torment would the innkeeper have in store for them on this day?

The thought had reminded her of the night before, and she raised a hand (the one without the knife) to halt any attempt to escape.

"Did you killing inn man?" Skad asked with her typical seriousness, only somewhat weighed down by sweat-soaked, hungover fatigue.

Whether he answered or not, Kin-Slayer actively began peeling the ridiculous breeches off her thighs. Her sweaty sleep had made the mission all the more difficult, and it was nothing if not an awkward exercise in impractical clothing, at least until she was down to the knees, where it became a trivial task as undressing should have been. At least she hadn't used her blade to remove them, a small mercy.

"Wait. I get other," she croaked, haphazardly tossing the trousers at him and retreating into her stifling den to retrieve his shirt, which was promptly found and thrown at him with as much disregard as before. There were doubts if the smell of Wiir sweat and horse water could wash out.

"Breakfast now. Yes?"

 

[Vida]

Varnehy could only stand there, quietly observing with a mélange of emotions flitting across his grey face; mostly growing horror at the state and smell of the garments he had apparently loaned to this woman.

But there was also a wry sort of fascination in watching the scene playing out before him, and he couldn't help but to raise a brow at what he was seeing. Yet did nothing to stop her. He thought it was prudent not to interrupt, nor to provide any commentary beyond the very pointed way in which his mouth lifted at one corner.

That more than spoke for itself about what he had thought of things.

More specifically the way this Skad was tugging herself out of his trousers like she was skinning some poor, unfortunate woodland creature; he wondered if that was how they removed them from where she hailed from? In all honesty, it wasn't terribly hard to believe. But he wouldn't say as much, at least not to her, and so could only patiently wait until he she was finished.

When she was finally done, he took the pants back with a stiffened arm that was very clearly reluctant to accept the gift; holding it away from his body in such a way as to avoid the worst of the smell, reeking of sour sweat and bodily odors. Not to mention the horrid, overwhelming smell of wet horse.

And how the fabric felt so very damp, like she hadn't even bothered to dry herself before donning the clothing. Which she hadn't.

His lips wrinkled in displeasure; his fascination long since passed into apathy.

"Yes, there is breakfast," Varnehy had replied to her original question in an even, polite tone. But by then Skad was already headed back into her room to retrieve his shirt, having probably only caught the tail-end of his answer as he continued: "but I'm afraid I won't be eating this early in the morning, there are some tasks that still require my attention."

He had waited until the borrowed shirt was once more in his possession, carefully folded and tucked over his breeches that were in equally dire need of a good washing. Or perhaps a good burning? It was a little difficult to tell just how many of the stains would ever come out after having spent a night being worn by a barbarian woman, nor was he wasn't overly thrilled at the prospect of actually trying.

When he had looked up again and noticed how she was still standing there expectantly, he remembered the other question that she had for him; the fact that it was far more important to Skad than the question of breaking her fast hadn't registered in his mind. As far as he knew, she was simply demonstrating her pragmatism in asking. And so he nodded; equal in his affirmation as it was in approval for having even asked in the first place.

"The innkeeper is no longer a concern, so you will have to feed yourself from the kitchen."

Stepping away from the doorway with his debatably precious cargo still held at an awkward length from his body - but not too far away as to cause deliberate offense, he turned and looked as if he was about to depart. Until he stopped in his tracks, taking one final lingering glance at the woman who he wasn't sure even understood half his words. Especially not after all the wine.

"I will not return until later in the noon, is there anything else you might want to know?"

Whatever the answer was, Varnehy would soon depart from the hallway with little more than a formal bow of his head to convey... a polite notice of departure? Mostly it seemed like he was commiserating with the idea of suffering a hangover in an inn with one woman she detested, and another woman who asked far too many questions for her own good.

Varnehy had no doubt that it would not be a pleasant experience.

 

[Skad]

Skad was not concerned about what Drow thought of the condition of his returned clothing. The catastrophe of expressions on his face was not lost on her, but it was hardly worth giving much thought or energy to. She was sure that whatever grievance the creature held would be taken up with Basil directly, in private.

What was important was the confirmation that the innkeeper was 'no longer a concern', which, when combined with the fact that she would have to feed herself, meant exactly what she had thought.

Kin-Slayer was almost impressed, but her appreciation for the art of a covert kill was dampened by her disappointment that she was denied the chance. A pity, she seemed to have recalled asking Vida for the pleasure, although the remnants of the wine might have created a false memory. Perhaps in the future, she would abstain from such foolishness.

Even if alcohol had rendered her overeager to spill blood, it was still a lost opportunity to make an offering in these strange lands. Skad could feel a treacherous dissonance within her soul, and every minute spent away from home only seemed to further the gulf between what was needed and what was expected. There was regret there, her hand wishing it had found the throat of the man she had met on the road, but in the same breath, there was little point in lamenting.

This could be remedied in the now.

A single grunt was her only reply. She had no more questions as the man made a swift exit once more, marking himself as more intelligent than the rest, who would no doubt sit and inflict themselves upon one another.

Instead of getting dressed in her seasonably unsuitable furs and leathers, Skad opted to return to the stables in the nude with the knife in hand, her bare feet padding across the wooden floor in a manner that belayed more subtlety than her appearance. Perhaps it might have been more beneficial to clod around like a flat-footed lout to further the impression that she was no better than the sum of barbarian parts. An unnecessary subterfuge, she thought, hoping that once the job was done that she would never have to grace this sweaty, decedent shithole again.

Breakfast could wait, as could Basil's misery and Vida's tyranny.

She found solitude behind the stable, where worried horses still side-eyed the woman who had bathed with their barrel and where the earth found purchase beneath her instead of squandered wood. The day's heat hadn't quite found them yet, the morning sun sedate yet still too warm for Nordwiir sensibilities, evident by the sheen of pale, blade-worn flesh.

Here, she kneeled in silent reverence, her blade held in anticipation of blood being spilt in Haraudur's name. In place of an appropriate sacrifice, it would have to be her crimson that sated His thirst, a selfish pool that would turn earth into mud, made not just in tribute but to tether a soul adrift back to what mattered.

The blade's edge caressed her scalp, just below the start of her hairline, a good place to cut without causing injury, much unlike her mottled palm, which often stung and struggled to heal, a reminder of the gravity of devotion. The blood flowed freely, trickling down onto the ground beneath from a bowed head that remained tranquil in its stillness.

<"My blood is your blood."> Skad promised, words spoken countless times before, every time as earnest as the last, the offering the foundation of her existence as her solitary eye drank deeply into the sight of the life soaking into the ground.

She hoped He might have forgiven her for straying so far without the tribute to show for it and silently promised that His cup would overflow come the evening.

 

[Vida]

The day passed with an agonizing, painful slowness after the previous night's drinking. Most of all for Masile, who spent a considerable part of it groaning and whining about this ailment or that one - her arguments barely audible beneath the cushions and pillows that served as a poor facsimile of a cave. A very loud and undignified one, full of complaints and half-hearted commentary on everything she currently disliked about life.

Which was a very long list.

For a while the alchemist tried to endure the discomfort of her hangover as the sun climbed higher and higher in the sky, bringing forth what promised to be an equally hot, humid day. The sunlight that finally started to creep in through the shutters felt wretched, and it was enough to convince her to abandon her comfortable little cave in order to steal herself away to a less miserable place.

The sheets that hung about Masile's shoulders as she sought a windowless refuge had trailed behind her like an undignified train of a dress, while her nightdress had threatened to trip her every step of the way. But Masile was too miserable to even complain anymore; she merely stumbled down the length of the corridor, looking neither right nor left, while her search for a quiet little corner to hide herself in continued. To forget and be forgotten for the rest of all time, if luck was on her side.

That was where she bumped unwittingly into Vida, who at least made the effort of stepping to the side to let the alchemist's hasty pilgrimage continue without interruption, though her careful eyes tracked Masile's movements until the other woman had finally noticed her - stirred out of her self-pity long enough to offer a faint, half-hearted smile to Vida in apology - before hurrying off again.

Vida watched it all from the doorway of her room; the way Varnehy had rushed away in an obvious attempt at escaping the tavern's current inhabitants and their collective hangover, his face fixed into a faint moue of distaste as if he had stepped in something unwanted. Or perhaps that was because of the clothes he was carrying around? She swore she could smell it from here.

Then there was Skad, looking unperturbed as ever.

And finally, Masile with all her overzealous theatrics and gloomy faces that she made.

It was strangely nice to be able to watch the day playing out before her, and Vida was content to let it do so at its own pace. Just as she was content to linger in the empty space of her doorway for a while longer, simply enjoying the peace of it all; the presence of that wonderfully elusive silence, and the quiet of the tavern that allowed her thoughts some privacy. Because that silence wouldn't last long, nor would the peace.

And so, after a few more moments, she removed her shoulder from the door's frame and went about her day.

Which in all honesty didn't mean much for anyone else, since Vida seemed to take great pains to mostly avoid everyone while she raided the kitchen for a light meal of meats and cheeses that could be prepared with little difficulty and easily packed away, where she could enjoy it away from the suffocating walls of the tavern. Like outside, for example, even if that meant walking past Skad with little more than a single nod of her chin and a cool glance.

For a moment she was tempted to comment about what the woman was doing by the stables, but had restrained herself with an almost admirable level of formality, thinking better of it. She didn't particularly care enough to say anything anyway, not wanting to tempt yet another tense argument when the early morning was just temperate enough to appreciate without it being a distraction.

Meanwhile, Masile may have been feeling utterly miserable, but she played host well enough for whatever Skad had asked of her; as thrilled to showcase her knowledge of the local area with a stick in the dry, sandy earth as she was resigned to deal with breakfast when she noticed the Kin-Slayer eventually returning from whatever mysterious task she saw fit to perform in the stables.

And surprisingly, she mentioned little of the state Skad was in, having taken the hint after last night to keep her questions to a minimum. At least while they were both suffering the aftereffects of last night.

And not once did they hear the jingle of horse tack, or see unfamiliar faces peeking from the door of the tavern to look for lodgings or the possibility of a warm meal.

Which was as surprising as it was oddly disappointing to Masile, who had spent hours after her hypothetical question to Skad last night in ensuring that nothing seemed amiss. She even cooked bloody breakfast to maintain the impression; it was a pale, satisfying pottage of boiled grains and dried herbs, with little bits of vegetables left to simmer in another pot until they were tender.

It may not have been a terribly ostentatious meal, but Masile still took a small measure of pride in seeing its reception by the others and had been pleasantly surprised when even Vida had no audible complaints for the gruel that did its job of feeding an empty belly with something filling enough to make it stop complaining.

Not that Masile was terribly overjoyed about playing the cook after her earlier reservations, but... well, she was happiest when she was being helpful.

***​

The remainder of the morning passed uneventfully into an equally uneventful afternoon, and by the time Varnehy had returned from his undoubtedly important outing, the sun was no longer hanging so heavy in the sky; the shadows of the tavern had grown in length, stretching out across the ground with ever creeping fingers.

And the inn was just as foreboding, cast in shadows and empty halls as it was. Well, aside from Masile who was still running around in an effort to make herself useful, but that was hardly news.

The calm before the storm.

With the promise of what was coming next, the rest of the party had spent their time meaningfully; Vida, who was out of everyone's way for almost as long as Varnehy, had just stepped from her room after making whatever preparations she did before any job, with the same usual reticence that he no longer deigned to comment on. Masile had since returned to their old table, along with a confounding amount of alchemical supplies, for once looking as absorbed and contemplative in what lay before her as any professional at work.

In the unlikely case that her abilities would be needed, she wanted to be ready.

Varnehy knew they wouldn't be if all things went according to Vida's plan, but there was little sense in telling her as much - he knew how the woman was when she was earnestly focused on a task - that had been made abundantly clear to him in the past. The same way it had likely been made clear to Skad when that task in particular was being a social butterfly.

At first Masile had looked up to peer at the drow who had entered, then to Vida who had coincidentally chosen this exact moment to join them in her finely tailored leather ensemble. Masile, in comparison, shared absolutely none of the consideration in looking her best for what was to come; still sporting a mild bedhead and the ruffled dress she changed into earlier in the day, having clearly forgotten to find something a tad more becoming before her work had consumed her attention.

Her eyes lingered on Vida's own for a moment longer before she brushed the loose bangs from her face in order to tuck them behind her ear, only for them to fall stubbornly back into place when she went back to the cluttered tabletop.

"I see that you're back." Vida made the idle observation, as unnecessary as it was chiding.

"Of course, I wanted to make certain that everything was in place," was his blithe response, making his way to where Masile sat with a striding grace. "And that nothing had changed; to ensure that things in the harbor were still quiet, just as we left it. Did I miss anything important?"

Vida acknowledged the obviously rhetorical question with a tilt of her chin and a brief, fleeting glance of what might've possibly been amusement, if one paid attention. "I don't believe so, no," she spoke in a distant voice, having paid no real consideration to what was asked, "nothing important, at least."

After she stepped into the common area to join them, her eyes sought out the final member of their party. Skad.

 

[Skad]

With her head still bowed, Skad's blood dripped down upon the ground beneath her, intermingling with the morning dew that sat lazily on blades of grass and soaking into the earth below so it might have reached Him.

In the solitude of her offering, she allowed herself to be open, that stoic barrier purpose-built to drive her forward in the face of constant adversity not needed in the space shared by one woman and her God. There was nothing to be hidden from the Crimson Father, nothing that could be hidden. The memories of increasingly arduous days were His to judge; thoughts, words and actions were all there to be scrutinised by the divine.

Kin-Slayer did not believe herself immune from Haraudur's judgment, for as much as the Nordwiir took it upon herself to act as His blade, she could acknowledge that she, too, was mortal.

Adrift.

Flawed.

Failing.

The acknowledgement had not come from a place of current circumstance. The disastrous events that consumed her raiding party man by man did not concern her. Were her Hæfurkappi not chosen as capable Wiir who could fend for themselves? Skad would not place that weight upon herself, as she had not personally pushed a soul off their ship's side nor dashed skulls upon the jagged rocks of the shore. The throats she had cut burbled forth faithless dread and were better served to spew forth blood than doubt. She would not blame herself for them either.

Yet she did not delude herself into believing that no consequence would come of this; the wrath of her kin was to be expected in the face of a failed raid and over a dozen good Nordwiir lost to the realms of the dead. It did not matter; they did not matter. Who was to say that Eyrr was still in the same hands?

What mattered was her failings of devotion—small moments caught in time where she had not acted as Haraudur's Blade ought to.

That man on the road who had given her directions to this cursed place had walked away entirely unscathed. Skad had justified her tempered hand as a reward for his information, finding that he was helpful and thus deserved to live. But was it not a divine reward to bleed and serve a purpose beyond mortal threads? What possible meaning did that man's life have that could have trumped His thirst?

There was none.

She had unthinkingly faltered, and that failure was reflected in the taut lines of her face, her jaw flexing under the strain of grit teeth and deep grooves etching into the flesh of the Nordwiir's forehead.

Skad did not hide it, leaving open the events of the night just passed for his verdict, the frivolous conversations that skirted the edges of doubt, probing and asking questions that she would have slain her kin for even daring to ask or answer. Worse still, when she chose to sit and throw foreign piss down her neck, losing grasp of her senses and allowing the opportunity to bleed the innkeeper dry to pass.

<"Please, forgive me,"> the one-eyed woman pleaded in solemnity.

No answer came.

It never did.

The presence of her Gjöf was enough to know of His approval; as long as Kin-Slayer evaded death, she knew He had not forsaken her. Beyond the blindness of faith, it was all that she had.

As the blood pooled beneath her, still dribbling from her scalp, she recalled the first time she had met Kol, Twice-Bloodied. The man had been blessed with an ear open to the Gods, his mind a hallowed hall of sacred whispers. Skad could remember that envy perfectly, the way her guts twisted and seized with a longing she did not know she was capable of. It had been a trial to temper her desire to see him twitch upon the ground as if some of Haraudur's words might have greeted her from cracks in his skull.

She had found reason in the end, rallying around the man instead of against him and finding comfort in the chosen voice of Hinir Myrku. Her faith did not require senses; it could not see, hear, smell, taste or touch, but it could be felt on a dying breath when her heart thumped stronger in the face of a thousand deaths.

When she served Him, she was whole. Her soul alight.

<"Tonight I will sate your thirst,"> Skad promised before returning to silence, remaining prostrate until the blood grew thick and no longer flowed.

The rest of the morning was spent in solitude; another trip to the horse barrel followed her offering, and without an inch of hesitation, she attempted to wash the sweat and misery from her body with the fetid beast water. The smell was inconsequential, as she believed Vida would claim her scent repugnant even if it were untrue.

Not that she saw much of the woman beyond a brief passing.

As a collective, they managed to stay out of each others' way. Vida had remained sparse, Drow absent as now expected, and Basil mostly confined to being helpful, which seemed to be her designated role in life, the fruits of which meant that the day's food was far more edible.

Skad saw fit to find rest while the opportunity presented itself, seeking shade within the walls and waiting out the space between day and evening.

A benefit of a less comfortable existence was that it eliminated the potential foe of boredom, and the woman could quietly focus on the path ahead as she had done for so many long winters barricaded within the earth. She was not afraid to be alone with her mind and needed not the company of inane chatter or strange games to pass the time.

Eventually, they gathered once again, and the Nordwiir finally relented and donned the unsuitable warm attire of home. The blend of patchwork leather, gróft, and fur was already uncomfortable after five minutes but bearable, and the scrap bandage that covered her empty eye socket was once more wrapped around the woman's head, obscuring the large cut that sat proudly from temple to temple.

"You having axe for me?" Skad asked Drow, looking across the room at him expectantly, her only focus on the role she was being paid to provide.

 

[Vida]

Vida watched Skad with eyes that spoke of nothing; if there was any kind of disapproval or distaste over the smell of horse water or the musk of old furs, it was subtle and discretely tucked away from those dispassionate lips that only now parted to offer a sigh when she slunk down into one of the chairs in the room, opposite their hardworking alchemist.

Then her eyes wandered over to where Varnehy was leaning over the backrest of Masile's chair, arms folded as he inspected her work. The comment by the fur-clad woman earning the most fleeting of glances as if only to confirm whether or not she was still talking to him. But he had nodded all the same in that brisk, proper way of his that seemed like it would be the sum of his contribution to the Nordwiir's question.

At least until he tired of looking at whatever potions and dried herbs Masile had been hard at work producing.

When he turned again to Skad, he made another gesture of acknowledgement by seeking out her gaze; his head tilting in a faint nod of affirmation as he stood up, and away, from the table. "Of course, I hadn't forgotten. I left it in my saddlebags," he stepped away in what seemed like his third escape in the two days since they've met. "If you will excuse me, I'll go and retrieve it for you."

Of course, much like every other time, he hardly waited for a reply or appropriate permission beyond a polite smile at their leader. Not that Vida offered any commentary or begged him to stay, only watching his departure long enough until he fled out of sight of the common room and to the humid warmth of the receding day.

Then she grew bored and sought out Skad, once again. Her lips no longer so indifferent, but instead fixed into a subtle line of impatience.

Now that they were so close to fulfilling their objective, all that was left in her was the coiled tension of anticipation for what was to come. No longer did any words of amusement or abuse spring forth from a mouth pursed together in idle, brooding silence. The expression hardly marred the smooth lines of her face, so accustomed to looking that way that it seemed like the most natural thing in the world; as fitting as it was familiar to anyone who knew her.

But perhaps it was a little uncomfortable when someone was the subject of that look, like Skad.

"We won't need to wait much longer, thankfully," was all that was said at first, the muscles in her back growing taut as she stood from the chair in order to stretch her arms from beneath the less than accommodating confines of her leather gambeson. As if she was trying to shrug away the expectancy that thrummed in her muscles; making them feel as tight as a bowstring. "So I hope that you've made your preparations, Skad. And if there's anything else...?"

She made the show of maintaining eye contact with the other woman for a moment longer, before her eyes slipped away and to one of the bottles upon the table that she'd been idly toying with with a gloved hand. It was little more than a crude vial with an equally crude cork of wood used as a stopper, as if it was only ever meant as a temporary vessel to store whatever concoction Masile had been working on.

"... then tell me now, I do mean us to be partners in this endeavor, despite our differences." Vida continued speaking, in a tone that was carefully neutral; almost conversational as she looked to Skad again in affirmation that her words were actually understood, for once.

It was difficult to say what exactly drove her candidness. Whether it was a result of nerves, or if she had suddenly tried to show some effort to change the dynamic of their relationship, nobody could say. Only that the old Vida, unburdened by the eve of their mission, was not the one that was speaking, now.

Of course that could change, but for the moment? It was undoubtedly a nice change of pace.

 

[Skad]

Skad could forgive Drow for making another exit, his task of fetching the axe of actual importance, which was unfair speculation on her part. Accusing the man of being woman-avoidant would have been better served as an off-hand comment to gauge a reaction, peeling back the skin to see if words were buried beneath.

On the day's contemplation, she fully realised that he would not have been a part of Vida's band if he was not valuable, and it appeared that his use bore fruit behind the scenes, whether that entailed scouting, preparations, or silently murdering innkeepers while wine-soaked idiots waxed philosophical in the other room. The latter still bothered the Nordwiir, but it would have been unfair to hold a grudge against a foreigner unaware of what drove her.

Vida's stare was unavoidable in his absence, although not entirely impenetrable.

She returned the gesture in kind but lacked the tension, seeming to be that same dull ox that had first trampled its way into the inn. On the cusp of this 'endeavour,' her stoic features were one part a practised gesture, two parts accustomed to this prelude to violence and three parts pacified in the knowledge of her divine gift. It was almost impossible to feel any tension in the knowledge that you were an unkillable blood scion.

"Good," Kin-Slayer replied in a single flat word, standing stock still in the middle of a room like some socially incompetent pillar. "The waiting is tired."

Skad's eye lingered on Vida a moment longer as she shifted consideration to the fruits of Basil's labour, searching for something unseen as words that bordered on hospitable came from normally venomous lips. Nerves, perhaps? Or maybe just proper regard for a task at hand; this meant more to them than it did to her.

Although, did it?

Passage home had become a pressing matter after the morning's prayer; it was a matter of the soul. How could it possibly mean more to them?

Pointless questions.

It brought a minuscule twitch to her nose, another personal mark against her name.

"I am having nothing. I am ready," the Nordwiir answered again, allowing her focus to shift to the vial that had provided Vida's hand with absent-minded comfort. She pondered if the contents of the glass would provide any use to them in the upcoming chaos. To harm. To heal. Given her suspicions of Basil's character, Skad would have assumed the former, but it made sense that the meek woman was more than capable of the latter.

There was no input on the mercenary's assurance that they would be partners; her words were mostly lost in translation, and the desire to ask for clarification was long since dead.

"You are all ready? Do you needing me to do any things?"

 

[Vida]

It might have come as a surprise to Skad that Varnehy's absence was so short-lived this time around, especially if all she really knew of him over the last two days was the fact that he was always absent, seemingly never staying anywhere for too terribly long. Especially whenever he had a convenient opportunity to disappear elsewhere, just as he had done now, and had done in the past.

But the footfall of boots scraping upon the deck and the creaking of a door on its hinges heralded his return; his presence from the entrance of the tavern was welcomed with a cursory glance by Vida. Whatever she was going to say in reply to Skad was left unspoken in favor of a lingering pause, waiting until the drow companion of the party had stepped forth from the darkness of the doorway, axe in hand.

He had made the prudent choice of murmuring a greeting to the group of women before striding forth to rejoin them, obviously unwilling to be perceived as sneaking up on this fur-clad stranger; her penchant for violence having not gone unnoticed. Or her distrust.

The weapon he carried with him, as promised, was nothing particularly special to behold; it was a hand axe of about sixteen inches, obviously well maintained and with a head that was forged in wrought-iron. The ash wood haft saw evident use, as its worn surface was smoothed and polished by years of handling, made comfortable to grip with a bit of faded leather strapping.

"I believe you were promised a weapon. I only wish I could have found something a little more suitable to a warrior," Varnehy made the admission with an apologetic rise of his shoulders, taking a final step to cross the distance between the two. "Nevertheless, I still trust it to be adequate for your needs."

As if to emphasize that point, he provided a more thorough examination by twitching the haft in his hands so that the other side of the axe could be flipped to the front and presented for casual inspection. If only for less than a heartbeat before surrendering it to Skad with without any further fanfare.

Stepping to the side afterward, he looked expectantly to the leader of their ragtag group.

Vida's response was a faint tilt of her head to the side, just enough for one side of her face to be cast in the dimming light of the outside world as she gestured to the table; the shutters of the window next to it pulled open and swaying gently in the cooling air of the evening. Without any more preamble or questioning, he took it, pulling out a chair next to Masile in order to wait out the rest of the evening.

The alchemist woman had only glanced briefly at the intrusion, before turning her attention again to the collection of vials and mortars and pestles that had slowly taken over the surface of the tabletop, laid out without any apparent rhyme or rhythm. Only that it suited Masile's disordered sense of organization.

That only left the last of the three sellswords standing, her arms crossing as she leaned against the table.

"All the necessary arrangements have been made, so yes, we're ready. Now it's simply a matter of patience."

Patience was like an unpleasant medicine - prepared and prescribed with the best of intentions - but bitter all the same to swallow, as the emotions flitting across Vida's face made an obvious point to convey. But soon enough she schooled it back into a mask of icy indifference, spitting out the mere mention of patience as her lips soon found new words to form; the answer to Skad's other question.

Her gaze swept to the vial she'd since collected in her hand, twirling her fingertips about the bottle so that it spun in the light of the opened window. It was the very same one that she'd been toying with before Varnehy's arrival, along with his borrowed axe, and one that she now wasted little time in proffering to Skad, before any additional questions could be posed.

And it came as a surprise, even to her, when she stopped herself from impulsively demanding that the other woman merely drink it without so much as a vague explanation as she'd originally planned. Instead she demonstrated some of that patience by holding onto it with the tips of her fingers and allowing the contents to be seen by the Nordwiir woman, while she spoke, "I don't need you to do anything right now, but I would suggest that you drink this," another pause as she brought her chin up high enough so that she could look fully into Skad's eyes... or, eye. "I do leave it up to you, however."

Mostly because the taste would've been undeniable.

"-since the vial contains some ingredients that you may take offense to, such as my blood." Vida set the vial clattering back down onto the table, using her now free hand as leverage to help sit more comfortably against the unpolished sides of the oak table. The words she spoke were calm and seemingly reasonable - so long as nobody listened to what she was actually saying as she continued to explain. "The type of magic I intend to use is reckless, and I mean to be reckless, tonight. But you should be fine so long as you don't get in my way."

Her lips twitched in mild amusement, voicing the unspoken warning.

… that she would only probably be fine.

"It's really not so bad." Masile added, helpfully. She had looked up, owlish eyes blinking to adjust to the sudden change in focus.

 

[Skad]

Swift and to the point.

Skad's eye travelled to the retrieved axe, her would-be instrument of carnage for the evening, and took in the evident finery of the weapon. She could imagine to them, in all their southern comforts, that this weapon was nothing special—a perfectly passable axe. They did not hail from a land where trees were so scarce that shafts carved from wood were considered an honour and had to be earned.

How sick she had felt when Hella was granted a bow and arrows before the rite of Frábærveiði. What a waste of wood it was, in the end.

"It is fine," Skad grunted as Drow presented it to her for appraisal before swiftly relinquishing it to her, allowing a chance for Kin-Slayer to get to grips with the heft of the weapon and a feel for the way it sat in her right hand. The axe was perhaps heavier than she would have liked, but the Nordwiir doubted that it would impede her ordered chaos in any meaningful way.

However, whatever certainty the provision of the axe had granted was quickly ripped away when the vial was presented to her.

Her brow twitched at the suggestion; her empty demeanour immediately laced with Wiir suspicion at the request. That lone eye jerked, moving from the vial up to Vida, down to Basil and then back up to the mercenary leader in a manner that suggested that the woman had lost her mind. When it was mentioned that the concoction contained blood, Skad took a step backwards, the affronted paranoia still etching lines upon her face that warped the scars that called flesh her home.

The mention of magic did little to help, and when that shifty little alchemist chimed in as if it might assuage her, Skad returned with a wide-eyed stare.

"You are mad," the Nordwiir accused with her eye on Vida, suddenly glad she hadn't holstered the axe yet as her tightening grip unconsciously tested the wood. Mercifully, her sense was tempered enough to stay her hand for the time being.

"Do you thinking I am soft of head? Asking to drinking magic blood on trust? You not even saying what it will doing. You are drinking?" Skad was sure to gesture with the axe, pointing the head towards Drow first and then Basil. "They are drinking?"

Kin-Slayer shook her head, allowing herself to remain very much perturbed under the circumstances.

"I am not for the poison."

 

[Vida]

Vida's gaze followed the weapon in Skad's hand; her eyes narrowing at the blunt accusation as she watched the head of the axe move first in the direction of the drow, before turning to Masile in quick succession. It wasn't as if the Nordwiir woman was wrong to be concerned, of course. It was a reasonable enough conclusion to draw when being offered a mysterious vial of blood from the same person who made their dislike of you abundantly clear from the beginning.

And even if she hadn't expected anything less, the expression on her face likely hadn't helped in dispelling any of Skad's lingering distrust. The small scowl tugging at her lips and the twitch of her eyes could have been out of frustration, exasperation, or a hundred different things. Very few of them good.

Her hand slipped from the bottle and the table it rested upon to rest instead on her own hip; fingers drumming irritably against the leather of her gambeson. When her eyes flickered from the axe to meet Skad's own, the scowl had since transformed into a dismissive smirk - and something approaching a challenge considering the next words that came from her mouth.

"I will not be drinking, the taste upsets my stomach."

"Vida,"

The chiding rebuke came from the alchemist, who had all but groaned out the name as if it were some curse.

It was enough to cause the woman's posture to shift, becoming less confrontational. Her shoulders even lifted in what was probably meant to be an approximation of an apologetic shrug, insincere as it was. "I hardly have any reason to resort to poisoning. If I wanted or needed a way to be rid of you, a blade would do fine. And if you're going to ask that question, you might as well ask whether I've already poisoned your ale, or your breakfast. This-" she picked up the vial in question, rapping at the surface with a nail, "-is a little on the nose, wouldn't you agree?"

Obviously that wasn't the way to go about convincing people, and Masile made to get up from her chair with every intention of taking the vial for herself if it meant quelling Skad's fears - until she was halted by a curt gesture from their leader; a subtle twitch of her hand, more of a command to a dog than it was a request.

"I've already explained that the magic I intend to use is reckless, and this will prevent any recklessness from extending to you by recognizing my blood. That's all, it does nothing more and nothing less than that." There were other elements involved, of course - for binding the blood to a host rather than merely falling prey to one's stomach acid - but she was not an alchemist. Nor did she want Masile to spend the evening going over the mechanics of how it worked. "I do not mean it as a guarantee, but it's far better than nothing, and it's certainly not meant to poison you."

Her voice was surprisingly calm when her outlet for churlishness had exhausted itself, and she was once again the very image of cool composure. She even made another polite attempt of offering the vial to Skad.

And if there were still any qualms to be had, she'd just make Varnehy drink it. Masile was an alchemist, after all, and so was hardly the kind of person to trust in order to prove something was not poison without having a way to cure herself tucked away.

As to why she hadn't simply offered to drink it herself? Well, she had already made it quite clear as to her reasons. As safe as it was, it hardly made for a pleasant experience.

 

[Skad]

As if Vida were suspicion made flesh, she conceded to not partaking in the dubious blood potion because she disliked the taste. Skad, already openly affronted by the request, did not hide her disgust. Beyond a weak excuse, it was another example of blatant luxury that these Southerners wore proudly like glittering emblems. To abstain because it was not to her taste; the mercenary would not have made it past her first meal on Eyjarnar.

Even Basil had some form of objection to be had, although likely not for the same reasons.

However, before the one-eyed Nordwiir could mount a half-masticated verbal tirade, the other woman continued, wielding a better point than being a squeamish child.

What would be the point in killing her now in this manner? Yes, distrust was woven into the flesh of the Wiir, but Skad was capable of logical thought alongside that. They had freed her from her shackles as an unknown quantity, bringing forth a question of desperation, and even if they had found the Nordwiir so unpalatable upon meeting, why not go for the easier kill, laced with wine and drained from walking in the heat?

"...the nose," she repeated in a grumble, not grasping what noses had to do with anything at all.

Another frustration, something this realm held in abundance, challenging the Nordwiir's will and patience with every step south. Her eye bored into the vial, irritated by its presence and the fact that these Southerners had somehow managed to make blood offensive, a problem on its own. It wasn't the act of consumption by itself; the blood of beasts made hearty meals, and the blood of men was commonplace in Prestsfrú ritual.

The problem was them. Their wasteful way of life was an affront to Skad, who stood in stark Wiir opposition to the spoilt world they had built for themselves. Those not even fit to whisper Haraudur's name could not possibly comprehend the meaning held in sacred crimson.

Nor was it her responsibility to teach them.

So it was a mercy for all involved that Kin-Slayer often bound her religious fervour with cutthroat pragmatism, and while her blessing gave Skad confidence that this job would pose little threat, eliminating risk where one could was sensible, especially if reckless magic was involved. Reckless foreign magic at that, wielded by a woman who would not have pissed on her were she ablaze.

She practically growled when snatching the vial from Vida's hand; her annoyance laid bare at what they were asking of her.

"If it is going wrong I will killing you," Skad threatened with an irate expression that was so far removed from her usual stoic self that it seemed alien. With her threat made, the Nordwiir obliged in drinking the accursed blood, clattering the axe down onto the table for a moment so that she could remove the stopper and pour it angrily down her throat.

The taste was an afterthought.

<"Haruadur, forgive me,"> she muttered bitterly in the aftermath, placing the vial back on the table in exchange for the axe, which offered little comfort as the woman internalised the increased frequency of her apologies to the God of Blood. The indifferent silence He offered was the only reply, better than suddenly bleeding from every orifice in divine retribution.

"Too much," Kin-Slayer said quietly, looking at Vida more seriously as if the repugnant woman could even comprehend the gravity of her demands. "You asking no more of me."

 

[Vida]

The group's reaction to Skad's begrudging compliance was mixed, to say the least.

The small group of sellswords all had their own way of showing it; the brief nod of approval from Varnehy, the self-satisfied smirk from their leader, the awkward and apologetic smile from the resident alchemist. None of the reactions were similar in the slightest, nor did they ever seem to be in agreement in how to present a united front to their newest hire.

As to how such a wildly disparate group of personalities were able to work together for any meaningful period of time was a complete and utter mystery, probably even to them.

Honestly, it might have even been downright amusing for an outsider to watch the strange dynamic play out - were that outsider not the target of the group's scrutiny in that moment. As well as being the one soul in the room who somehow didn't fit into this dysfunctional puzzle, despite its colorful cast, and even now stood out like a sore thumb in this mismatched family of hired killers.

But at least the spell was broken shortly after when that small smirk of victory on Vida's lips was wiped away, to be replaced with something that was as contemplative as it was disapproving of the threat that had come from the woman in all her furs and leathers. "It will not go wrong," then came the lift of an eyebrow; that same imperious look. "But if it does, please do feel free to try."

For a woman so quick to resort to scathing remarks and undisguised insults, her reply was surprisingly sedated.

Maybe she'd finally grown tired of the same repetitive back and forth. Or maybe she discovered some small, miniscule sense of respect for the other woman's professionalism in the face of such an unusual request - as hard as it was to imagine. As reluctant as Skad might have been about the task, she did not shy away from what was asked of her.

And while they might never be friends, Vida could appreciate the effort at cooperation, and understood that the mission came before any petty rivalries. The fact that most of those rivalries were the result of her own actions was besides the point. Which was why she ended up saying nothing more as she sat at the table next to Varnehy, her gaze trailing to the axe that lay there, now abandoned.

As she wasn't a Nordwiir, she saw nothing terribly special about it; her eyes soon wandered off to look out of the open shutters.

Then after a brief moment spent adjusting the hand she was resting her chin against, she closed her eyes. Vida's head tilted to the side next as the sellsword tried to catch the vanishingly small breeze that filtered in from the outside. The warm glow of the dying day painting her face in warm hues.

If there was any further need of reassurance that Skad made the correct choice, then Varnehy was there to ease any lingering fears. His voice finally broke through the ensuing silence as though he'd only just remembered that a threat had been made, giving their resident barbarian another, more understanding nod.

"Well, let us hope that it doesn't come to that. And yes, we have asked much of you. And we'll be asking much more of you tonight, I'm sure. But nothing that should come as a surprise." Which was likely another word for bloodshed, rather than the drinking of an antagonistic blonde's blood.

There wasn't a doubt in his mind that Skad probably preferred the former.

But he seemed genuine at the very least, and there was no hint of deceit behind his words.

Meanwhile, Masile seemed to had taken yesterday's lesson to heart, for once avoiding the mistake of making any unwanted addition to the conversation. As a matter of fact, she said nothing at all while she mutely poured another tankard of of wine and offered it to their newest member in an act of appeasement; a gesture meant to help wash away the distaste of the vial's contents, if not the distaste of the act itself.

It was thoughtful, and was likely to be the last chance before night fell over the town of Marseyelle.

 

[Skad]

The sight of the captive audience reacting to the imbibement of the blood was disconcerting, making Skad feel as if she were some exciting, new creature that had washed up on southern shores to be gawked at and judged without reservation. Of course, this was true for the entire period they had all spent with her; only Skad was merely acknowledging it now.

Acknowledgement.

Superiority.

Submission.

The Nordwiir looked back at them, her flavour of reaction still bitterly disgusted until she found the will to take back control of her face, the one-eyed void returning once again for some sense of normality. Or at least her brand of normality.

"I do not try," Skad had replied, not shedding any of that reclaimed stoicism as her eye was cast over Vida, managing not to turn the word into a verb by virtue of copying the mercenary. With taut words exchanged between the two women, Kin-Slayer retrieved her axe from the table, letting the thick blade scrape across the table and leaving a small mark in their world.

For once, Drow was present, actively creating a conversation, something that he had primarily avoided until this point, like a skittish, women-averse rodent.

"No more surprise," she remarked somewhat forcefully as though her words would make it true. Not that she blamed the ashen man for anything; she was simply tired. "I am killing guards outside. Then I hold entrance. That is what is asking. That is what I am doing."

Basil, on the other hand, was mercifully keeping quiet, instead choosing to busy herself by playing wine maid. Taking the tankard, Skad glanced at the woman and then back at the Drow before tilting her head in serious contemplation. Was it his turn with the tongue today? Did Vida only allow one of them to steal her oxygen at any given time?

Did she care?

Kin-Slayer's small mercy to the mousy creature was that she did not scrutinise the wine, having already drank a vial of sin only moments before.

She hadn't keeled over and died yet, so at least it wasn't yet proven to be poison, merely sacrilegious.

Her footwraps carried her off to the side, where the Nordwiir took a spot leaning against the wall with her wine in one hand and her weapon in the other. That lone eye drilled into the decadent wooden flooring and sought further silent forgiveness from the Crimson Father at a time when the woman would usually be emptying her thoughts in preparation for bloodshed.