Fable - Ask Terrible Things

[Skad]

The Rutting Boar, Port Catavia

A lone emerald eye travelled across the room, carefully studying each thread of life that thrummed within The Rutting Boar. Like most whorehouses masquerading as a tavern it was a raucous den of indulgence; brimming, deafening and sweaty.

Men and women of varying races partook in increasingly dubious concoctions at the bar, growing more and more resigned to the fact that they would no doubt be fucking here in a scant few hours. Scattered around the tables was a variety of fellow revellers; some alone in their sin, staring holes through the scantily clad men and women that served them; some enjoying the bliss of tongue-loosened camaraderie and others very blatantly losing their money to sharp hands of cunning in games of card and chance.

The southern lands were truly bizarre.

It wasn't that the Nordwiir didn't celebrate, drink or fuck, no, on the contrary, some of their own Dark Gods such as Synd demanded such. It was simply the manner that these southlanders went about it that made it seem so alien.

That and it was too fucking hot.

This was not aided by Skad's insistence on wearing the traditional garb of her people that consisted of leather and fur, but the one-eyed woman remained firmly lodged in a stubborn desire to be close to home in at least one mundane way. Even if it was moderately unbearable.

For a moment her gaze strayed, moving downwards to her half-full tankard of weak southern piss, heavily scarred features remaining just as stoic and empty as they had been in prior observations. This had become a new hobby, as a way to learn about life beyond the tribes of her own. In sitting and watching she had learned so many little things about life down here, and a massive variety of south-mouthed curses.

Every now and again a fleeting urge for carnage swelled in her chest, it would be so easy just to start an innocent brawl, unsheathe her blade and let the crimson of many paint the floor anew with iron devotion.

But she fought against it, her tributes to Haraudur having taken a more subtle note over the past few months. Each night on land, a singular victim, stalked to slake an unending thirst. Skad's eye travelled back up and into the revelry, observing once more from her darkened corner and seeking the next sacrifice.

 

[Malphias]

"OooOOOOOOoow!!!"

The sound of a woman's pained cry from the rooms above was followed by a torrent of angry yells, the clatter and smash of cups and vases being used as projectiles and the stumbling of a man trying to avoid them. Malphias staggered down the stairs and into the bar, turning to duck an empty bottle of wine that shattered on the wall behind him. The dancer who'd accompanied him upstairs threw his jacket at him and stood, gripping a bleeding bite wound on her shoulder, glaring venomously at him before looking around at the people staring at her and she turned, beaming with embarrassment and fled back up to her room to slam the door.

Malphias stood panting, his tongue collecting a small trickle of blood at the corner of his mouth before casting his crystalline blue gaze across the room. He was dishevelled, and not used to being such in public, he was always immaculately presented. Now he stood with his shirt opened, belt undone, one boot on and the other under his arm, but his messy hair took priority and he lifted a hand to casually sweep it back into order. Nobody said anything, and so he found a seat and flopped into it to pull on his other boot. He cast another glare up as those he felt still staring at him, and they quickly went back to their business.

As he fastened his shirt over the visible runes on his chest, he let his eyes wander over the female who now sat opposite him. He wore his human form today. It was a lot more inviting to pretty human dancers and it allowed him to avoid a little more trouble than he did whilst flaunting his horns and tail in establishments such as this.

He continued to put himself back together meticulously, slipping on his silken jacket and smoothing it out before finally resting his arms on the table and he steepled his fingers with a long huff as he set his glacial hues upon the unusual woman.

"Mh. Well aren't you a sight for sore eyes.." Malphias droned, his tone thick with disappointment of how drastically his luck had turned on him, and he gave a sigh in resignation. "Drink?..." His slender brow quirked at her and he turned his head to catch the attention of a nearby wench.

 

[Skad]

A commotion within a commotion, it drew the eyes of judgement from the majority of patrons, Skad included, who was forced to turn her head to observe the emerging spectacle due to a lack of a full field of vision.

Her face didn't change, lacking the judgement, scorn or humour that scattered across the expressions of the room. That was not to say that she held no feelings, rather that they were kept hidden. No, it was amusing, certainly and a true pity that the thrown bottle didn't grant the Nordwiir the violent chaos that she had been craving.

Feeding further entertainment the man chose to sit at her table as he reacquainted himself with his own clothing, giving Skad ample time to get a closer look. It was only natural that the raider's one-eyed appraisal was drawn to the foreign markings upon his chest which only piqued both interest and suspicion.

As he fastened the shirt in a presumed bid to restore dignity and the mystery of his branded flesh was obscured to vision but not abandoned by memory.

A pale eyebrow crept upwards behind the wrap that covered Skad's empty socket as he oh-so-boldly decided that he would make conversation with her despite his apparent disgrace, his words a somewhat confusing minefield for the Nordwiir to approach. Every day she had mastered a little more of the common tongue, but learning a new language was not a swift process. Far easier to try and pick up intention in inflection.

“Not sore,” she replied bluntly, completely missing the turn of phrase and then nodding at the offer of a drink (which of course, Skad could understand as any good northern person would). This was a cue to down the remainder of her tankard of southern piss in one fell swoop.

“What happen?” the Nordwiir inquired with broken trade speak before wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, “You make bad fuck?”

 

[Malphias]

"That's not what I m--.." he scowled and huffed with a shake of his head, the act dislodging another unruly tress of dark hair which flopped in front of his eyes."Never mind." he muttered, his jaw clenching, and again his hand swept it up and slicked it back neatly with the rest.

"Bad f--" Now, now he grinned, for he was so sure of himself in that department that the mere insinuation of his capabilities being anything but incredible was absurdly entertaining. "Oh, no lass. I make very, very good fuck.." he laughed and sat back in his chair, stretching his arms and the tension in his neck. "Just a little too good for some people's tastes.." he added confidently, the strain of his stretch in his voice.

"I'll find something more accommodating.." he murmured lazily, his attention otherwise caught by the pretty wench as she delivered two tankards of overflowing ale to the table. He winked at her, a roguish smirk dimpling his cheek, and her flush and fluster was immediate. His eyes looked the woman over contemplatively as she turned to flee in attempt to hide her blushing, and Mal rolled his shoulders and casually slipped a small stoppered bottle of dark red liquid from inside his jacket.

"Far from home, aren't you?.." he asked before tearing his gaze from the woman who so purposefully leaned over an empty table to collect empty mugs. His eyes settled once again on the Nord as he lifted the tiny bottle to his lips and let a single drop of crimson delight his tongue. He suppressed a shudder but couldn't resist a quiet groan at the affect as he stoppered the bottle before slipping it back inside the silken garment. His senses flared and his fingers curled in on his palms, his knuckles white as he closed his eyes briefly and rode out the initial rush of agony. His grin widened, and his day was instantly better.

 

[Skad]

Some sentences managed to penetrate Skad's limited understanding of the common tongue, 'make very, very good fuck' for instance was a completely understandable yet unwarranted boast but 'accommodating' was a mystery lost to the one-eyed Nordwiir.

Although his actions spoke louder than any words could as he grinned and winked at the well-endowed southerner than served their drinks. The warrior was surprised that he didn't just take her and bend the woman over the table right there and then. A single-track mind and a child of Synd if Skad had ever seen one. Of course, the words of the Dark Gods were lost upon heathen foreigners.

Wordlessly, the blonde continued to watch, her eye drawn to the bottle produced from his effeminate, non-practical jacket until his attention was drawn away from tits and back onto Skad herself.

Curious.

“Much far,” she grunted in return before grabbing her tankard from the table so that she could indulge in southern piss (which truthfully, was far superior to the shitwater that her own people drank).

The small bottle was out again and Skad's interest was piqued once more. What was it? It certainly garnered a reaction from him. Pleasure? Pain? She tilted her head and leaned closer. Between this and the markings upon his chest, there was something more to his otherwise human appearance.

“What that?” Skad asked like some kind of primordial caveman, her brow furrowing as she tried to decipher this man before her.

 

[Malphias]

The devil's cheeks dimpled as he flashed her a smile, his usually too-white teeth still pink with the residue of his last bite. His shoulders rolled and he stretched out the tension in the back of his neck, lacing his fingers behind his head and tipping back in his chair as he regarded the female's detracted features, his tongue running pensively over the sharp point of a canine.

"I have particular tastes." he casually commented. "I'd spare a drop if it weren't my last lot..Fae blood, with a little something extra.." he answered conceitedly, his tone a little more hushed.

"So that's what brings me to this shit hole.. What about you?" he asked over the rim of his tankard before drawing a long drink, his grimace an evaluation of the repulsive brew.

 

[Skad]

He sat in direct contrast to her.

The flashes of teeth, the ever-moving body language, the tone of voice. Everything the creature did oozed of pure arrogance, ego incarnate, Skad was surprised that she couldn't smell his personal vanity amongst the stale ale and testosterone-fuelled sweat that swam around them.

Blood.

Her stony expression cracked, curiosity peaked by the mention of crimson as the Nordwiir's brow lifted. The fact that he drank it, or the mystery of the word 'fae' meant little to Skad but blood, blood meant everything. After all, who was she but Haraudur's faithful servant? The unwavering hand that filled the cup of the Blood God without fail.

Bloodletter, throat-slitter, Kin-Slayer.

“The Dark Gods,” Skad responded with ever-blunt foreign mystery, likely filling the man with the dread that came with foreign religious fanatics, “I do the will.”

Even the one-eyed woman felt her own translation fell awkwardly.

“I raid. I kill.”

She nodded towards the door leading upstairs from which he had first emerged, her tankard held just below her lips.

“You try and drink whore? First use knife.”

 

[Malphias]

Oh here we go, Mal thought to himself, his lips pressing into a thin line as he gave a slow, sage nod. "The dark Gods.." he repeated in a shallow sigh, raising his hands as though in worship.

His brow quirked. He had absolutely no doubt that she'd raided and killed quite a bit. She had barbarian written all over her, he could only imagine the brutality she had subjected people to. "A woman after my own heart!" he commented heartily, though in truth, her methods would likely turn even his stomach. Malphias rarely killed, people were far more entertaining when they were alive, when he could feel the pain and fear in them, when the blood was fresh and hot and pumping through their rapidly beating hearts. He found that people facing the prospect of death, rather than actually killing them to be more fun.

"I.." he laughed under his breath in genuine amusement and cleared his throat, leaning forward with a feral grin. "Well if you're into knife play.." he crooned and shook his head, letting it fall below his shoulders in exasperation for a moment, shuddering at the burning in his veins and the pleasantly numb tension in his muscles.

"I only wanted a taste, not a meal." he grumbled morosely as he raised his eyes to her. "She wouldn't have been much use to me." he smiled and rested his chin on his fists. "And what is it the Dark Gods have brought you here for?" he glanced sideways at the colourful patrons. "You here to find some sacrifices?" he asked, his lips twitching in amusement. "That would certainly brighten my day."

 

[Skad]

His opinion of the Dark Gods was largely irrelevant, everybody died whether they believed or not and Skad was the steady hand of such sacrifice. She had slain far more of her own people than unbelieving southmouthers, although, the one-eyed woman was willing to let that change.

She continued to watch him, her one eye trailing his ever-moving body language like he was a fascinating animal in captivity. But then...

...something intriguing.

“Knife...play?” Skad inquired as she leaned forward, tankard still held just below her lips as if she had forgotten it was there at all, “Must tell me knife play. It sound good,” and then to show willingness about the very concept of knife play she removed her skinning knife from her belt and placed it on the table, “you show me.”

Secrets and games of a blood drinker.

At last, the Nordwiir finally shifted the tankard from beneath her lips, practically inhaling most of the ale in several meaty gulps as the foreigner made inquiries about Dark Gods and sacrifices. He almost seemed as keen as she was and also as trustworthy as an after-festival fart.

Opportunistic yet not objecting. Perhaps even helpful.

“Yes. Sacrifices,” Skad nodded, her knife still lying upon the table, its worn blade brimming with violent intent, “but too much guard,” a first tilt of the head indicated a group of mercenaries playing cards by the door and a second pointed out a pair of crossbows watching at the bar watching over the room, “not like chance in big fight.”

She raised an eyebrow at him, the expression swiftly disappearing behind her eyewrap.

“You help find?”

 

[Malphias]

His eyes fell on the knife, cheeks dimpling as his grin grew wide enough to let a breathy laugh tumble free of his lips. "Here?.. I've never really been much of an exhibitionist but.." his dark brow arched and his head bobbed. His fingers curled around the well worn blade and he turned it in his palm, drawing a deep breath as though he could conjure the bloody memories it hoarded.

He followed her single-eyed gaze toward the mercenaries and his shoulder rose and fell, his eyes rolling in boredom, but her question piqued his interest once more. His lips twisted, and slowly he reached to take her hand, pulling it toward him and baring most of her forearm. "Well, I've nothing better to do with my day, I suppose I could help.." he answered in a low drone as he turned her palm face up.

"And knife play.." he told her quietly, his eyes lifting to meet hers as the tip of the blade pressed down inside her arm, the skin around it white with pressure, the skin welting as he dragged it toward her wrist. "Is for when you 'make good fuck'." he laughed huskily. "The pain enhances the pleasure..And there is a certain thrill in putting your life in another's hands.." his head tilted, and he watched the small bead of blood bloomed at the blade's edge as he added a little more pressure, inhaling the scent of it in a deep, greedy breath.

"It just..makes things a little more interesting." he mused, and lifted the knife to his lips, collecting the few drops with a flick of his tongue.

 

[Skad]

Her upturned palm was a temple of scarification, so often the flesh bitten in the pursuit of tribute. A criss-cross of jagged white of ritual lost in the past overlapped by the more current raised red and jagged crust of more recent offerings of crimson.

That singular green eye met his stare, offering him nothing but a blank, dead slate of passing curiosity before shifting to the glint of the blade as it travelled down the flesh of her arm. There was something almost forbidden about it, letting a foreigner spill her own blood in this manner seemed, almost sacrilegious but even Skad was not so pious as to deny such unusual southern marvel.

Was this knife play a common practice among these people?

“But not kill?”

Asking the real questions.

“Only bleed and fuck?”

And in true Nordwiir fashion Skad's bluntness detracted all sense of danger-laden seduction from the combination of knives and sex. Although, that didn't mean that the woman held no interest, oh there would be no doubt that the next time the woman fucked she would bleed her chosen partner like a stuck pig but somehow you couldn't help but feel that the nuance was beyond her wicked savagery and dedication to those Dark Gods.

Flexing her fist, she allowed the willing wound of her forearm to dribble salted blood upon the table beneath, observing its brilliant, rich red sheen even under dim tavern light.

“Taste more better than Fae?” Skad inquired with further about her own crimson with her shitty common tongue, her head tilted in curiosity yet her mottled face expressionless and blunt, “What is even Fae? You need go and kill? Get more blood? I do the help."