monsterbrush

[monsterbrush]

I just really needed to create a new blorbo this week. For my mental health.

His name is Alexander.

[monsterbrush]

So I had one of these. ☝️

But what I wanted was one of these. 👇

So I made one...

[monsterbrush]

I wonder what Magni and Modi would look like if Thrud forced them to braid their hair, angry or calm 👁👁

And Your art is beautiful, even Magni and Modi too. ✨️

Mom said to play nice.

[monsterbrush]

Sorry Sindri.

A brief unnecessary continuation of this.

[monsterbrush]

It’s good to see you active again. Hope life treats you well.

Been wondering, what do you think of their tattoos? Especially Modi’s. I think there is an interesting meaning behind his chest tattoo and can open up his character a little more. My personal headcanon (shared by some), it’s Modi has a fancy for smithing and do his armour and weapons himself and maybe for his brother? His tattoo depict two man, one that look like him and the one that look like Odin. He care about his craft quite a lot and ask for a blessing of his creations from nobody but All father himself?

Magni's tattoos, I've gotta be honest, don't have much depth going on. The wiki claims they reference Thor's belt of strength, a magical item in Norse mythology called Megingjörð that doubles his strength and when paired with a pair of gauntlets, enables Thor to lift Mjölnir with ease. I speculate this trivia is referencing the tattoo on Magni's back specifically, as it feels very belt shaped.

Magni is the god of strength, Megingjörð is a belt that increases strength. In some prose, it is often said Magni is even stronger than Thor, and does not need the belt or gauntlets to lift Mjölnir, he can do it on his own. Makes sense. Looks cool. Nuff said. I can also see the faint resemblance of either horse heads at the ends of his chest tattoo/face tattoo, or possibly serpent heads, which could be referencing either his horse Gullfaxi or Jormundgandr, the beast that will kill his father. I've drawn em enough times (sloppily albeit, it's fuckin hard to do all that detail over and over and over).

Modi's tattoo however...

Two figures facing one another. They grip their beards, which are entwined. Their opposite arms are raised and similarly bound by knotwork. The rightmost figure has only a beard and holds a hammer (Mjölnir possibly?). The Leftmost figure has a mustache and a beard, and holds what I interpret to be a knife.

I propose that Modi's tattoo is depicting himself locked in battle, fighting his brother Magni over Mjölnir, which Magni has already inherited. You could even interpret this as Modi going so far as to kill his brother for it. It really says everything that needs to be said about his relationship with his brother, and even in his little fantasy Magni gets the hammer first.

Intense stuff. I wonder how Magni feels seeing that on his little brother's chest every day.

[monsterbrush]

Aight this may be odd but would you be willing to draw Magni with a shirt on? I swear he has to own a shirt or two, just hates wearing them lol

Do you have any idea how fast that kid grew?

Do you know how hard it is to shirt a man that big?

Sif's had her work cut out for her for YEARS, trying to keep that boy presentable. He goes through shirts like he goes through mead. Rapidly, and destructively.

And yes, he hates em.

[monsterbrush]

Came back to Tumblr after quite some time and I found your account.

*holds gently*

THANK YOU FOR THE MAGNI FOOD! I LOVE THAT MAN SO MUCH SLJFLFFKCLCKCLVK!!!

Your works are amazing & hope you are doing amazing too ❤️

~Hey~

[monsterbrush]

not a question

I like ur stuff 👍

keep making stuff that makes u happy 🫡

Well, if you insist...

[monsterbrush]

aaAHHHH- QAQ

Did Járnsaxa left Magni because she couldn't bear the thought of losing her child due to prophecies from GOW(2018) and decided to left him behind as an way to detached herself from Magni or is it the purpose from prophecies of Loki overthrowing the Æsir (because of Magni's death, it lead to Modi fleeing back to Æsir, as a result, Thor beats Modi due to his cowardice leaving Modi vulnerable for Loki for a kill) not because he's the son of Thor?

You're depiction of Járnsaxa is living rent free in my head and she's one of the few Giants (both GOW & Norse Mythos) that I'm really hyperfixated with!

Unfortunately the answers to these questions will spoil some of the events of Brittle Knives so I shan't elaborate. However, I will draw Járnsaxa and bebbie Magni again. As a treat.

[monsterbrush]

Bager you sonofabitch. Alright then.

-

He uncurled his fingers from the bifrost in his hand, feeling his skin peel from every crack and crevice of its shape. He’d gotten it from Forsetti–stolen it more like. Soft shit shouldn’t have flaunted it at dinner if he hadn’t wanted it snatched. Should have flaunted a knife instead when Modi went for him afterwards to take it.

-

Yup lads it's a snippet from Brittle Knives. I'm working on chapter 5 so it doesn't take me eight fucking months this time (I'm sorry).

writing game: post the last line that you wrote and tag someone for every word in the line.

ty @lilas for the tag!! also including @hythlodaes and @impossible-rat-babies for the open tags <:

A quiet, raspy laugh escapes from D’alia as she draws back, though her hand lingers on his shoulder.

tagging: @scionshtola @coldshrugs @birues @oschonseleven @galadae @narrativefoiltrope @dancefevr @ghostwise @queenofthieves @ghoulsbeard @afragileflame @necromeowncy @iron-sparrow @morocosmos @oh-yeah-no @sealrock @larchelle-ffxiv @aphoticfairy

[monsterbrush]

Hi! Hope you don’t mind, I just wanted to say, I’ve been loving reading brittle knives!

You do such an outstanding job at breathing life into those characters, I don’t think I’ve ever felt so immersed and engaged reading something, it’s genuinely such a beautiful story so far.

I hope you keep updating it but I fully understand if you don’t, and I’d love to help in anyway I possibly can if you wish.

Pardon if I’m not able to express my utmost gratitude for your work, English is not my first language and I fondly myself struggling to express myself more often than not.

Anyways, from the bottom of my heart, thank you!

"It hurt a lot."

For real though, thank you so much for this message, it's really really nice to hear you've been enjoying the fanfic so far, feedback on fics from the fans who enjoy it is truly one of the greatest things a writer can get!

I've got most of the plot planned out, but I am the world's slowest writer and the beginning of this year really threw a lot of curveballs at me that I was not expecting, which is also why I haven't been drawing as much sorry guys. Life Finds A Way To Get In The Way.

Regardless, I fully intend to keep plugging along at each chapter and I really hope I do not take as long with chapter five. Thanks for being patient and sticking it out as I work at my usual snail's pace!

Enjoy the long-suffering Magni I pulled from the chapters for this ask, he's definitely not mad.

[monsterbrush]

https://archiveofourown.org/works/53292787/chapters/165379318

I finished this in the throes of my illness. I think it is Quite Good.

it's Brittle Knives chapter 4 babey!!!

[monsterbrush]

//you're the bestest, Cha! take care of yourself ❤️

Thanks, I've not been. 👍

I have since taken Cold Medicine and I am tolerating the use of tissues.

[monsterbrush]

worlds slowest fanfic author tries really really hard

[monsterbrush]

WIP WHURSDAY

Thanks for tagging me @fumbling-flower ! Yeah I'm way late responding to this. Had unexpected stressors that kinda put a headstone over writing for a hot minute. I tag @monsterbrush and @ghostkingart because I can't remember who else writes ATM.

This isn't the usual fare on this blog, it's a little crack fic for some extended family of a bunch of D&D characters belonging to @monsterbrush and I. Arlo, Byron and Badulf are theirs, Nameless Child, Thulgethra (A Lich and Stryag), Lady In Dark Robes and Teroth (If he's mentioned) are mine.

My homebrew campaigns have their own eldritch horrors (Stryags) who originally hail from an immaterial plane. Horrific thought colossi that have to be hosted by a flesh form to exist in this plane and reproduce by combining consciousness and leaving one of the parents to host the new thought being in their… Brain. Thoughts. Consciousness. There's an entire process.

Anyway, it's not BG3 related. Sorry. Enjoy I guess?

Titled: Newborn

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The sound woke him with a quake of this entire awful body. The long, miserable groan which abruptly broke apart into sobs. He'd never heard it from so far away before.

Oh no, what happened? Why am I so far away?

Something had his legs. He kicked on reflex, and promptly startled at the blanket falling with a muffled, soft noise.

Why would that be there? Why would I be here?

He pushed himself upright, looking at what was under him. Cushions. A pillow with a damp spot in the middle. Badulf wakes up like this.

Did I…

A sharper sob rose above the others, and the boy half curled on the couch froze to listen.

I shouldn't have left.

The chill of the hardwood floor bit the soft soles of his feet, even through a borrowed pair of socks. He was cold, but didn't think to gather the blanket around his shoulders. He curled his hands under each elbow and crept toward the wall, where the floorboards creaked less. He began his way to Badulf, toward his convalescent quarters.

Damn that Byron man, luring him out with food, asking him too many questions. Making him nod “Yes” or shake his head “No”. Making him LOOK him in the eyes. He didn't like that. That Byron made him fucking miserable just to look at him, and he couldn't figure why besides the fact that he always made Badulf sad as a Bag Of Drowned Cats.

He missed Teroth without warning just as he reached the door. Teroth was always good at looking after them, although he was also “An insufferable prick stuffed up his own arse,” according to Badulf. Teroth said such weird things about bags. He pushed open the door.

Oh, it was so strange. Seeing him from outside.

I'm here. Thulgethra is gone. I can't tell if it hurts. Does it hurt?

Badulf remained on his side, face turned into the sheet as if to hide it, a pillow crushed in his grip, whole body shaking in an irregular rhythm. The tendon in his neck stuck out, pulled taut by the tight grimace which the boy only spied part of. Badulf didn't respond.

Badulf. I'm sorry. Your eyes… I'm sorry.

The boy’s eye and empty socket watered as he looked on, while Badulf still wept. Why? He stood in the middle of the room now, chest aching and face starting to feel full and wet.

He soon couldn't see, his world a watery blur narrated by the cries of the man he lived in and through for so long. To be miserable with Badulf was only natural.

The boy clenched his teeth at the pain in his throat and scrubbed his palms over his face to clear away the tears. Right, he had to talk. They weren't occupying the same mind anymore. The child's head felt huge and empty and he hated it. That realization only squeezed more mess to clean up from his eye and empty socket.

“EUUGH! What’re you doin’ in here?!”

The boy felt all of himself go rigid and hop a step back at the shout, wet eye popped open wide to assess the danger, even though the sound of Badulf's anger was all too familiar. Normal, even, if it was directed at him. He was safe inside, though, now not so much.

I came. Because you're crying. I came to help you, like I'm supposed to? Like I always do.

Badulf glared incredulously, unhinged, exposed teeth cooling in the air. The child wondered if he meant to attack. Teroth had, with some regret, once spoken of how he violently rejected his… Son. The child didn't like the flipping and flopping in his chest at the concept that it was now his turn.

Badulf's rage fell off him like a discarded coat. Confusion replaced his anger and- now sat up, he reached for the eye which had been replaced and the necrotic socket healed.

“What is… That's… The wrong eye.” Badulf grumbled, touching at the periphery of the eye, as if expecting pain the moment rough fingertips and gnarled fingernails touched it.

The boy had the explanation, and had remembered that he needed to speak in order to tell Badulf that- But how would he start? He didn't like the sound of his own voice either. How do you tell someone that you blinded them, then gave them your own eye? And how do you admit that you don't really understand how you did that?

For now, the child stepped closer. Badulf's panicked confusion called him forward.

Badulf had crumpled around his head on his elbow, bold enough to press his palm over the eye and exploring the scalp which had been affected by the black touch of Thulgethra as well, healed. Healthy. Normal.

He shook his head at Badulf, still unsure what to speak and afraid to make a sound.

Badulf jerked when he began to use the eye to look at his surroundings, back to the interloper who'd crept closer.

“What the fuck are you still doing in here?! And who in the hell are you?!”

Once more, the boy took a step back, this time toward the door. Just in case.

“Are you gonna answer me or are ya’ gonna keep standing there lookin’ like a dummy foal?!” Badulf roared, demanding an answer.

The boy swallowed hard and looked at the wall instead of- it was his own eye which looked back at him so angrily, wasn't it. He had no choice, he had to talk.

“I… don't know.”

“You don't know why you're still in here or you don't know who the hell you are?! And don't you dare say you don't know who you are!”

Well, that left nothing to say, didn't it? His sight warped under a layer of tears again. The boy swiped his palms up his face to clear the salted wetness away again, but now backed toward the door. He couldn't leave, but he couldn't be in here if Badulf didn't want him to be.

A moment of anger overwhelmed him, but the choking silence he couldn't overcome kept the outburst internal.

I didn't ask to BE here you asshole!.... And I don't have anywhere to GO. Don't you recognize me? Would you even want me here if you did?

He backed his way out and concealed himself on the other side of the wall. Then sat. Because where else was there to go? Nowhere, for now.

Badulf's reaction to the moment of realization, when the shared conciseness cracked and they became aware that they were separate entities: “How do I get rid of it?”.

It was unclear if that desire had ever changed. They figured out how to exist in his head at the same time, but Badulf's intention to find a way to excise his passenger -him: The Parasite- had been the reason to find Teregetra. If anyone would know how, it was him. After Teroth was killed, it was never brought up again.

Got what he needed, didn't he?

That left the horror of figuring out where to go now. By himself. Dragging the metaphorical umbilical cord behind him. He wasn't sure what he expected. To keep trying to get Badulf to care for himself? Maybe.

He had to leave. He didn't even have shoes.

I made these bodies. Maybe I can make clothes?

He looked at his hands, but they were just warping blurs under his wet face. The sound of men arguing somewhere in the maze of the Arkwright Estate brought the boy to attention, sat straight and neck craned to listen.

“I don't care what you do! Drug it! Remove it from the premises? Kill it! Just Shut. It. Up!”

“It? IT?! He is a child!”

“IT is a neonate thought colossus, squalling for a tit, after ATTACKING the tit. IT DOES NOT BELONG HERE. IT DOESN'T EVEN BELONG ON THIS PLANE. If you insist on sheltering IT then you must keep IT quiet! Or I'll quiet IT for you! Permanently!”

“You will do NO such thing, Arlo. Leave it. I'll sort it. Not a finger.” Byron sounded off like rolling thunder in the distance.

The boy covered his ears and balled himself up tightly. He was frightened, he felt sick, and hopelessly unable to do anything about it.

The floor under him shivered, thunk, thunk, thunk, harsher and more violently until. Something is getting closer. But it stopped, and that's when the child jerked with realization as his eyes snapped open. Big boots.

Far above those boots, the brown eyes which sadden him without explanation set in a severe glower. Lord Byron looked angry.

The boy averted his gaze and prepared himself to be accosted, moved somewhere, or told to do something. Nothing happened, he watched those boots step softly around him as Byron entered Badulf's convalescent room.

There was a sigh, but he couldn't tell if it was from a place of relief of aggravation until Byron spoke. “Badulf,”

Relief.

The child's ears were pulsing and his skin was cold under his layers. He didn't hear much more than a murmured word or two between his shivers until the voices rose.

Now the aggravation.

“One of your crotch goblins was in here.”

“You- does that look like mine?! He's yours… get up, get out of that bloody bed you dumb sonofa bitch!”

There were the sounds of a struggle, a thick palm striking flesh, and the boy began to haul himself to his feet to slink away. There was some innate awareness of his own fragility. Those men were both much bigger. Age as well as size had blessed strength upon them whereas this newly made body was soft, hard to control, and as vulnerable as a dummy foal just as Badulf had described at first look. He wouldn't survive accidentally becoming involved in whatever fight they were about to have.

A gargantuan hand seizing him under the right arm aborted his escape and forced the held breath from his mouth in a dry gasp.

“Turn around, boy!” Byron demanded, not in a shout but obedience still came with a flinch.

Next his jaw was captured and he was made to look at these men. Badulf was forced to lean close because the other enormous hand was a fist clenched in the collar of his long rest garment.

“Whose face is this?! Hm?!” Byron ground out.

Ranulf looked at the wall and tried to just hold still, but was still forced to dance awkwardly on his toes at being caught like this. He couldn't figure out what to do with his hands. They balled themselves up close to the thundering drum in his chest.

Don't hurt me… Please… Don't.

“A Stryag came outta my face.”

“That came out of your face.”

“...shit. how-”

“The study. Now Badulf.”

—ten minutes later—

“Thulgethra-”

“Lich fucked off.”

“...I thought so.”

“Boy of yours sent him packing.”

Badulf looked at him again, then. The eye to eye contact was weighted by hesitation. It was only occasionally that Badulf looked at him directly like this and usually with his lips sagging down at the corners. Byron kept referring to him as Badulf's boy, which the boy thought was- interesting? Odd. Meant something or other.

It felt like: subtext was constantly being spoon fed when he was still inside Badulf, but now cut off from his thoughts and feelings, he lacked the wisdom to interpret certain things said around him. It felt like bits and pieces were missing, and the fog in his independent mind was thick.

He wanted to get closer, but he was on a low ottoman and Badulf on the cushioned bench.

Byron pushed a bowl of nuts across the surface of the table at him. It was a mix, but there were hooked shapes among the whites and browns and golden colors. These are the kind Badulf loved, but they were hard to find and expensive. If they were salted… He took two and the taste spread over his tongue blissfully. Cashews!

The bowl of nuts was barren of cashews much faster than expected. He began to pick about for the roasted peanuts.

“...Hmm.” Byron drew his attention with a noise and lifted a brow. “You like cashews, hm?”

Badulf likes them, but he guessed that meant he liked them too. He nodded after a moment.

“Junior doesn't talk, far as I can tell. Can get a nod out of him once in a while. He listens well enough so I'm pretty sure he understands everything you say to him.” Byron commented.

“He talks. He said… something when he wandered into my room.” Badulf corrected.

“His room too, Badulf. Had another cot dragged in there. Not that he's been in it.”

“How long was I out?”

“Two days. He slept two hours. Mostly sat there staring at you.” the Lord answered Badulf. This was intel exchange.

Badulf grimaced, so the boy, or junior, or whoever he was supposed to be looked away. He hadn't known what else to do but sit and wait for Badulf. Maybe that was wrong? But what else was he to do? Nothing.

“Doesn't need as much sleep?” Badulf asked.

“Don't know. Can't tell. He's in shock.”

“-The fuck makes you so sure? These things are supposed to be gods, what the hell would he be in shock for?” Badulf snapped. He's irritable.

The child found it frustrating that he couldn't feel why Badulf was irritated.

“That's not a god, he's a boy. And I know Because I'm the fucking expert on screwing up with a ten year old.” Byron growled back.

He squirmed. It was different being outside by himself when people were agitated. Exposed, within reach, breakable.

The nice lady in dark robes with unsteady hands stepped in then, holding a smooth slab of polished granite with something that left a savory fragrance as she passed. She helped him with breakfast, and shivered through helping to comb his hair before that.

On the table the slab went. Dark red filleted snacking meats, light yellow cheese cubes, and a curious glob of white with a spreading knife stuck in it. Oh, and a green thing cut in wedges.

Next the decanter. That is dwarven whiskey. Pungent, awful stuff. The boy winced at the mere anticipation of the smell. Byron took the crystal bottle and a pair of short glasses from the lady and she then left… He swore. The door had neither opened or closed as she came and went.

He looked behind himself and about the room to find her, but she was gone as if she'd never been there at all. How. Weird.

“You have no right to lecture me. None.” Badulf rumbled.

“You're my accomplice. Yes I do.” Byron asserted while taking a thick stack of the sliced meats and consuming two at once folded in half.

Badulf took a cube of cheese and inspected it -or pretended to- while he reached a little too casually toward the decanter between him and Byron. The lord deftly slid the crystal full of disturbingly dark fluid out of the others reach.

Byron's glass was poured, then he leveled a stern glare at Badulf and poured only half as much in the second glass.

The child's mouth watered but not in a pleasant way. Nausea twisted in his gut in misplaced anticipation of the taste of the harsh brew, so he looked back to the slab of snacking foods. He took one of the little green wedges and turned it over between his fingers. He liked the color and the fragrance was nice.

“I want answers, Badulf.” Byron grumbled, but somehow gently.

“I don't know what else to tell you that you haven't already seen,”

The men talking faded into the distance in the boy's mind. Biting into the wedge yielded an odd reaction. It felt like everything in his face locked up and tensed against the taste. Sour sour sour sour. His eye and mouth watered.

When he could open his eye once more, he caught sight of Byron's huge hand seizing two of the green wedges. He carelessly tossed one into Badulf's glass, crushed his own against the rim of his glass, then cleaned the flesh from the rind with his teeth in one smooth move.

Maybe, I'm eating it wrong. The boy considered, then tried to imitate the elder across from him. He barely swallowed the fruit flesh. Long before he could open his eye again, he heard unfamiliar laughter booming.

“That's an acquired taste, Boy. Try this instead.” Bryon chortled.

A slice of the snack meats was placed before him, wrapped around a glob of the white stuff. It was savory and soft inside. That tasted somewhat familiar. He soon began rolling up the white glop in the meats himself, only catching bits and pieces of the conversation.

Much like the cashews, the snack meats vanished quickly too.

Lord Byron and Badulf were talking about the How and Why and When. Ranulf only knew about as much as Badulf did so said nothing. Some things weren't intrinsic, so he couldn't speak on how exactly he was created out of Badulf's thoughts and Thulgethra's profane intentions.

The glitter of something to The right caught the boy’s eye. Right, something shining. The desire to turn and see was not new, but turning to look automatically was. He never got to choose what was looked at when he was tucked away safe in Badulf's skull. He felt dumbstruck for a moment where he was, automatically faced toward the pot plant by the window to see a spider trapezing between two fan shaped leaves on glittering lines of silk. Round and round she went, delicately manipulating the threads… His eyelid began to disagree with him as he watched, it slid heavily over his eye.

[monsterbrush]

WIP Whursday

I got got by @bolognamayhem117. You bastard. And now I must pick from my towering pile of unfinished drabbles, drafts, snippets, and trash. In retribution, I tag @sylphidine cuz I KNOW they got oodles of WIPs. I can feel it. In my belly.

My WIP comes straight from one of several Brittle Knives documents. A fic which I have not updated for a hot minute, true to my form, and the WIP is in unsatisfying pieces. This particular document is titled Sick Magni WIP. Extrapolate from that what you will.

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“Is that… Modi?” Atreus whispered in disbelief, barely audible over the constant howl of icy gales that cut through their wildwoods. He almost mistook the lumbering silhouette for a common raider passing by, but no, underneath the frost caked furs and trappings Atreus recognized the tattooed chest and reddish head of hair being whipped back and forth by the storm.

Father’s hand landed on his shoulder, wordlessly pressing him into the snow. 

“He’s taking our deer!” Atreus protested, watching Modi approach their fallen quarry. 

“Quiet,” father warned, crouching behind him with the crunch of ice under his boots.  Atreus sank obediently and took care to keep his voice low as he watched Modi stoop over their dinner, rummaging for several moments. When he straightened all he held was the arrow that killed it, fletching twirling between his thumb and fingertip. Then, like he'd been burned by it, he dropped the arrow and lurched away, spinning on his heel and tromping back the way he'd come, leaving the deer untouched. 

“Do you think he saw us?” Atreus whispered, waiting for his slouching silhouette to vanish into the flurries. Father withdrew his hand from Atreus’ back and shook snow from his shoulders, carrying on towards the deer. Atreus followed close behind to take advantage of the path his father plowed with every step.

“He knows we are here.”

“Why’s he here? I would have thought he’d be back at Asgard by now.” 

“Stranded by Fimbulwinter,” father remarked, then paused. “... or a spy.” Atreus’ arrow was passed back to him as father bent to retrieve their kill. Modi had dropped it at his feet before he ran. Hefting the deer higher on his shoulders, father turned to regard the tracks Modi had left in his wake. 

“We’re going to follow him?” Atreus asked as father took the first step into Modi’s footprints. 

“He did not see us. But still, he ran. I do not think he is Odin’s choice for a spy,” father told him. 

“Come on Magni, we have to move.” Modi scrabbled at Magni's wrist on the good arm with shaking fingers, hauling on it. His brother’s skin was cold, the fire Modi had built beside him was just smoldering ash, as Magni hadn’t woken up to stoke it in Modi's absence. Modi had piled every errant scrap of fur he could salvage into Magni's bedding when he'd gone out and now he swept it all aside and swatted at his brother's unmolested right side with his free hand when he did not wake, wrinkling his nose at the fouled stench of the wrappings that wafted from beneath the layers. Should've changed the bandages sooner.

“I know you're still breathing, get up!” Modi spat through gritted teeth. He could tell because every breath Magni took came with an obnoxious rattle that set Modi's teeth on edge, but his brother's eyes remained closed. More than that, frost had collected on Magni's hair and eyelashes in the time Modi had been gone, turning them white as a stoat’s winter fur. His eyelids fluttered as Modi pulled him upright, his head falling forward as though it were no longer attached by meat and bone. Modi caught his chin on his shoulder and he heard Magni’s teeth rattle beside his ear on impact. That woke him. 

“Why?” he groaned, twitching awake. 

“Shut it, we’re moving,” Modi repeated, adjusting his grip on Magni’s good arm, ready to hoist it over his shoulders. Magni fought against the movement, struggling groggily in Modi's grasp.

Where would they go next? Back to the temple? Modi mapped the journey in his mind, retracing the steps they’d taken days before. That had been when Magni was walking on his own, but Magni had barely been able to walk outside to piss that morning, the trek back to the lakeside was too far now, and the opportunities for hunting that way were slim to none with all the raiders and draugr. Further inland–

Magni tensed against his shoulder and brought his hands up fast between them, seizing him by the fur of his cloak with unexpected force. Modi twisted to look back over his shoulder and felt his stomach drop. 

The stranger stood in the entrance to the cave, blocking their escape. Skittering around behind him was the halfbreed runt, bow drawn, arrow nocked.

[monsterbrush]

He's totally fine. Definitely stuck that landing.