#birgir is so calm

[bladesofkyber]

why is everyone simping over heimdall when birgir is Right There

[something-in-the-seas]

McDonald’s/Modern AU Part 1

You all really love this AU lmao so here’s more:

Heimdall is definitely that manager who talks a lot of shit and bitches about people underperforming and then does nothing. He’ll also usually stand around on his phone all day.

No one likes Heimdall, but no one hates Heimdall more than Heimdall hates Heimdall. There are times where he’ll go to the bathroom and cry when he thinks no one will hear him. Of course, whenever he tries to do this, Freyr hotboxes the bathroom.

Thrúd and Atreus are on vomit and pee-pee clean-up duty at the PlayPlace. Skjöldr and Angrboda are on bathroom duty. Skjöldr takes one little sniff in the men’s bathroom after Freyr hotboxes it and thinks he’s high. He later is on the drive-thru doing Kratos’ order and it’s a disaster.

Freya always orders a breakfast sandwich and a black coffee before heading to work (she’s a vet). She always without fail proceeds to tell Atreus that she knows it’s bad for her but she needs her caffeine. On Saturdays, though, her five-year-old grandson Forseti will be in the car and he must have a hash brown.

Baldur and Freya are estranged, though the birth of Forseti has kinda brought them back together. Baldur orders the same black coffee she always gets whenever he comes by.

Thrúd is seventeen, Atreus and Angrboda are fifteen, and Skjöldr is sixteen. Heimdall is, like, in his early twenties.

Atreus was home-schooled by Faye for the first ten-years of his life due to being a sickly child. He wasn’t the most popular kid in school, but the teachers always praised him for being a smart, respectful student. He graduates middle-school with full honors. Kratos has his report cards hanging up on the fridge with magnets.

Atreus is also a theatre kid. He stumbled into an audition accidentally and got the starring role as Romeo. He meets Angrboda through theatre as she’s on the art team and paints the sets.

Heimdall finds out about this and, of course, is like “okay well I played the best Romeo that school has ever seen so-“ and Atreus is like “okay well I don’t care-“

The only ones who laugh at Angrboda’s puns are Atreus, Freyr, and Kratos. She’s on the drive-thru, Birgir and Freyr pull up, and she goes “does Birgir want a burger?” Freyr thinks it’s the funniest shit in the world and laughs so hard he cries. Freyr and Birgir are the “he wants to order meme” incarnate.

Zeus shows up in the drive-thru with a different woman in the passenger seat each time. Atreus doesn’t really think that much about it until he accidentally reveals that information at a rare Olympus family reunion. He and Kratos awkwardly leave as Hera fucking loses it.

Hephaestus is, like, the only Olympian Kratos still talks to. Pandora sometimes stays with them during the summer.

The Olympians are corporate assholes and Kratos tanked their company. They’re back, though, sadly… they merged with some Italian corporation. Cousin Helios lost his job in the merger to Kratos’ brother Apollo, though, and he lives with them for now. Mimir fucking hates sharing the basement with him.

Helios was a classist asshole but he’s so depressed after losing his job that it’s kinda sad to watch. However, he calms down considerably after hotboxing the McDonald’s bathroom with Freyr. It is a life changing experience for him.

Brok always just shares the weirdest, vilest stories to Heimdall while waiting in the drive-thru. Heimdall is fucking baffled by this man.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

By the king’s hand 🐍 XVI

Warnings: noncon/rape, violence/death, trauma, allusions to torture.

This is dark!fic and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: The king proves himself and the reader must accept her fate.

Note: Welcome back, King Loki. Y’all better be ready because our little mouse will never stop suffering.

Thank you. Love you guys!

As always, if you can, please leave some feedback, like and reblog <3

You felt like you were suffocating, slowly under a heap of rocks. Your return to the palace was a blur. You barely recalled the ride in the carriage or the flights of stairs between you and the chambers. 

You were entirely consumed by your memories and their voices; Magnus, broken before the court, confessing his crimes. Thor, angry and brutal as ever, shouting back at the people as they cried out at their traitorous prince. Neither gave you peace; they were only trapped animals waiting to break free and lash out again.

Hal was a spot in your vision. His voice tickled your ears but you couldn’t answer him as you laid across the bed, clutching a pillow as you rocked frantically. As you calmed, spent from your fit, you rested on your side and quivered every now and then. The sobs would not come, only rattling breaths that seized your whole body.

Time slaked away like layers of ice melting into a puddle. The curtains were drawn back and revealed the shift of sunlight. A pale grey darkened to a dull slate and cast shadows around you, looming over you like the monsters in your mind.

You flinched as you heard the door, the hinges creaked and your fingers sank deep into the feather pillow. Hal greeted the king and firm footsteps marched across the floorboards. Loki’s figure appeared at the edge of your sight as you laid with your back to the hearth. He sighed as he came up behind you and sat on the edge of the mattress.

“You left rather suddenly,” he said as his hand settled on your side. You winced and hugged the pillow tighter. You hid your face against it, the feathers poking through and causing your cheeks to itch. “Mouse…”

You whimpered and curled your legs up. What had this man done to you that was any different than those two savages? You still bore the scars of his switch across your back and your only shield was the life growing in your stomach. It was him who had brought you to this; who had sentenced you to live as a piece of a flesh; who had exposed you to the barbarity of his kin and kith.

“Why?” You asked softly as you turned your head against the pillow.

“I thought… I thought you would want to see vengeance done.” He said sternly. “To see that I’ve brought those beasts to justice.”

You sniffed and shook your head. “I never wanted to see them again… I…” You shrugged and exhaled weakly. 

“I did it for you, Mouse. I dragged that animal, Magnus, down to my dungeons and cut his flesh until he did confess. I watched his blood weep from his flesh and reminded him of what he'd done to you. I made him tremble at my hands. For you.” He sneered. “I’d do it again.”

“You did it for you. For your pride.” You uttered. “You’ve never done anything for me or any other. It is all for you. They humiliated you, took your plaything, kept from you your pleasures. It isn’t about me, it is about what I can do for you.” You wiggled away from his touch, “Do not lie to me, it not only makes me a fool, but you as well.”

“Do not presume to know my will,” he snarled, “Do not talk to me as if I am your subject and not the other way around. And look at me--” He grabbed your chin and forced you onto your back, “When you speak to me, mouse.”

You blinked as a lump lodged in your throat and let the pillow fall away from you. You braced yourself for what he would do next. You remembered the noise of the hinges, the heavy footsteps, the metal against your wrists, the stony touch of loveless beings, the violent claims to your body. 

You grabbed the king’s arm and began to flail. “No, no, no,” You exclaimed, “Please--”

“Gods,” Loki said in exasperation, “Hal! Hal!” You heard softer soles on the boards, “Fetch Birger. Now.”

Loki wriggled his arm from your grasp and grabbed your shoulders. He pinned you down as you kicked out and clawed at the air. “Mouse, shhhh. Mouse!”

“No! No! No!” Your hand flew up and struck Loki’s jaw. He grunted and shook away the jolt.

He struggled with you until the door sounded again and there was a clatter of footsteps across the front chamber. Loki climbed over you as the physician appeared and touched your forehead.

“I don’t know what has come over her.” Loki said, “She has these… episodes.”

“Ah, well she is with child and only just returned from an immense situation. Her nerves are split.” Birgir rubbed your cheek calmingly, “Dear, tell me five things you can see.”

“No, no, no,” you chanted.

“Five things, dear. Five things you can see.” He urged.

“The-- The bedpost…” You wisped, “Y-Your cap… Hal… The ceiling… A chair…”

“Very well, dear, and five thing, “Three things you can feel.”

“Y-Y-Your hand,” you touched the back of his hand, “The bed…” Your eyes flicked back and forth, “The fire.”

“Great, great,” he took your hand gently, “One thing you can smell.”

“The wood. Burning wood.” You gulped.

Birger nodded and smiled at you gently. “Hal, my boy, bring my chest.”

“What is wrong with her?” The king knelt on the mattress beside you.

“I told you. It is stress.” Birger said staunchly and squinted at the king, “Have you…”

“Not in the last days.” Loki admitted.

“But since her return?” The physician prodded. The king rolled his eyes and glanced away tellingly. “And you expect you to be as she was after all that? Do you even know all that happened to her?”

“She does not speak of it.” The king huffed.

“And why should she? To you?”

“You tread a dangerous path, Birger,” Loki warned.

Birger tutted and caressed the back of your hand. “Alright, I’ll do what I can.”

“You have something which can restrain her,” Loki said, “That can calm her.”

“As her condition stands, not much.” Birger stood as Hal approached with his chest, “It is better if she is kept calm. You can burn lavender--”

“No, you will sedate her so she will sleep,” Loki ordered, “I’ve pressing matters and little energy or time for this nonsense.”

“With respect, your majesty, this nonsense is as much to do with you as it is your brother or his accomplice,” Birger insisted, “It will persist.”

“So be it,” Loki pushed himself off the bed, “Find one of your vials and do your duty. She needs sleep, not quackery.” Birger let out a long breath and tapped his fingers on the lip of the chest. “Well, you’ve something else to say?” The king challenged.

“No, your majesty,” Birger looked into his chest and stirred through the contents, “Boy, bring some milk for the woman.”

Your body was limp across the bed, suddenly without strength as you listened to the argument. It was your fault. All of it. If you could just control yourself. If you weren’t so weak and stupid.

“When you finish, you will go.” Loki neared the door. “And do not bother me on your exit.”

The king disappeared through the doorway and you looked up at Birger as he pulled out a glass vial. You saw the irritation on his face.

“I’m sorry,” you said quietly.

“Why?” He asked bluntly, “You’ve nothing to be sorry for.”

You clamped your lips shut and stared at the top of the bedpost. Hal returned and handed a cup of milk to Birger. The physician mixed in drops of the tincture and sat to hand it to you. You pushed yourself up and took it from him.

“Perhaps it is better you sleep for a time,” Birger said. “Are you eating well?”

“Yes, a lot,” you assured him and sipped the thick milk.

“Well, you make sure you keep on. Rest as much as you can.” He looked to Hal, “See if the boy is permitted to take you on walks. You must keep active as you can.”

You nodded and swallowed the milk tainted with the odd flavour of the medicine.

“Is the king rough with you? As he was before?”

You shook your head as you offered the empty cup. “Not since…” You nodded to your stomach.

“Good, good,” Birger set the cup aside and packed up his chest. “Take care, dear. I will be look in as I can.” He hauled his chest up and clapped Hal’s shoulder, “And boy, you will keep her well in my absence.”

“On my honour,” Hal promised and followed the physician to the door.

You felt heavy as you laid back and listened to Birger’s departure. The king was just in the next chamber and you heard the flutter of pages. Hal’s figure lingered as your eyelids shut and you sank down into the abyss. You were smothered by a sleep deeper than any you’d known in months.

🐍

You weren’t certain how long you slept. You woke in a fog. It was dark but for the glow of the fire and the shapes around you, the furniture shroud in grey, seemed distant and yet close. You felt light and airy and your body felt detached from your thoughts.

You lifted your head and peered around, trying to focus on the chair before the hearth. A wraith sat in it and as you sat up, you realised it was the king. You giggled and let the blankets fall away from your shoulders. He glanced over at you and tilted his head as the firelight limned his features.

“Mouse?” He said quizzically.

“Looookiiiii,” you sang as you turned your legs over the edge. He was visibly aghast at your use of his name. You only laughed again as you stood and wobbled. “Such an odd name.”

“Is it?” He lowered his brows and carefully stood to face you, “You should stay, mouse.”

“No, I’m not tired,” you argued and gave a long yawn. “I feel alive!”

“You can barely stay on your feet,” he rushed forward as you stumbled and caught you. “Come on, to bed with you.”

“Wouldn’t you like that!” You snapped and wriggled in his grasp. “But I’m hungry.”

“You’re deluded,” he rebuked.

You laughed and continued to struggle with him. “I’m perfectly well,” you slapped his chest, “I’m just…” You looked down as your stomach brushed against him and your mouth fell open. “Oh, gods…” You rubbed your middle, “I’ve already eaten too much!”

“No, mouse,” you heard a sliver of amusement in his tone, “You… you are just fine.”

“I’m fat!” You pouted and glared up at him. “Why am I so fat?”

He barely withheld a snicker and took your hand daintily. “I have some biscuits. Would you like one?”

“I couldn’t…” You shook your head as you felt your stomach. “I’m already-- but I am hungry. Just one, just one.”

“Well, you must sit if you want one,” he chided. “Understood, mouse?”

“Mouse! Mouse!” You mocked. “I hate that name. I am not a mouse.”

“Alright,” he nudged you back to the bed and you sat heavily, “Then what are you?”

“Hungry. I told you.” You crossed your arms. “Who are you?”

He grinned and looked around as if confused. “It is me, Loki.”

“Your nose is big,” you said sharply. 

“Thank you,” he said rigidly. “Just wait here.”

He left you and returned with a small box. He took out a biscuit with currants baked into it and held it out. He set the box aside and sat beside you as you eyed the treat.

“What is it?”

“It’s a biscuit,” he said curtly. “Like I said.”

“Sure, sure,” you smelled it and cautiously took a bite, “Suppose it tastes like a biscuit.”

He was quiet. You flinched as you felt his hand on your back suddenly. He rubbed a circle there as you chewed and you clapped the crumbs from your hands as you finished.

“Good?” He asked.

“I told you,” you grabbed his arm and shoved it away. “No.”

He dropped his arm and nodded. He watched you as you balled your hands in fists. You stood and stomped like a child around the room.

“As good as it feels, no, no, no!” You swept your finger through the air. “But perhaps…” You stopped and thought for a moment, “No! No!” You sneered at him. “I don’t want your royal cock tonight, sir!”

At last he chuckled and you were startled by the noise. His features contorted in his mirth and you watched him with wide eyes. He stood and neared you slowly. He reached out tentatively and touched your arms.

“Fine. Not tonight.” He assured you. “But you must lay back down.”

“Why?” You quivered and looked at your body again, “Are my legs broken?”

He smirked and shook his head. “No, because it is the middle of the night.”

You frowned. “Oh.”

“So, bed?” He asked.

“Wait!” You stopped him.

“What is it now?” He sniffed.

“I don’t know,” you shrugged. 

“Right,” he said and calmly led you back to the bed. “Time to sleep, mouse.”

“Hmmpf,” you grumbled at the pet name and let him lay you across the bed. “I’m not tired.”

“Oh, you’re not?” He taunted as you yawned again into your hand.

“No,” you argued and your eyes closed. “Not at all.”

“Not at all,” he echoed as he pulled the blankets over you.

He sat with you until you drifted off again though you were barely aware of him. You fell back into the warmth of the bed and the haze of your mind. The peculiar scene blending in with your senseless dreams.

���

You awoke facing the king. He slumbered beside you, his pale features unmarred by his waking thoughts. Your head was fuzzy and your limbs heavy. You sat up slowly and wiped the sleep from your eyes. The events of the days before slowly came back to you but did not hit you with the same force. You were anxious to think of Thor and Magnus but not terrified.

Loki groaned and reached out to touch your leg, as if assuring himself of your presence, as he stirred. You watched his long fingers as he squeezed you through the blankets and opened his eyes.

“Mouse,” he voice was hoarse as he retracted his hand and swept his dark hair back. “Is there something the matter?”

You shook your head and looked around. You didn’t like how comfortable you felt. You recalled his callous words the day before during your panic and all those times before he had been unkind. How could he sleep beside you as he would a wife? A wife…

You turned your back to him and evaded his reach again as you stood. You hugged yourself as you neared the dwindling fire and shivered. You heard the mattress move beneath him but he did not rise. You looked to the ceiling as you tried to clear your thoughts.

“Why won’t you give me an answer?” You asked.

“Excuse me?”

“What is to become of me when your wife is here?” You spun back to face him. He sprawled across the mattress as his shoulders and chest were bare above them. “I know this… will change. And I know once this babe is born, you will be done with me or cruel as you were before.”

His face darkened but he made no move to rise. He exhaled, a low growl, and rubbed his forehead.

“I needn’t tell you anything more than you need to know.” He sneered. “I will do whatever is best at the time.”

You gritted your teeth in frustration. You hated his riddles. You weren’t going to get an answer.

“My wife will do whatever I wish of her. And when I have a child on her, then you and the bastard will be of little bother.” He uttered. “And when you are ready, you will return to your original duty.”

Your chest knotted and your stomach grumbled painfully. Your anxiety mixed with your hunger and made your core a pit.

“And the child? I am to carry it to some unknown fate?”

“My child. I shall keep it safe.”

“And me?”

“You are its mother. But you are mine, first and foremost.” He bent his arms behind his head. “You will serve me before the child.”

You scowled in disgust but said nothing. He watched you and slipped his hand beneath the blankets.

“I will have a nursemaid for you. You needn’t worry for the child’s health.” He cooed.

“And my own? Do you care?”

He scoffed. “I’ve provided you with shelter, with sustenance, with a physician for your ailments. I’ve seen you well and I ask little in return.” He declared. “Remind yourself again that you are not my wife.”

“Yes, I am your whore. I am aware.” You hissed. “But you do seem to forget yourself.”

“I forget myself?” He sat up. “Oh, let us put things straight.”

You staggered backwards as he was off the bed in an instant. He seized your arm and you struggled with him as he tried to drag you back with him. 

“The child!” You cried.

“Will be well,” he snarled as he grabbed a hank of your hair and twisted your neck painfully. “Come on, mouse, you want things to be as they were.”

“Stop! I only--”

He sat and you lurched against him. He pushed you back and forced you down to your knees and drew you between his own. His cock twitched and hardened slowly as he clung to you. You pushed on his thighs and wrestled with him as he gripped your jaw.

“My patience for you is spent,” he spat as he shoved your head into his lap. “Open up, whore.”

“Please--”

“Let me give you your answer.” He bit out. “When you have born my bastard, I will use those parts of you unruined by its passage.” He squeezed until you gasped and forced his tip into your mouth. “I shall have my wife’s cunt and your mouth.”

You gurgled as he pushed against the back of your throat and slid down it. You gagged and he pulled you back. 

“Breathe,” he warned, “You don’t want to hurt the child.”

He forced you back down and you clawed at his sides. He moved your head steadily, up and down his length until he was entirely hard. You were dizzy and helpless against him. His groans and grunts added to the noise of you in his mouth and he clutched your head tighter.

He fucked your mouth until you were gasping and gulping around him. He wrenched you off of him suddenly and stroked himself to his climax, his seed stringing across your face. He released you and you fell back in a heap. He stood and stepped around you without concern.

“That is what you will be. Always.” He barked as he crossed the room. “Mine. To do with as I please.”

🐍

The days that followed were frigid and fraught. You could not forget that morning as the king’s former disposition returned fully. He left you in the morning without disturbance and you bided the hours silently, barely aware of Hal as he tried to cheer you. When Loki returned, the boy was sent away. He didn’t speak, only sat and stewed in whatever blight had angered him that day.

And when he wanted you, he had you. Hand, mouth, or cunt. You bore it and hid yourself under the covers when it was done. 

Another week gone and Hal announced that the verdict had been dealt. Loki hadn’t said and you hadn’t dared to ask. You listened as the boy explained how the jury and judges had found Thor guilty and condemned him to death by the sword. Magnus, however, was to be hung like a common criminal.

But that did not mean you would be without a villain. Loki’s moods assured you that nothing had changed at all. It assured you that your life would be as it ever was. That the fate he’d promised you down in that dungeon would come to pass. You would never escape him and perhaps, though you’d not realised it, your time with Thor and Magnus could have been your only hope at an eventual end to the agony.

You sat in limbo. You could hardly believe that they would die and yet, you feared the future beyond. For all the certainty of their sentences, yours was still frightfully abstract. You could not decide if you were appeased by their demise or envious of it.

Your inner strife was interrupted as Hal stood suddenly and you turned to watch the door open. The boy bowed to the king as he entered, clothed in fur and his horned crown. You stood and the king looked between the two of you. He raised his chin and looked down his nose.

“Get her a cloak and boots,” he demanded, “You will accompany us to the green.”

“The green? Why--”

“Gird your tongue, woman,” Loki demanded. “Haven’t you asked enough questions?”

Hal glanced at you wistfully but did as he was told. He helped you into the fur-trimmed cloak and you pulled the hood up as he helped you step into the boots and laced them tightly. Hal snatched up his own cap as he followed you and the king into the corridor.

You walked behind Loki and his guards, Hal was at your side and foreboding set deep in your stomach. You could guess at the event on the green though you hoped it wasn’t as you expected.

You came out into the blustery winter light and a crowd gathered around a stage erected over the white yard. Just before the walls of Boulder Tower, housed tight within the borders of the palace, a platform stood awaiting the executioner and his victim. You stopped short and Hal quickly caught your elbow and urged you on. The king peered over his shoulder in a wordless reproach.

The people parted as the monarch approached and you were diverted into the crowd of onlookers by another armored man. You went unnoticed as the king passed to the front of the audience and you stood alone with the steely sentinel.

A hush went over the crowd as the king stood with his head high. The hooded executioner came out onto the stage and waited by the lever. Armor clinked and announced the arrival of the criminal before he appeared. Magnus had only rags wrapped around his feet and shreds of clothing barely hanging from his form.

He twitched nervously but showed little emotion as he was herded up the steps. The hooded man came forward to wrap the noose around his neck and a holy man offered muttered prayers to the condemned.

You froze as you gaped up at the scene. It felt like a horrid nightmare. The prisoner shrugged away the holy man and strained against the rope. He looked across the green and his eyes narrowed at the king stood among the masses.

“Fuck the king!” He shouted and the lever was pulled suddenly.

The heavy body plummeted downward and all could hear the crack of his neck above their gasps. It was a sickly sound that made your legs weak. You saw Hal, close to the king’s shoulder, lower his head and a few onlookers swayed before they fainted. You felt queasy but did not waver.

You only remained as you were as slowly, those who still had sense, roused those in shock and dispersed. Those who had fallen were carried away by their companions and you still did not move. It was only as the king’s figure retreated that you were woken from your trance.

“Shall I have his skull boiled and brought to you?” He asked as he neared with his guards in tow. You shook your head and looked away from him. Your eyes stung. “Do not act as if I’m the same as they were,” he lowered his voice as he leaned in. “They would’ve killed you and the child. Where do you think they were taking you?”

You shivered and pulled your hood low to hide your distress. Loki let out a breath that clouded before him in the cold. Snow crunched as an unseen figure neared and another armoured man came up breathlessly. You peeked from beneath your cloak and king frowned at the guard’s frantic energy.

“What is it now?” He poked the guard’s breastplate harshly.

“Your majesty,” the man caught his breath in rasps, “The prince--”

“What of my brother?” Loki tensed and fidgeted as he glared at the guard.

“He is gone. He has escaped.” The guard announced. “He--”

“What do you mean he is gone?!” Loki seized the guard by the mail that poked up around his cowl. “How could he be gone?”

“It seems there was a plot. Lord Fandral and his ilk--”

“Fuck!” Loki shoved away the man and punched his palm. “Fuck!!!” He shouted and looked around at the liveried guards, “Well, you fools, go find them!”

[writinanon]

Gods and Monsters

I’ve been watching/playing God of War 2018. I love Dad of Boy. It’s great. I never really liked the originals because I didn’t like the very dark tone it took with no only the Mythology but with Kratos. He’s forced to kill/lose everyone he loves and cares for. I like how it’s made him jaded, and you can clearly see how deeply he loves Atreus but he’s almost afraid to care about him. It’s just great. And he’s always been a very loving father because while he was a Spartan he and his wife chose to risk everything for their sickly daughter instead of abandoning her.

Anyway @wafflii has Dakota, who will grow over the course of the story

@yanderedad has Ben, who is the twin Brother of Mercy in this story.

and @azm0n has August, who is still young and growing

  Hope was a land of many Deities, it had started simply as a stopping point between Realms before growing and becoming something more. The blend of different types of Gods was what gave it strength. Those Native to the Lands had been justifiably wary when the First Two came. But the pair had been seeking quiet, solitude, they did not look to take the place of the Native Gods or conquer. They merely wished for a place to rest. Hope acted as a stop, a resting place with few choosing to stay. It wasn’t until much later that the pair would actively seek refuge within the mountains and fields of Hope. So, when the Seeds arrived in the heart of Winter, Hope was expecting them to move on once the heavy snows have passed. But they didn’t. They were like those that didn’t belong in the Valley. They came to take and conquer.

  Ben looked up from his place in the fields with some of his followers. He had been granted the titled of God of Wisdom when the seat was left open. Lately however, his followers were being attacked. Those attacking called his patrons false and claimed him a false idol. They had never been in the area before. Some of his patrons had turned to this new emerging God as they found comfort in his talk of destruction and rebirth. It concerned him that they would seek out such a message but he wouldn’t put it passed this new God to poison the minds of others.

 “Benjamin.” Joseph smiled from his place on the edge of the field. “I wondered if perhaps we might speak? I assure you I do not wish us enemies.” But Ben’s hackles were raised. He was the twin brother of the God of War, he knew when someone intended to harm him. Joseph might not see it as harm, the three Brothers taking to calling themselves the Seeds and Joseph was the Seed of Knowledge, but whatever he planned would hurt Ben. He stood and brushed himself off, his dark auburn hair falling around his ears. Mercy had cut it recently, remarking that it looked better shorter. A few strands fell into his cinnamon colored eyes. Some of his followers looked greatly unsettled.

 “If you wanted to speak, why not seek me in the House?” That was where he spent a good deal of time when not with his Sister or with his followers. He weighed on the laws and rules governing them and their land with Earl, Joey, and a few lesser gods and goddesses of law and morals and ethics. “Why have you come here?” It has been a long time since Ben had been in a fight. Along time since he felt the weight of his spear and shield in his hands. But he felt their press easily. He was sure that Joseph could see their outline. He continued to smile that hollow smile.

 “I simply wished to speak to you, away from those that might seek to influence you against me. I am new.”

 “Then ask for a privet audience.” That clearly bristled Joseph; he was used to his commands being listened to, used to being in charge. “I will ask you to leave at once.” His voice crackled with power and the sky above them churned, threatening to poor rain. Joseph nodded, bowing his head and turned to leave.

 “Very well Benjamin. I shall see you later.” He left turning his back fully to Ben.

 “My Lord?” He looked down at Kim. She was soon to be married and they were looking for the right kinds of flowers to offer blessings. “Is it wise to just let him go?”

 “Perhaps not. But for now, let’s not think of him. Let’s think of you and Nick.” He smiled and she looked worried but nodded slowly.

 “Nick doesn’t like the youngest of them? John. He says he has come to the fields where Dakota and August fly and ‘shows off’. He didn’t make it sound playful.” Nick would be a patron of Dakota is the messenger goddess had patrons or higher standing. Nick had petitioned many times that she should be a Full God but Dakota had not matured enough, had not come into enough power to be a True God yet.

 “I shall speak with Earl, he’ll cool John’s heels. Or he’ll send Joey after him.” The Goddess of Justice and Vindication was not someone to mess with. And she did not appreciate a new ‘law’ god arriving and just taking residence in Hope without even asking permission to stay from the Counsel like all others had.

  News of Jacob Seed’s challenges to the Attendants of the God of War has spread like wild fire. Ben looked in on Eli and Jess, they were healing slowly. The challenge, more like a barely legal assault, has been meant to maim and brutalize, to humiliate, but not to kill. If he killed them, he would be exiled. Or be forced to take their place.

 “I’m gonna stick an arrow through both his eye sockets.” Jess seethed, flinching as she tried to sit up.

 “You’re not going anywhere. The Lord has commanded it.” Eli frowned at her and then looked to Ben. “Don’t let our Lord do anything rash.” As he finished a bell was wrong. It was the one signaling a challenge.

 “The God of Strength has challenged the Hermit God of Healing!” The three looked in horror before Jess pushed herself up.

 “I’m going.” She stated and Ben nodded, lifting her easily.

 “I’m afraid I can’t carry you both.”

 “Hey! Someone need a lift?” Dakota asked as she appeared, swift as the wind. August was on her heels. The Wind God helping to speed up her travels.

 “I’ve been summoned to bare witness.” She murmured tensely.

  The pair stood in the square. Despite the chill of Spring, Jacob as without a shirt and had his large knife in hand. His leather trousers had some stains of blood on them that had darkened to black and his heavy boots seemed to stomp into the ground. His pack of wolves were seated around his siblings.

 “I, the God of Strength, challenge you, the God of Healing in Battle.” Mercy had shifted her cloak to hang behind her as he spoke.

 “I accept your challenge.” She pulled the cloak fully from her shoulders. She wore a black tunic with herbs stitched in red around the collar. They were healing herbs from their Home. The sleeves reached her elbows. Her leather trousers were tucked carefully into her boots and both were lashed with cords. Her Axe rested upon her back gleaming bright in the sun.

 “Birgir, Brother of Bóthildr, you are called to bare witness for her.” Earl called. Ben settled Jess into Mary May’s arms, the mortal baring the weight of the goddess easily, and stepped forward.

 “I agree to bare witness.”

 “Joseph, Brother of Jacob, you are called to bare witness for him.” The Lord of Law and Protection was frowning harshly at the new comers.

 “I agree to bare witness.” Joseph stepped forward as well.

 “Quetzalli, God of Winds, you are called forth to witness and declare the end.” Earl looked to August and she shifted Eli’s weight to Dakota before stepping up to take her place. Her short black hair was ruffled and her eyes turned a bright turquoise before settling back into their deep cocoa color.

 “I will witness and declare the victor.” She said firmly. Ben took Mercy’s cloak and frowned at her in concern but she gave a soft smile.

 “It cannot be denied forever, my Brother.” She mused to him before she stepped forward. The leader of her ‘pride’ of Cougars and Lynx nudged at Ben’s hip and he stepped back. One blue eye and one green eye looked up at him before focusing on her Mistress.

  Mercy had not been called Bóthildr in a long time. The warmth of her True name curled low in her belly and she palmed the handle of her Axe. This would be a short fight.

  Jacob dodged another swing of the Axe, electricity sizzling in the air and causing him to be shocked. He stumbled back. A simple God of Healing, no matter the type of healing, should not have been this strong. She had a few minor nicks in her tunic from where he had managed to graze the clothe with his blade but she remained completely calm.

 “Do tell, Jacob.” Her voice had an odd lilt to it. “Are you even trying to hit me?” He bristled, felt his pack bristle with him. They could no aid him in this challenge. His Judges were unable to be used as the proper tools they were in this provenance. Once he had control of the God of War, he would fix that. And the poor excuses for soldiers. He needed to lure him out though. He hadn’t come when the first two attendants fell, but this one. Oh, he might come out when this one fell.

 “It’s only polite to let a lady have her hits.” He called back and her amusement turned to irritation.

 “Kick his ass Mercy!” The tiny one that John seemed fascinated with called out. The God, Mercy, chuckled and nodded.

 “Yes, I think I shall.” And then the air shifted. It felt like the breath had been pulled from his lungs. The Healing God ceased to be and in her place was a completely different one. “Allow me to correct you upon my Nature, boy. I am Bóthildr, God of War and Healing. I hail from far across the bright ocean. This has become my home. And you shall not take my Throne.” Her eyes shifted from a piercing blue into a blazing vermilion.

  The wounds inflicted by her Axe burned and dug deep. She used both the blade and the hilt, her aggression wouldn’t be satisfied with merely slicing him to ribbons. By the time she had him on his knees he was covered in their color. She scoffed and readied her blade. His head would look nice mounted upon her mantle.

 “Enough!” August called out sharply. “He is beaten. Bóthildr is the victor!” Mercy stilled and looked down at the defeated God of Strength. She leaned closer, letting the blade bite into his neck just slightly.

 “You might have the strength of Youth. But I am Old and Learned. Never challenge me or mine again. Or I will kill you. And your brothers should they attempt to enact revenge for your deserved death.” She pulled back and hooked her Axe onto the mount on her back. Her Brother settled her cloak over her shoulders and she smiled, hand touching his shoulder before settling on the head of Peaches. Her companion gave a warm purr and they walked away. The Gods and people gave her wide birth, she had always been a stranger, a thing to fear, but now they knew she was a Monster. She nodded to the Whitehorse before taking her attendants and leaving.

  August and Dakota followed Ben to Mercy’s cabin. Jerome and Grace the God of Shelter and Written Knowledge and the Goddess of Swift Justice and Vengeance were already there and waiting for them.

 “You could have let her cut his head off.” Grace muttered once they were all settled. Mercy was wrapping bandages around Jess’ thigh.

 “As much as I would have relished in starting a New War it would not have been in Hope’s best interest.” The God admitted. Her eyes had not returned to their usual winter blue, remaining a bright almost pulsing red. She tied off the bandage and moved to look over her ribs.

 “Why didn’t you tell us you were the God of War?” August ignored the jab at her and the disapproval radiating off Grace and Jess. They had both come to hate the God of Strength in their territory but knew that they couldn’t challenge him outright because he was a Strength God and going at him head on was not something they could do.

 “He wouldn’t last a day out in the woods without those beasts of his.” Jess hissed and flinched as Mercy pressed healing magic into the bruises along her lower ribs. “My Lord, really all of this is unnecessary.”

 “Hush and let me do my work.” Mercy murmured, never lifting her eyes from the wounds. Her hands were steady.

 “How are you so calm? And why didn’t you come help Eli and Jess sooner if you’re such a powerful God?” August didn’t like not knowing. She didn’t like to think that she had become attached to something fake.

 “August.” Ben chided her softly.

 “No, it’s fine Brother.” Mercy rose and turned to face August. “Quetzalli, you come from a land of many Gods, your Father is the Great Feathered Serpent. Do you brag of the things you did? Do you recall the path that lead you to coming to Hope?” August felt her throat close. She didn’t like to think on it but she accepted what she had done.

 “I never hid my True Nature.”

 “Nor have I. My secondary Nature is to Heal those in Battle. My Brother and I came here for peace. Long, long ago I was forced to make a decision. I chose a bloody path, I chose a War against my own Kin. All that remain are my attendants and my Brother.”

 “But you’re not that way anymore… Right?” Dakota asked softly. Mercy didn’t look away from August.

 “I am what I am. God of War.” She turned and Jess pushed her towards Eli and she nodded, beginning to attend once again to his wounds.

  Grace looked at the dark forest.

 “They’ll be gunning for her and you. Not that they weren’t already.”

 “John is getting closer and closer to Earl with each passing day. Are you and Joey going to challenge him together?”

 “If it comes to it. I don’t like his oily nature.”

 “Joseph has made plays to speak with me. I believe, especially now, after seeing this minor extent of Lord Mercy’s power that he’ll target more of your Patrons and those of us who have similar but different Nature.” Jerome said with a soft sigh. Ben nodded and looked at the other two Gods.

 “Be safe my friends.” They nodded departing. They were easily surrounded by the large cats that were Mercy’s Animal. One thing was certain, there was going to be a battle for Hope soon. Everyone needed to be ready.

[netherwar-rpg-blog]

Welcome to the Wardens, Emily! Your application for a RANGER OC has been accepted with a Keira Knightley FC.

What a gorgeous app! I was delighted to see that you had clearly embraced the lore of the world so that you could create a story for your character which would be believable in Eldris. We are in great need of a Ranger who is a master of beasts and marksmanship, as they are incomparable fighters in the wilds! Roswitha’s struggles through life - especially with her Dawnish father who is obsessed with trying to learn magic, despite not having the Spark - really makes her traumatic story full of possiblities too for future plots. It was really touching to read the friendship which Roswitha shares with her loyal bear companion; a true sign of a Ranger! I cannot wait to see how they both contribute to the world’s future and if they find the pack they are looking for in the Wardens!

The application can be found under the cut. You have 48 hours to create a roleplay account (cannot be a sideblog) for your character and we will be updating our opening date soon!

O O C - I N F O

Name: Emily

Age: 22

Timezone: PDT (UTC -7)

Activity Level: I’ll try to reply to something at least every day! I’ll be most active Friday-Sunday though.

Extra: Nothing

C H A R A C T E R - I N F O

T H E - B A S I C S

Name: Roswitha Unroh

Occupation: Bounty Hunter (former); Warden

Gender: Cisgender Female

Age: 31

Class: Ranger (Level One)

Beast: Birgir; a large brown bear, with lighter brown fur around his neck and chest. While at his shoulders he’s only 4’ 9” on his hind legs he towers above at over 9’ tall. Generally easy going, he’s reminiscent of a large, lazy dog.

Height: 5’ 5”

Weight: 146 lbs.

Status: Single

Faceclaim: Keira Knightley

C H A R A C T E R - D E T A I L S

Nationality: Siftish

Appearance:

Unassuming in appearance, it’s not until you approach her that you truly realize there’s something almost… feral in the way she moves. Her eyes are a rich brown, like the soil of the earth. But she never meets your gaze for long, her eyes are always darting here and there. Thick brown hair frames her face and hangs past her shoulders, or rather it would if she didn’t keep it tied back in a loose bun. Her hands and feet are calloused from use and have small faint scars all over them. She has a long scar on her left thigh from an arrow trick in her teens that went south. Her right leg is a little stiff from a poorly healed injury. She’s not quite tan, but the smattering of freckles across her shoulders and face show that she’s spent a fair amount of time in the sun. The faint wrinkles beginning to show around her eyes and mouth betray her years as well. Her voice is low and a little rough, like the creaking of trees in the wind. She smells of pine trees and snow.

Personality:

+ Resolute | Some call it determined, others call it stubborn, it all depends on perspective. Whatever you call it, when given a job to do, she will not stop until it is accomplished. When you have only your word, it’s crucial that you complete the task on hand whatever the cost.

+ Observant | She’s not good at implied subtleties or hidden motives when they’re obscured by fancy words. But body language is a quick read for her. A nervous glance, a tensed muscle, nothing escapes her notice. A combination of years of hunting and learning a little about the Game when she was young.

+ Self-reliant | All the years spent living alone in the words have taught Roswitha to be quick-witted and ingenious. She’s determined to have no problem hunting for her own food or building her own shelter. Except for Birgir, she’s only had herself to rely on for most of her life.

– Short-tempered | For one who values quiet and calm so much, this is an unlikely trait. But she’s ill equipped for dealing with people, even more so the greater their differences are, and this can easily result in an mistimed outburst. She’s quick to lose it, but shame usually shuts her up before it escalates too much. It reminds her too much of her father when she acts like that.

– Inhibited | Roswitha’s not comfortable around most folks, especially the Dawnish. She’s well aware of the stigmas against the Rangers and this will frequently color her interactions with more… civilized people. If she had her way she’d avoid townsfolk and live in the forest year round.

– Wary | She fidgets when standing still although you can tell she does her best to repress it. The longer she’s out in the open or surrounded by a large crowd, the more agitated she gets. Being exposed and vulnerable is her least favorite thing. She’s much more at ease with branches overhead or if Birgir is nearby.

C H A R A C T E R - B A C K G R O U N D

History:

Roswitha’s mother was a Siften hunter who lost her right arm during a solo hunting trip in the Farnill Forest. Far from home, injured and ashamed, she got as far as Stonerun before she ran out of money. Unwilling to return to Siften, she got a job as a shelf stocker in a small spellbook shop. As the years passed, she was frequently visited by a young Dawnish man. While not a mage himself, he came from a long line of powerful mages and was dedicated to the study of magics. He hoped to someday master magic through theory alone. Inspired by his dedication, the two eventually wed and Roswitha was born not long after. They were an idyllic family. Until her father’s studies resulted in failure after failure. Until Roswitha would bring another stray creature home. Until her mother tried to be more independant. Their home quickly devolved into a tense and toxic environment, with Roswitha and her mother walking on eggshells to avoid upsetting her father. The situation only worsened once it was discovered that Roswitha was a Ranger. She showed a connection to the Balance that her father envied, and yet it wasn’t even because of the Spark of a Mage. The following weeks led to some of the worse fights Roswitha had ever heard between her parents. It was after a particularly loud fight that her mother burst into Roswitha’s room and scooped her up in her arm. Eyes wide, Roswitha hesitantly reached up to touch the blood running down her mother’s face. Face strained, her mother gave her a smile, “I’m fine, little one, it’s nothing. But we have to leave now.” Roswitha squirmed, trying to look over her mother’s shoulder. “But what about papa?” Her mother tensed before picking up her pace even more. “Papa has to stay here. But we’re going on an adventure, just the two of us. We’re going to mama’s home.” It was a slow journey. Roswitha was still a young child and her mother was avoiding towns as much as possible. Eventually though, they made it to the Siften border without any incident, and then to her mother’s village.

The first few months in the village were a hard transition for Roswitha. She’d frequently get in fights with the other children and would lash out at her mother. It was decided that Roswitha would begin her lessons early in an attempt to divert her aggressions elsewhere. While Roswitha hated the daggers, she had a gift for archery. A sharp eye and a steady hand made for quick learning. The years passed by, and her distressing childhood was starting to fade from her mind. The occasional nightmare was all there was to remind her of what used to be. At the age of fourteen she decided to set off on her own. While she loved the village, the call of the forests and woods was too great to ignore. After packing some provisions and promising to visit when she could, Roswitha headed into the wilds.

She settled into a simple routine, hunting when she needed and helping creatures in distress when she could. One spring some years after leaving her mother’s village, Roswitha was cooking her dinner over the fire when she heard a creature snuffling in the bushes. To her surprise a small brown bear cub emerged. Not leaving her place by the fire she scanned the woods, trying to see where the mother bear was. A whine drew her attention back to the cub who was anxiously pacing on the other side of her fire. “Where’s your mum little one?” she asked, quickly glancing back into the trees before returning her gaze to the cub. Lost. Alone. She’s gone! the little cub bleated out. With a last cautious glance into the woods, Roswitha slowly approached the cub. It gave a squeal and shuffled away until Roswitha reached back and took the meat off of the spit. “Don’t worry little one, I won’t hurt you.” she said as she waved the meat in front of her. The cub paused and turned, its noise in the air. Hungry. it whined. After some shuffling the cub ran up, bit the meat, and ran back into the forest. Roswitha sighed, and went back to her place by the fire. It wasn’t the last time she saw the cub however. It began following her and she would feed it scraps from her dinners. Eventually the cub became a permanent fixture of her camps. “I’m going to call you Birgir now instead of cub. Do you like it?” she asked, looking down at him. Yes. he hummed as he walked alongside her. After a few years Birgir grew to be a full sized bear, but still he chooses to stay with Roswitha.

For most of the year, Roswitha protects the small forests and woods from over hunting by local nobles. It’s rarely an issue in Siften so she and Birger travel south of the Spine Mountains to the Targun and Farnill Forest. As long as the weather’s good, they’re content to stay in the forests. Especially since most towns are wary of letting a large bear walk the streets, even if he is with a Ranger. As winter approaches the pair travel back to Siften so Birgir can hibernate and Roswitha can check in on her mother. For the rest of the season Roswitha will take up residence in a nearby town and make a living from bounty hunting, since few want to wander through the cold and snow, and fewer still choose to brave the ice while tracking escaped criminals. She’ll stick around a single town until spring rolls around and Birger wakes up from hibernation. Then they return to the southern forests of Eldris.

This past year, rumors reached Roswitha as she passed through eastern Dawnstar that her father had remarried and was expecting his second child. The gossipers spoke of how good it was that he was able to be happy after his disastrous first marriage. No man should have to suffer through having his savage wife steal their child away in the night, never to be seen again. With each whispered bit of gossip, a bitter rage long since buried started to boil again. When Roswitha heard that he would be hosting a celebratory hunting party, she knew what she would do. She told Birgir to wait for her in the next town over and contrary to his objections, set out for the forest. Unlike the animals of the woods, who silently travel through hidden paths known only to them, nobles on a hunting party are loud and easy to track. In no time at all she spotted them and nocked an arrow. With the precision only a Ranger can have, she sent her arrow flying right through her father’s hand. Chaos erupted. “Run!” she commanded the horses. Immediately the already startled beasts bolted, taking their noble riders with them. Roswitha took off after her father’s mount, waiting until they had traveled a good distance before jumping out in front of the horse. A squeal sounded from the poor animal as it reared up, throwing her father to the ground. Roswitha ignored his cries of pain and watched the horse go, sending a silent apology its way. “H-how dare you!” her father weakly yelled, “How dare you attack a Dawnish Mage!” Roswitha whipped her head around, a snarl in her voice. “You. Are. No. Mage.” She stalked over to him gripping her bow until her knuckles were white. “You’re a coward.” she spat out, “A weak old man! A pathetic excuse of a father who took his insecurities out on his wife and his child!” Her voice breaking at the end, she turned away, a disgusted look on her face. Too late she noticed his move towards her, a flash of silver slicing into her leg. With a yell she retaliated, kicking him away from her and reaching for an arrow. “Wait!” he cried out, throwing his hands in front of his face, “Wait please! I have a family!” “You had a family!” she screamed as she pulled the arrow back and aimed for his eye. “There! Through the trees! I see them!” Letting out a string of expletives Roswitha turned to see the rest of the hunting party barreling towards them, swords and other weaponry at the ready. She should have heard them coming. She should have  been paying attention. She turned back to face her father but he had already gotten up and was stumbling towards the party. She hastily readied her arrow again, aiming for the chest. In her concentration she didn’t notice the enemy arrow until it whizzed by her face and in her surprise her arrow went wide, lodging itself in a tree. The party was getting ever closer and if she was to escape capture or worse she had to leave now. With a curse and a grimace she began running, in spite of the screams of pain coming from her sliced thigh. She heard shouting behind her as they scrambled to follow her, but she was already out of their range. Their noise was a faint din by the time she could see the edge of the forest.

Roswitha finally allowed herself to slow down, stumbling as the blood loss finally caught up with her. She lowered herself to the ground, and threw her head back against the tree, tears pricking at the corner of her eyes. After a moment she turned her attention to her wound, grimacing at the amount of blood coating her leg. She healed what she could with nature magic, but she had waited longer than she should have and that skillset had never been her strong suit. When the worst had been healed, she leaned her head back against the tree. She had barely closed her eyes for a moment before they snapped open at the sound of something crashing through the undergrowth. Scrabbling to stand, Roswitha reached for her bow to ready an arrow when Birgir burst out from the undergrowth. “Birgir!” she gasped, “Why are you here? I told you to wait.” Didn’t leave. Smelled blood. he huffed. He lowered his head and gave her wound a sniff. Healed? She frowned and said, “Well enough.” He stared at her a moment before crouching down to allow Roswitha onto his back. She climbed up, careful not to disrupt her healing. Stupid. Birgir growled underneath her. “I know.” she sighed, hugging him tighter. Weren’t thinking. “I know.” It had been foolish and reckless and had nearly cost her her life, and all for nothing. They traveled in silence for a time, Roswitha replaying the scene over and over in her head. “Birgir, I think we should head south for awhile. It is probably best if I avoid Dawnstar for a while.” Birgir grunted in affirmation, changing his path accordingly.

Reason for joining the Wardens:

Even the strongest wolf needs a pack to call home. While Roswitha has enjoyed being on her own for most of her life (with the exception of Birgir), but recent events have her reconsidering. It’s not a bad idea to have a group that can look out for you and watch your back. However, whether or not the Wardens are the answer remains to be seen. Of course she won’t tell anyone that. Being as how she hates to look vulnerable, if pressed for her reason of joining, Roswitha will simply answer that she lives on Eldris too. The rifts affect them all and you’d have to be a damn fool to willfully ignore the signs.

Desired Connections:

Roswitha’s teamed up with a few rangers in the past. It’s not entirely unlikely that one of them also decided to join the Wardens. She’d be relieved to see a friendly face. They can reconnect and reminisce about that one time with the angry noble.

She may also have familial relationships with the Dawnish through her father’s side of the family.

R O L E P L A Y - S A M P L E

There have always been tales and songs of the walking dead. As your character huddles around a limp and fading campfire, they glimpse ghostly shapes through the forest’s trees. What do they do as the undead approach?

—

It starts with the hair raising on the back of her neck. Years of living in the forest have made her good at sensing when a gaze is upon her. From the cautious stare of the prey animals to the hungry glares of predators, each is distinctly different. But these stares… they have an almost unearthly, malicious aura to them. Undead. Birgir lets out a huff, confirming her suspicions. She slowly looks up from the dying embers of the fire, casually scanning the edge of the clearing. Birgir has an excellent sense of smell and is rarely wrong. But with the fire dying and the moon barely a sliver, a brush with the undead was risky. A cold sweat starts on her back as she begins to see flickers  of them at the edge of clearing. Keeping her breath even, she reaches for her bow and arrows, drawing them towards her as she begins to stand. A rumbling begins to emanate from Birgir as he gets up as well. Roswitha glares as the first skeleton stumbles into the clearing and braces herself. Birgir stands and lets out a fearsome roar, one that would’ve given any living creature reason to pause. But these sad creatures have been long dead.

As if on a secret command, they rush into the clearing. Their jaws gape open in wordless screams, remnants of their past lives hanging off their cracked bones. Birgir charges into the thick of them as Roswitha nocks an arrow. She fires it off only for it to get uselessly lodged in a skull. She swears placing the next arrow back in the quiver. Birgir stomps on the skulls of those he knocked over letting out a growl as more jump on his back. A grating sound behind her alerts her to a group of skeletons who had broken away from the pack attacking Birgir. Her eyes dance around the campsite looking for a suitable weapon before she locks on the fire and kicks the dying embers into their faces. The memory of fire makes the skeletons pause as they try to put out skin that no longer exists. With a grimace Roswitha tightens her grip on her bow before swinging it at the nearest skull. It collapses with a satisfying crack and she moves on to the next one. She makes quick work of them and when the last lies motionless on the ground she turns to Birgir. Skeletons still cling to his back, tugging on his fur as he stomps around trying to shake them loose. “Hold on!” Roswitha calls out as she runs across the clearing. She drags the skeletons off of him and Birgir turns to crush their skulls under his paws. The last one dealt with, an eerie calm settles over the clearing, the only sounds being the heavy breathing of the two where once there was the cracking and snapping of old bones.

“Are you alright?” she rests a hand on Birgir’s shoulder as she looks him over. My fur. he rumbles licking at one of the bald spots from where the skeletons had scraped the fur off. Roswitha smiles and gives him a pat, “I am glad that’s the worst of your injuries.” A whispered spell is all it takes to fix the wound however. She pauses before saying, “I suppose we should make camp somewhere else now.” Roswitha frowned, looking at all the skeletons and bone shards littered around the camp now. Aside from being a mess, a dark energy now clung to the clearing. Birgir butted his head against her, almost knocking her over. Let’s go. he grunted before turning towards the forest. Am tired. Roswitha gathered up her bow, quiver, and pack before following after her bear.