#interactions. nornwatch keep

[rykardthebarbarian]

"I hit things," The Barbarian responded, amusement coloring his features, "Until they break." The sword that Rykard wielded was crude and rough, chips and divots along the blade and the hilt was wrapped in bloody, dirty bandages. The colossal greatsword was a far cry from the pristine, refined, castle-forged steel that the nobles treated more as a posh accessory to their finest raiments. It was a crude slab of steel, meant more for bludgeoning attacks and pulverizing bone under its immense weight. There were splatters of long dried blood and decaying viscera settling into the serrations that had formed along the blade. If someone managed to survive the initial onslaught of Rykard's attacks, the infection that festered in their wounds would surely finish them off.

Years of solitude wore on the man, it had been years since he was around so many non-hostile people at the same time. His social skills were about as rusty as the weapon he carried. But with the magi encroaching on their position and darkspawn lurking about, Rykard was in no position to make any enemies here. And he was quickly realizing that forming bonds was much more difficult than cleaving them with his blade. "Do you make your living as a smith, or is it more like a hobby for you?" He inquired, observing how the witch studied the blade he was holding.

@rykardthebarbarian location: Nornwatch Keep notes: fixing things connect

Alrik's father had been a berserker and a blacksmith, he could recognize the former easily enough and had been expected to follow the forge before his life had been interrupted. While the witch had been formally out of the trade for a few years, there were parts of it that he found he missed. The simple life of a shop and the salt air - that was still appealing to him, but the reality was that creatures like him more often came upon violent ends. This wasn't a time for nostalgia, it was a time for people to use what skills they had available to them to help with whatever greater good could be distilled from this situation.

"What- did- you- do- to- her." Alrik held up the main's blade, chipped and battered before he brought it up to the light and remarked at the way the steel had bent. Apparently, things happened when you went berserk, his father had put that life behind him when Alrik was born but it took a lot of strength to do this kind of damage.

[lotharx]

starter for @prcspero.

where: nornwatch tower

when: after zee last night bestie

note: continuing our harrowing meetcute

Lothar had kept quiet the majority of the troupe, a reticent bystander who remained seemingly unfazed as more were culled by the elements, as starvation and disease took over. The Ax had some sorry knack for observation, he noted the few faces he'd recognized as witchers pulled them through the tunnels, up to the surface of Hrimthur's Wasteland; desolate, gelid and unforgiving. He spoke nothing of his recollections, his findings, how the biting cold became unbearable and though Nornwatch Keep was likely surmised as this solace from the frigid air, it too would soon be unbearable to live within. Sanctuary was a loose claim for the place, it spoke more of a prison, a final resting place; a beacon that stood more as an omen than a salvation. Blighted trees swarmed the tower and vermin scuttered by as an epidemic swiftly took hold of those weakest within the troupe's ranks. Lothar had his satchel, though it had special mushrooms and a canteen for water, it was void of anything that would aid in his survival through genuine starvation or disease and he kept mostly out of the way. He was not a healer, he'd been preened off of loss and violence, the scene before him was familiar enough but it etched a palpable memory. Famine, disease; Horsemen who reared their ugly heads and laughed at those who thought they could beat the call of Death.

Lothar did his best to aid where he could, but it seemed futile as more succumbed to the blighted world around them. He learned again to sit by and be an observer, idle hands calloused from the carved wood of an axe.

They'd spoken not a word to each other since Iskaldrik had fallen; a seemingly meaningless interaction swept further under the rug by the violent trek into the Wastelands. The troupe had once been a vast summary; children, miners, royalty and witchers. A hefty group of people which allowed even Lothar to blend within the masses. It warranted any avoidance as coincidental but the other had proven himself to be more than some Iskaran drunk as he flanked many who needed aid. He'd done more for the troupe than Lothar felt he was useful for and the brute berserker was teetering some line of envy as he felt more coded to violence than healing.

"He lives," it's the first words spoken to the other since he'd seen them drunk and mindless, living off the spoils of Bjarnheim and it's merchants. A nod to the state in which he last saw the other and a cruel tease to how a battle had forced the other to attention.

[vuldak-juneau]

The fringes of towns and settlements had always felt safer to Juneau as a small child. People were, in general, easier to deal with by means of avoidance and isolation. Her own childish musings and sense of exploration was more than enough company to spend her time well. Maybe that was why they expelled her from their village making it clear they wouldn’t miss her, but then again she never found anything within herself that indicated she came to miss them either. 

Distance was just another self-preservation tool on this long, arduous road to Lysara. Each day she felt the sharp bite of regret that she had decided not to separate from the group and try to make it on her own deepen another degree. This regret didn’t stem from an unearned confidence that she would have certainly made it there on her own. Instead, it came from the uncomfortable confines of obeying rules again and proximity to so many of those rotten humans she would have just as happily seen dead as they would her if she knew what she truly was. Certainly, a few bonds with others had been made along the way and it was more than once a day that Juneau’s mind anxious wandered back to the woman she had met on the way to Nornwatch Tower who had survived the mines. There were others, too though, less savory who sat more like vinegar on an empty stomach to Juneau; the man with the dire wolf who insisted on tending to fires and the business of others and the warrior woman who had mocked Juneau’s strategy as cowardice–but at least no one had died or been injured trying to depend Juneau directly as a result of her choice to hide. 

Now it seemed another individual insisted on impeding upon her solitude. Juneau had known they were close. They were quiet and respectful in keeping their distance, but without snow shoes and other gear keeping completely undetected was a near impossible task. She watched him approach, her eyes cold and focused as she abandoned her work. There wasn’t much to show for today’s efforts, only a few long-dead and dried-up herbs that might not have the potency remaining for their intended purpose. She scavenged them all the same. But right now, her mind wasn’t on homeopathy or useful flora, it was calculating the risk of letting this man and his dire wolf close. Was he human or not?

His offer was mild. Much more mild than anything she had expected given recent interactions. Rather than answer him immediately she glanced from his face to his companions to gauge the behaviors and body language of the massive canine. She doubted he was a human, and doubted even further that either of them were a threat. Even so, her instincts traveled over her skin like waves of static electricity. “Where did you even get a spile out here?” she asked, frowning slightly. Despite her frown, she began to walk toward him signaling her acceptance of his offer. 

Person: @vuldak-juneau Location: The Forest Surrounding the village He can feel it. It's something bone deep, a sort of restlessness that he can't shake and the anxiety doesn't quite go away. Twice, it'd happened twice where he'd shifted under the light of the full moon and thankfully Goose had found him the first time. It still didn't mean it wasn't dangerous, that he hadn't been....Etienne doesn't think he'd ever been an angry person before all of this. But maybe there'd always been something there, some kind of frustration towards the monotony of his life. Or maybe he was just that upset that what he'd thought was a pretty great life had ultimately been a lie. There's no way his parents didn't know what he was and they'd hid it from everyone, even him. It's still upsetting, he thinks when he's the wolf that it all comes tumbling out of him. He and Goose go and check snares nearby, it's something small that he doesn't bother Alucard with, it's too close to camp. There's the occasional rabbit or squirrel that gets caught getting too close and while that's not much, he figures they're worth checking. He sees her out there a lot. He doesn't know how he knows she's like him but she's.....Something about her feels off and Goose doesn't ever approach her like he does other wolves, be them on four feet or two. But she seems to be foraging whenever he sees her, maybe hunting. "I tapped a tree for sap a couple of days ago if you want to check it out with me." Against Goose's better judgement, Etienne does approach her on the path, his direwolf companion trudging along after him, clearly hesitant.