The Fall of Marigill (closed for Poprockz)

[draco519]

Orson couldn’t help it as he watched the wheels turn in Dremara’s golden gaze, and the bit of pink to her cheeks as she considered what he’d said. That her royal blood would cement the Kota as the legitimate heirs to RimeHaven, The Highlands, and the Verdant Tundra. He finished a bite of one of the chutes of asparagus as he nodded his head. You are correct. Yes, he was. He grinned, enjoying the flush on her cheeks. Your love for your country…

“It’s cold.” Orson admitted wistfully.. “Growing crops is difficult, but there are parts of the Verdant Tundra that yield good amounts of grain. Rye and oats, normally. Wheat likes a drier, warmer climate.” Though she likely knew that, Marigill’s wheat fields was one of their greatest exports. He chuckled. “I still remember running my father’s herd with my brother over the Highland hills and through the dells. The Caena river with the waters so clear you can see to the bottom near the Highland falls.. And so cold you’d catch your death if you tried to bathe in them without getting dry and warm quickly.”

“One time my brother and I decided we were going to climb the rocks next to the falls and jump in.” He recanted the story as if it were yesterday. “It probably took an hour for us to get up this rock face; but we would do it.” He assured her. “We’d lost a wager to a girl.” He snickered at the memory.. “We get almost all the way to the top, and I hear growling above me. A winterwolf. Waiting at the top for us. Twice the size of a wolf you’d see on the Plains of Gold.” Or the Golden fields, to the locals. Not far from the forestry of Marigill. Named so for the wheat fields.

“I remember hearing that damn growling, and it snapped its bite off my head. I moved... And its whisker poked me in the eye. I fell into that cold water. Nearly caught my death in that cold.” His ship was now named after it. He looked back to Dremara then.. “I thought my father was going to finish what the cold started.”

He remembered all of it fondly, vividly. “It’s my hope, Princess, that you’ll see it as your country one day, too.” He couldn’t wait to be home among his brothers. “What was it like? Growing up in Marigill?” He popped another tomato in his mouth.

 

[Poprockz]

She listened with interest in his story, though she pretended not to be. Her eyes widening at the part about the wolf almost biting him betrayed her though, a small, amused smile following shortly after. He sounded reckless and wild as a youth, and she wondered how much of that had carried into adulthood. He certainly seemed wild, though reckless wouldn't be a word she would choose to describe him. He seemed more thoughtful and calculating than one might think.

Dremara didn't give him a response to his next statement- who knew if she would ever consider his strange and foreign lands her own. It was far from the warm, grain rich shores she was used to, and she dreaded the long colds. More than that, she feared that it would take a long time to get accustomed to the people there and how different their attitudes and customs were. Many would not embrace her as their own, and she imagined that she would feel... incredibly isolated. Especially if something were to happen to Nettie.

“I have no blood siblings so-“ her mouth opened to continue, but she stopped and a bitter smile twisted her lips. “I had thought I had no blood siblings, so Nettie was like a sister to me." The bitterness faded a bit and she gave Nettie an affectionate smile.

"We got up to some trouble here and there, though nothing too terrible-"

"Tell him about the one with Lord Burkin!" Nettie giggled.

Dremara practically choked on her food and had to cough a few times, taking a drink of her wine before objecting. "No, I'm afraid that story is particularly unbecoming, and certainly not a story fit for dinner conversation." She had forgotten about that one.

"Oh come now, I'm sure he would find it entertaining," the maid replied with a grin.

"Not tonight" Dremara said firmly, glancing at Orsin before looking down at her food. Gods, no. That was one of her more embarrassing childhood memories.

"I will say that one time I persuaded Nettie to play in the merchant's wagon. We ate one pie each and fell asleep. By the time we woke up, the merchant had traveled halfway to the next city, and the entire capital was up in arms about who had kidnapped the princess." She chuckled lightly and shrugged. "We vouched for him so he wasn't punished, but from then on my father instituted a "goods-check" at the gates until I was older."

 

[draco519]

Orson’s eyes had darted to Nettie as she insisted he be told a story; and this was good. It seemed the handmaiden was warming to the idea of their marriage even before her Lady was. Though his eyes sparkled with a bit of mischief. Because now? Now he simply had to know! He listened to Dremara’s objections before finally relenting and telling him a story about stealing a pie and falling asleep in a wagon. It made him bite his lip. Her father must have been furious.

“Shame on you.” He teased. “All the time those guards and merchants spent away from their families..” but he was hardly serious. “I remember my brother and I, we were..” How old had he been? “I think i’d seen my thirteenth winter; my brother his fourteenth.” He cleared his throat. “We were becoming of the age when a woman’s form was.. quite …” How did he put it to not send her screaming for the hills? “We were curious boys. Cocks that hardened at a gust of wind or a birdsong.”

He’d been reaching for his wine when he’d said that last bit so casually. Not realizing it might have been more crass than she was used to. “Near the foothills of the Whitecaps are caves that hold natural hot springs. Some of them are quite private, others.. Not so much.”

He cleared his throat. “Two Chieftains ago, my brother and I, young and cocksure as went into the larger spring where the boys bathed. There was a natural stone divider between the common boy and girl’s spring. The Chieftain at the time declared they should be separated because..” He shrugged his shoulders. “Young people are often stupid.”

He laughed at the memory. “We boys would sneak ropes in and use them to climb to the top of the dividing wall and try to peek at the girls pool while they bathed or..” He gestured to his own mane. “Use hair lotion.” He teased again. “...Whatever it was women do in the baths. We’d try to take peeks, and they’d always have rocks or apples or something to throw at us. My brother had a scar on his forehead where a woman beaned him with a hairbrush.”

He thought back on it. “Not sure if it was the hairbrush or the fall that gave him the gash.”

 

[Poprockz]

The phrase "cocks that hardened at a gust of wind or a birdsong" may not have had her running for the hills, but she did end up shooting Nettie a shocked look as though questioning that he had said such a thing. The handmaiden had simply given her a casual little shrug as though she wasn't too bothered by it. She had heard crude things such as that in the kitchens, after all.

"Serves him right for peaking," The Princess pointed her fork at him. "For noble ladies such as myself, it is improper to have a man see you without clothing before being married. Any man who would have attempted so with me would have regretted it."

There was a pause before she cocked her head slightly to the side. "Does your brother wait for you at home, or is he with us on the seas?"

 

[draco519]

Orson cocked an eyebrow as he chewed his food, finishing up the last of his plate with the tomato popped into his mouth and he listened as she said she’d not be seen without her clothes on before she was wed. And any man that attempted it? Would be made to regret it. “Far be it from me to risk your wrath unnecessarily, then.” The corner of his mouth quivered in a smirk. He could hardly feel threatened by this woman that was a third of his size. He knew the royal bloodline carried ancient power; but it wasn’t as though she were challenging him to a duel.

He was lowering his wine glass when she asked about his brother. He licked a bit of the excess wine out of his moustache and picked his napkin up to wipe it before he laid the napkin over his finished plate. “It a strange twist of irony…” His eyes trailed off to the side, weighing whether or not he should tell her the entire truth of the matter.

He cleared his throat, looking back up to meet her gaze. Was it curious? Expectant? Regretful that she’d asked? He genuinely couldn’t tell. “Your brother killed mine.” It was a hard truth. “Five years ago. On his wedding day, at that.” There had been a reason the Kota had brought war to the shores of Marigill. He wasn’t surprised she didn’t know. He wasn’t angry about it. Not anymore. He’d taken his revenge, even showed mercy to the man who had started it all.

“It’s why Duchess Elana and her husband, the Duke Archibald, of Goldstone have remained my prisoners throughout the war.” She wanted to know what awaited her when she arrived in RimeHaven; they’d be part of it. “They’re alive and well; but it was the Duchess that told me exactly who Avery was. A tantrum she’d thrown when the good Duke wanted to have my brother’s wife before my brother got the chance.”

He reached a hand across the table, capturing her fingers. “I do not intend to seek vengeance with you.” He knew how it must look. “You have my word. You’ve no need to have your handmaiden poison me. The blood debt has been settled. Let it stay that way.”

 

[Poprockz]

Her face fell when he revealed that he had lost his brother to Sir Avery. The man he had just described with such fondness was now resting in the earth, cold and lifeless. And for what? By the time he had finished the story, she was reeling from the information, and it showed on her face.

What sort of dishonorable man tried to sleep with another man's wife on the night of their wedding?! It was barbaric! Had this been a common practice? Is that why the war had started in the first place? Honestly she felt a bit sick, and not from the swaying of the ship for once. To use one's influence and power to prey on those of lesser standing was evil, for lack of a better word.

Never before had she been told of anything like this happening on foreign shores, but she was starting to wonder whether her father had hidden things of that nature from her on purpose. What more was she ignorant of? Why had she been kept in the dark? Was it that her father had thought that she was unable to handle such news, or was he afraid that she would condemn the Kingdom's refusal to make reparations for such crimes?

His touch brought her attention back to him, and she would be lying if there wasn't some fear in her. Were she in his position, she would feel a burning hatred towards the person she was set to marry. If someone dared try to sleep with Nettie and murdueed her and her husband when refused, she would loathe them with every fiber of her being, and it would be difficult to accept anyone associated with them, much less their sibling.

His words did not bring her comfort, and her hand slipped away from him. Perhaps he was simply waiting until their wedding night so she could feel the pain his brother and his wife had felt, lulling her into thinking that everything was going to be alright before putting her in chains and never allowing her to see the light again, just as his brother never would.

"You should rinse your hair," she said quietly, standing up from the table and drifting toward the door of the cabin. "Nettie, please help him wash it out. I find myself no longer hungry and I think some fresh air would do me some good." Without waiting for a reply, the Princess exited the cabin and made her way to the upper deck, her hands on the railing as she looked out at the expansive sea.

 

[draco519]

Orson felt her pull away. Any progress they’d made? Down the drain with her full retreat. His eyes fell to her plate as she stood up to go. He frowned at that, but… what could he do? It was blatantly obvious the girl hadn’t known. Nasty business on foreign shores like that? Of course it wouldn’t make it back to the inner circle. Even Avery, for all his gallantry… had only been doing as he’d been commanded to do. Protect the Duke and Duchess. He moistened his lips with his tongue. It had been his brother that hadn’t had the strength to defeat Avery. Him? He had.

Regardless, he leaned over the tub while Nettie washed out the last of the lotion and toweled him off. He was sitting back on the chest with Nettie brushing out his hair after that. Surprisingly? The tangles weren’t nearly so bad.

“Give her time to come to terms with it.” Nettie said simply. “She’s had a rough go of it these last few weeks.”

Orson nodded his head. Unsure of what to say to that. “I’d pondered not telling her at all. But it would’ve only led to her asking me later why I had said nothing of it.” He took a solemn, deep breath through his nose… Then the sounds of chaos. A loud crash. And screaming.

Getting to his feet, he stepped into his boots and gathered a lantern. Holding it up so he could see better, he looked down to the gathered sailors. Down the steps, he pushed past to see the boom that had swung and pinned Volan, a young lad. A good man who likely had yet to know a woman’s warmth. Handing the lantern off to the first man he saw, he looked up to the rigging, to Dagris climbing it. “Throw the rope down!”

He reached down with his men. “Heave!” He called out, veins in his arms and neck bulging with effort to lift the cross section of mast that had come loose. “Heave!” Eventually, it gave, and Volan collapsed, being caught by his brothers. His leg was a mangled mess. “Get him to the healer. You three - up to the rigging. Get those pulleys strung back up!”

Barking more orders, Orson held the boom in place and cursed. Of all the times for the jig boom’s tether rope to snap. Though.. It did give him something to do other than wish he’d said something different.

 

[Poprockz]

The crash and screaming had jarred the princess out of her brooding, the woman looking around in alarm. Monstrous sea creatures weren't common, but occasionally she would hear tales of a ship coming across one. Upon further investigation as she got closer, she discovered that it was only one of the sailors having their leg crumpled under the wood of the ship like a paper crane under a heavy boot. Though saying it was "only" that didn't encapsulate the horrific sight.

It was a sick sight to behold indeed, the sailor weeping almost deliriously as his trembling arms clutched what used to be a fully-functioning leg. She could see a few of the men trading grim looks with one another, and she got the idea that either the man was going to lose his leg or possibly even die.

She strode over, her eyes fixed on the injured man before one of the other men stopped her. "All due respect, lady, but you need to go back inside. We've got an injured man we need to get treated, and you're in the way." It wasn't said unkindly, but there was certainly an urgency about the man's voice.

"Let me through- I can help him," she said quickly, the man shaking his head, looking a bit irritated now.

"His leg is fucked, Princess, there's nothing you can do. It isn’t safe for you here right now.”

"I'm a healer, I can-" the sailor started trying to herd her away, and she looked desperately around until her eyes found who she was looking for. "Orsin!" she called out. "Please! Please allow me closer! I'm a healer, please!" It had been a long time since she had begged for something so fervently, but she knew she could save the man's leg if they would only allow her to lay her hands on him.

 

[draco519]

Pulleys in place, Orson held the boom whilst the others got it secured. In the moonlight and without his lantern? He couldn’t see the knots at either end as they strung it back up; but he had to trust his men. Once the men hoisted it up and away, he looked up to the shadowy figure of Dagris in the moonlight; wrapping rope around it several times in a pattern to get it resecured. Nodding, he looked back to where they’d hauled Volan off to.

He emerged from the shadows, lantern in hand once more, as Dremara turned to him and used his name. Orson. And demanded to be able to help Volan. I’m a healer? “Princess his leg..” But the look in her eyes? Even after seeing such a mangled thing as it had been? Starved hunting hounds would have more use of a leg so gnarled than Volan would. Ultimately.. What did it hurt to let her try?

“Let her through.” He glanced over to Dremara with a nod. “She claims to be able to help Volan.”

“And you’re listening to her?!” Bogden spoke up, defensive. “What if she keeps us from taking the leg and he dies?!”

Orston stepped forward, towering over Bogden in that instant. There was a tense moment. “Volan is fucked if we do and damned if we don’t. Stand. Aside.”

“My brother-” Ogden started.

“You are not the only Kota to have lost a brother.” Orson knew how much Volan meant to Bogden. “Were it that we all had more skilled healers this entire war.” Orson’s hand moved to Bogden’s shoulder. First in empathy, then guiding him to stand aside to let Dremara through.

“Do what you can, Princess.”

 

[Poprockz]

“Thank you,” she nodded at him gratefully, but didn’t spare any more words before beelining right to the injured man.

Volan looked up at her and whimpered, holding his hands out as though he was afraid of what misguided thing the princess might do to try to help. He was sweating, and his eyes were started to become a bit glazed from the shock of it all.

She reached out, her hands hovering just above the mangled pulp of flesh, and then she reached inside herself to find the light she knew was there. The ship was dark, save for the lantern nearby, but soon a golden glow began to illuminate the area. Her eyes emitted a soft, pure light and from them weaving lines of glowing gold began to flow downward on her skin like rivers. They wove back and forth, but they all grew in the direction of her hands. Once they reached her hands, the threads of light seemed to jump from her fingers to the man’s leg, wrapping around it while weaving into it simultaneously.

Even more miraculous than the sight of her glowing was what happened next. The magic was mending him, coaxing his flesh back to where it ought to be, easing the pain and trauma from the wound. She watched as his leg slowly went from being crushed to looking as it had before the accident had befallen him. Truly, there was no sign that anything had happened to him at all by the time she was done.

The man’s gaze became more focused, though he looked shocked and confused by the fact that he was inexplicably healed.

With a sigh, the light retracted back to her eyes, fading until the light of the lantern was once again the only thing illuminating the deck. The Princess Dremara stood, and watched as Volan carefully stood himself. He looked afraid to put weight on his leg, but when he did so, there was no pain. The man righted his stance and looked down, still a bit dumbfounded.

A wave of dizziness hit her unexpectedly, and she wobbled on her legs as though they had suddenly decided that they would rather be jelly. It seemed that the magic had drained her more than she had assumed. It made sense, seeing as she hadn’t used such magic since she was six years of age, but she hadn’t expected to be quite so impacted.

 

[draco519]

Orson could only watch, amazed, as Dremara stood over Volan. He’d had to hold Bogden back, as overcome with emotion as he’d been. The ship’s healers wasn’t anything terribly fancy. A room with cabinets secured closed on the walls with what medical supplies they had. Vinegar, honey, whiskey… typical antiseptics. Some ginger root, other various mushrooms and herbs Orson didn’t know the names of. Clean linens for bandages. An assortment of leather straps hung on the walls to bite down on or restrain a patient. Not to mention the surgical tools that one wouldn’t wonder if they’d stepped into a torture chamber.

All the same, Dremara’s glowing hair drowned out the light of the lanterns. The way her light exuded from her hands and entered Volan’s leg had silenced the man’s terrified whimpering, and turned into the same astonishment that quieted the rest of the Kota present. A twisted and mangled lump of flesh that righted itself before their very eyes. The shifting of bone visible beneath the surface of skin that couldn’t be pleasant as it was willed to be healed by forces Orson didn’t understand.

Shocked murmurs and whispers, all eyes flicking between Volan’s leg and Dremara. When Volan stood? Orson released Bogden to go to his brother. A small smile crossed his face. But when the ship next lurched, and Dremara’s legs wobbled? Orson’s arm came out, pulling Dremara to him rather than allow her to fall into the crate of surgical tools.

“Make way.” He ordered his men, his other arm coming down to wrap around the Princess’s hips and he lifted her, carrying her out of the healers and back up the steps and to the safe part of the upper deck; nearer to the doors of their room.

He’d carried her without realizing it.. And he swallowed down the nerves, eventually sitting Dremara down, Nettie coming to take her Lady’s arm. “Thank you.” He bowed his head a bit. “..for saving him.” She hadn’t had to. She could’ve let Volan lose a leg, Bogden’s heart to break, and never said a word. “The Kota will not forget your kindness.”

 

[Poprockz]

Being kept from falling was not too unexpected, but being lifted and carried was. She had been about to thank him for stopping her descent when she felt her feet leave the deck. Her body was pressed against him, some of her torso sticking up from over his torso. Her hands came down to cling to his broad shoulders, wondering why he had seen fit to do such a thing. Though as they moved, she had to admit that climbing the stairs he had just carried her up would have been very difficult at the moment. Despite the fact that he hadn't asked whether he could put his hands on her and carry her to her room, she could recognize that he was being thoughtful in his own way.

Besides, if his intention was to throw her over the railing, she imagined the ship's crew might riot based on what she had just done.

When she was set down, the only repercussion he received was a somewhat disgruntled look from her before Nettie came to support her. Though his gratitude served to soften her expression into a more thoughtful one, tinged with... was it regret?

She had restrained herself for many years, turning a blind eye when someone around her was harmed. Her power could have helped many people around her, but her father had forbid her to use it and thus it had become a well-kept secret. Perhaps she and Sir Avery weren't so different after all; allowing harm to happen to others, hands tied by the bonds of duty and promise. It wasn't right to ignore the injustices, but perhaps both she and Sir Avery would be forgiven one day for turning away from the grief of others.

"For all my life, my healing has been a secret that only three people in all the kingdoms have known. I had always assumed that my father bid me to tell no one out of a desire to protect me, but part of me wonders whether he didn't want me to gain too much influence. Perhaps it was both." Her eyes looked a bit more somber. "What a sad thing it is to question the motivations of one's parent. To suspect that they may simply have wanted to set the stage for a sibling to take your place. I know he loves me, but such a large secret as a hidden brother has me thinking... a lot of things."

"In any case. My secret is now meaningless to keep any longer, so I am free to choose to use it as I wish.”

 

[draco519]

Orson listened to Dremara’s memory and musings, considering what she told him about her abilities. The men on the ship were grateful, but sorcery was a thing met with skepticism; and rightfully so. Then she was speaking her mind, surprisingly, about doubting her father and a hidden brother and her abilities. He moistened his lips with his tongue, eyes casting to the side a moment.

“I intend to pass on the orders for the men to keep your abilities to themselves. If a wound like that can weaken you so; it would be wise to know the long term effects it can have on you. Lest every sick and wounded subject arrive at the palace, seeking divine favors.”

He hadn’t fought a war and foregone all other treasures to lose her to those who would take advantage of his wife. Who would appeal to her good nature in search of healing. Yes, she was free to use it as she pleased; but they needed to be smart about it. She seemed clever enough to understand his meaning.

Opening the door, he let Dremara and Nettie back into the chambers and stepped in behind them. “You should finish your dinner.” He knew she’d been upset. “Fresh meat is hard to come by on the seas. We’ve still another moon before we reach RimeHaven.” He paused, however, when he looked over to the basin where Nettie had finished rinsing his hair. And how much better it felt laying on his head now.

“And.. Thank you. For the hair lotion.” He said simply, kicking his boots and pants off and went to lie down in his bed. It had been a day and he found himself quite exhausted.

 

[Poprockz]

She understood what he meant by that- it wouldn’t do for her to become gravely ill herself from the strain of excessive healings. There had never been any mention in the books of the palace library mentioning ill-effects of using one's royal gifts, but she supposed with great power there might be additional factors at play.

The dinner would be cold at this point, but that was no matter. The fish, asparagus and tomatoes would still be quite delicious compared to the food she had been made to consume up until this point. She wasn't ungrateful so she wasn't going to complain about it, but it certainly wasn't what she was used to. His words about how long they would still need to travel made her groan inwardly. While she wasn't green and clutching a bucket at this point, she still didn't like the way the ship felt underneath her as it wobbled to and fro. No, she had decided that she was a dry-land sort of person through and through. She finally had an appreciation for the people she had giggled at as a child who had come off the boats kissing the ground.

"You're welcome," she replied, glancing at him before darting her eyes away upon seeing his hands going to his pants. The image of his manhood was still seared into her memory and she felt it was an invasion of his privacy to look upon him without his coverings.

She and Nettie chatted softly while she ate her dinner, talking about the different birds they had seen, about tales of sea monsters, and about what they already missed about their country.

"I miss chocolate..." Nettie lamented, taking a sip of wine.

"Me too," Dremara said nonchalantly, swirling her own wine in her glass. "It would be terribly convenient if a certain princess had stuffed some into her luggage amidst her undergarments."

Nettie's eyes widened. "It would indeed. It would be even more convenient if said princess was willing to share with her poor, starving handmaiden."

The princess smirked and finally looked up. "A princess can't let her handmaiden be skin and bones, now can she? What would the people say?"

The other mousy woman jumped to her feet and excitedly scuttled over to one of the trunks she knew had her undergarments in it, retrieving some of the secret stash of chocolate. With a soft click, she broke off a piece or two and popped one into her mouth with a satisfied sigh.

 

[draco519]

Three weeks later….

Orson still hadn’t found any need to press Dremara for any reason. She had magic, and the men understood his reasoning for wanting to keep word of her abilities to herself until they had a better understanding of what she faced with them. Dagris, the runecaster and his second, had no knowledge of such arcane gifts. Divine, possibly? But nothing like the runes of Ursui, the Bear God the Kota worshipped, whose mighty roar tamed the seas and breathed life across the eversnows, broke the thousand winter ice and birthed his people, had blessed them to read and scribe.

Orson looked up from his compass as the quartermaster called out the heading they were supposed to be on. Clipping it closed, he spun the wheel two grips to the starboard side of the ship and reached down to wrap the rabbit’s hole knotted rope around it to keep it from veering off course. He stepped back, watching the sea as he looked over to Fionn.

Fionn was clearly the youngest man on the ship. When he wasn’t sailing? He was a lightly armored warrior, with short javelins and a small shield and a short sword. He had the freckles - and fire - of youth. Always determined to prove himself. He held the leather wrapping Orson had requested up to him. “Chieftain.”

Orson nodded to Fionn, a hand going to his shoulder before he took the leather wrapped pipe and unrolled it. Once he had a lantern lit, he held the pipe in it to toast the tobacco to his liking and stood at the wheel, enjoying the flavor and aroma. A fine gift from Marigill. He looked down, checking his compass once again; oblivious that Fionn was still watching him. He’d thought the boy would go back to his duties.

It wasn’t the boy’s fault. Orson was the Chieftain who faced all the dangers. A hero, in his eyes. A role model and a mentor during his own training. More than once, Orson had come to save his life during the war with Marigill and the forces, stepping, once, between himself and Ser Avery when he’d been bested by Marigill’s mightiest hero. Orson hadn’t let him die.

“Come now, Fionn.” Brannock, a man almost as large as Orson himself, though he bolstered a beer gut and bright green eyes. The man was a juggernaut in battle, using a two handed axe or hammer that cleaved through flesh and steel alike. “Still hasn’t let you suck his cock?”

“Leave the boy alone.” It was Cillian that spoke up next. He was a man of dark hair and eyes. A thin, wiry frame with a cloak made of Raven feathers. He’d been climbing down from the crow’s nest when his relief arrived to it. A ship’s lookout and upper rigger by sea, scout and tracker by land. He was a bit taller than Fionn, though nowhere near the height of Orson or Brannock. He cocked an eyebrow at Brannock. “Fionn’s right hand is a jealous lover; he’d strangle himself were he to stray.”

“The strangling be the problem.” The last of Orson’s most trusted, and the oldest man on the ship, Roric. His scarred face held a blinded eye. Completely white from battles past. But Ursui saw fit to give him a second. Roric was on the larger side, ever the sentinel of their band of Kota misfits, and he grabbed Fionn’s wrist to show the party his hand. “See the hair?”

“You’re the one that’s pulled it so much you blinded yourself!” Fionn defended himself from Roric, but the men laughed all the same.

Orson cleared his throat, having been watching Dremara take in the sea with Nettie but not encroaching on their conversation. But just now? “Enough pecker-pulling!”

The men all looked up to their Chieftain, their Captain… and got back to work.

Orson smirked. Cock-suckers…. But he tilted his head a bit as he watched the waters. They were different ahead. And those clouds were far from natural. They were darker and swirled without the strong winds of a storm. There was lightning touching in places now and again. Visible for only a split second; before the inky clouds swallowed it up again. “Cillian!”

The scout had been wrapping a rope around his elbow to store it when he heard Orson, then he looked back to the fore of the ship. The unnatural clouds, the shifting, the inky blackness.

Roric’s eyes widened, the sight of it still his hands from straightening a tarp out over the cargo hold. “Out to sea? Surely not.”

“Quiet.” Orson ordered Roric. The last thing he needed was the fleet panicking. He turned, looking up to the flag bearers. “Tell the fleet to raise their sails and wait!” Orson took a deep breath, walking past Dremara and Nettie to get to his room and he picked up his sword and shield. Back past them again, he laid the shield on the rack near the wheel and began pulling his belt on that had his sword and dagger. “Cillian!”

Cillian was almost up to the top, and opened up his sight glass.. And the worst was confirmed. He looked back down to Orson with wide eyed horror. “Beast storm!”

“Fuck.” Orson had been holding his pipe in his teeth, he dumped the still burning tobacco over the side, handing the tobacco pouch and pipe to Dremara. “Go inside with Nettie. Don’t come out until I fetch you.”

 

[Poprockz]

After the healing incident, the Princess had come down with a fever for a few days before recovering fully.

Princess Dremara was indeed simply enjoying her time above deck now, the breeze playfully ruffling her hair every now and then. Though the large grey clouds had caught her eye as well. A storm? They had been privy to good weather on their voyage so far, so she supposed it was only fitting that they face one last hurdle before reaching land.

In truth the murky black clouds frightened her, the woman feeling a bit vulnerable standing on a ship that would soon be at the mercy of nature's fury. There was an impending sense of dread within her, and she brought her shawl tighter around herself as she looked on with concern.

When they started talking amongst themselves about the storm, it only confused her. It was as though they had some insider information that she wasn't aware of. It wasn't hard to tell that several of the men were a bit spooked, as though a storm on the sea wasn't something they had expected.

Beast storm? Were they saying that the storm was so terrible that it had its own category? She took the items handed to her and looked at him questioningly, though she had the good sense not to question him in that moment. The time for questions would come later- for now it seemed that the safest place for her to be would be in her cabin as he had said.

She and Nettie hurried off and shut the door of the cabin behind themselves, sitting close together and waiting, straining to hear what was happening above decks.

 

[draco519]

Battle of The Sea Wraith

“Roric.” Orson ordered after he heard the lock click on the doors to his chambers. “Take the helm.”

The sea churned like a cauldron, its waves clawing at the Winterwolf’s whisker, a sturdy ship carved with stag and knotwork runes. Orson stood at the prow, his braided hair lashed by salt spray, his rune-etched longsword sheathed at his side. The sky above was a bruise of gray, streaked with lightning that lit the horizon where his home awaited him. RimeHeart. His hero’s welcome awaited him. His wedding to secure his lands before all the Kings of Men. Beside him, his warrior brothers worked the ropes and sails, their faces grim against the storm’s fury.

Dagris, the runecaster, clutched his antler-topped staff, murmuring prayers to Ursui, the bear god as runes on his arms glowed faintly.

Brannok, his massive axe strapped to his back, was securing cargo and cursing the waves with grim humor.

Cillian, perched in the rigging, his raven-feather cloak flapping as he scanned the sea with sharp eyes.

Fionn gripped his spear, his youthful eagerness tempered by the ship’s lurching.

Roric stood at the helm, his scarred hand steady on the hilt of his wolf-head sword.

The whisker had sailed for days, driven by a desire to be home. But the sea, like the moors of their RimeHaven, was no tame beast. As lightning cracked, Cillian’s hoarse cry cut through the wind. “Something stirs below, Orson. The water’s wrong—too still amid the storm.”

Orson peered over the side, where the waves parted to reveal a glassy patch, unnatural and gleaming like polished obsidian. Dagris’s runes flared, and he hissed, “The old tales speak of the Muirgheilt, a sea-wraith of the deep. It hunts those who cross its domain with purpose.” His gray eyes met Orson’s, heavy with warning.

Before Orson could respond, the sea erupted. A massive form breached, its serpentine body coiling through the waves, longer than the Whisper and clad in scales that shimmered like moonlit kelp. Its head was a nightmare of Stag-like antlers twisted with coral, eyes glowing like balefire, and a maw lined with jagged fangs that dripped black ichor. Tendrils of seaweed-like flesh lashed from its sides, snapping toward the ship. The Muirgheilt’s roar shook the mast, a sound like drowning screams woven with thunder.

“Shields!” Orson bellowed, drawing his sword, its runes flaring. The brothers sprang into action, their training as one. Brannok abandoned his task, hefting his axe with a roar. “Come, beast! Taste Rimeforged steel!”

Roric angled the ship to ride the waves, barking orders to hold fast. Fionn thrust his spear at a tendril, pinning it to the deck, while Cillian nocked an arrow, aiming for the creature’s eyes.

The Muirgheilt struck, its tendrils wrapping the hull, splintering wood. The ship lurched, throwing Fionn against the mast, his spear clattering free. “Orson!” he cried, scrambling for his weapon.

Orson leapt to his side, slashing a tendril, its ichor burning his arm. “Stay sharp, brother!” he growled, hauling Fionn up.

Dagris chanted, carving a rune of warding into the deck. A pulse of light repelled a tendril, but the effort drained him, his staff trembling. “It’s bound to the sea’s wrath!” he shouted. “We must break its hold or sink!”

Cillian’s arrow struck the Muirgheilt’s eye, drawing a shriek that churned the waves, but another tendril seized him, dragging him toward the water.

“Cillian!” Orson roared, diving after him. He hacked at the tendril, freeing Cillian, who gasped and clung to the rigging. Brannock charged the beast’s flank, his axe cleaving scales, but the Muirgheilt’s tail lashed, sending him sprawling. Roric wrestled the wheel, keeping the ship from capsizing, his voice steady: “Hold the line, lads! We’ve no need to meet our ancestors this day!”

The storm raged, lightning illuminating the Muirgheilt’s antlers, which pulsed with eerie light. Orson’s heart pounded, the prophecy Dagris had spoken—a chieftain to face the darkness, to shepherd in the light—echoing in his mind. This beast was no mere monster; it was a trial. Ursui was allowing the Mother to place this in his path.

He climbed the prow, sword raised, and shouted, “Muirgheilt! I am Orson of Kota! King of RimeHaven! Face me!”

The creature’s balefire eyes locked onto him, and the sea stilled, waves freezing mid-crest. A voice, guttural and ancient, rumbled in their minds: “Mortal, your purpose draws the deep’s gaze. Prove your heart, or feed the abyss.”

Orson leapt onto a tendril, climbing toward the beast’s head, his sword flashing. Fionn rallied, hurling his spear into its maw, while Cillian fired another arrow. Brannok rose, axe swinging, and Dagris’s runes flared, weakening the creature’s grip. Roric steered the ship into a wave, rocking the Muirgheilt off balance. Orson reached its head, dodging fangs, and drove his sword into its wounded eye. The Muirgheilt shrieked, thrashing, and Orson clung to its antlers, his muscles burning. “In Ursui’s name!” he roared, twisting the blade. The beast convulsed, its scales dimming, and sank into the depths, releasing the ship.

The storm broke, sunlight piercing the clouds. The Whisker listed but held, its crew battered but alive. Orson slid to the deck, breath heaving, ichor staining his armor. His brothers gathered, bruised and bloodied, their eyes wide with awe.

Dagris knelt, tracing a rune in the ichor. “The Muirgheilt spared us, Orson. Your heart alone stayed its wrath. Ursui marks you, as the prophecy foretold.” His voice was hushed, reverent.

Brannok clapped Orson’s shoulder, grinning despite his wounds. “Aye, you mad bastard! Faced a sea-wraith and lived! The cock on you!”

Fionn beamed, retrieving his spear, while Cillian nodded silently, respect in his gaze.

Roric, at the helm, grunted, “Good work, lad. But keep your eyes sharp. The sea’s not done with us.”

Orson gazed at the horizon, where a faint shimmer—snowcapped mountains, a palace deep in the snow, with its unique architecture he’d recognize anywhere. The red light around the doors began to amplify.—flickered, then vanished. A sign, perhaps, of things to come. “We sail on,” he said, voice firm. “For our fucking hero’s welcome. A feast..”

As the Whisker pressed toward the kingdom, a whisper lingered in the wind, like the Muirgheilt’s voice or something older: The chieftain rises, but the shadows deepen. Orson tightened his grip on his sword, ready for the battles ahead.

Dagris, however? The man hadn’t missed the look on Orson’s face as the others dispersed, congratulating their brothers for a battle well fought and helping to see to minor injuries. “What did you see?”

Orson stopped in his gait. Of course Dagris couldn’t have been looking the other way. He knew Dagris wouldn’t like it. “Soon.. she’ll come calling.” Orson took a breath, staring ahead at the door of his chambers.

Dagris knew of the oath Orson had sworn; and was blood-bound to uphold. He looked out over the waters, and he genuinely wasn’t sure if his Chieftains eyes or the waves were more troubled. “You are the Chieftain who will face the darkness, and shepherd in the light.” He said, assuring the brother he’d known since he was a boy. “Though.. The cost might be quite heavy.”

“No need worrying for a day that hasn’t arrived yet.” Orson put a hand on Dagris's shoulder to give it a squeeze… then he went to relieve Roric of the helm. “Inform my bride it’s safe to come out. And tell Nettie to bring me my pipe and a lit lantern.”

He hadn’t got to finish his smoke. He’d been… interrupted. He was bleeding in a few places, he didn’t even realize that the creature’s ichor-like blood was something he was coated near head-to-toe in, and he looked down at his hand as he went for the compass on his belt.

Ah, right… “And a linen to clean up with.”

Roric laughed. “Shall I just have a bath drawn, your majesty?”

“Shut your mouth.” Orson smirked, slinging some of the ichor off of his arm.

 

[Poprockz]

The Princess and her handmaiden waited below. As much as they strained their ears to hear what was being said, the men's shouts were lost in the sounds of the storm.

What wasn't lost was the horrible, bone-shaking sound of the creature's scream. Dremara and Nettie both squealed with fright and held each other tighter, the two of them trembling in terror. She had never heard anything so wrong in her entire life- such a sound surely didn't belong in the realm of mortals.

"Don't worry, Nettie. It will be fine- Orson will see that we make it through," her voice trembled as she tried to comfort the other woman, though perhaps her words were said to comfort herself just as much. There had never been a time in her life where she felt that she was truly at risk of dying, but now she found herself contemplating that possibility. While Orson was strong, stronger than anyone she knew, he wasn't invincible. He was a man of flesh and blood who could be felled with one wrong move.

To her surprise, she found herself worrying about his survival. She could try to argue that she was merely concerned about what her and Nettie's fate would be if he were to perish, but that would be a lie. While they were little more strangers, she didn't hate him. They weren't enemies. There was still some fear in her heart for him, and he had yet to fully earn her trust, but she certainly didn't want him to die.

The two of them were thrown to the floor as the room lurched violently, the ship groaning under the strain of the monster's fury. At that point they were weeping in fear, clutching each other for dear life. Could this truly be the end? Were they all doomed?

They almost didn't notice that after a while the crashing had died down and now there was only the quiet sound of the waves. Princess Dremara lifted her head cautiously, slowly sitting up and wiping her tear-stained cheeks. Was it over? Were they safe? Soon there was a knock at the door and she bid whoever it was to enter, recognizing Roric as the door opened.

He looked around for them before spotting them on the floor, the man covered in... what was that? Blood? Not any sort of blood she'd ever seen. And the smell. Oh Gods! She had to inconspicuously breathe through her mouth for a few moments, but still felt like saliva might be gathering to expel her breakfast. It was as though something from the sea had died and been left to stew in the sun for a week (she assumed, at least).

"The King needs his pipe and the tobacco after a hard battle won," the man said. "He wants the handmaiden to grab them for him."

Nettie sat up and nodded almost woodenly, still somewhat shocked that they drew breath. Instead though, Dremara got up and picked the pipe and pouch off the floor where they had been flung earlier and decided to deliver them herself.

"Nettie needs to catch her breath," she said, looking at Nettie.

The man shrugged before heading off. She exited the cabin and made her way up to Orson, horrified by how soaked he was in that putrid liquid. When she got closer to him, she held out the pipe and pouch for him to take, trying very hard to remain dignified while fighting tooth and nail against the urge to gag.

 

[draco519]

Orson looked up as Dremara appeared with his pipe and a pouch. Though no lantern. Perhaps that had been a lot to ask for; he didn’t think of how frightened Nettie and her Lady must have been. Beast Storms had been such a normal part of life in RimeHaven for… as long as he could remember, at least. He continued flinging ichor away from him when he looked up to see Fionn with the bucket of water and a rag. Nodding his thanks, Orson wet the rag and wiped his hands, then his face, and dropped the rag in the bucket and took his pipe and tobacco from Dremara.

“First Beast Storm?” Of course it was. Stupid question. He didn’t take it personal when she stepped back to not have to smell him, and his men were already in the process of removing their shirts to wash and wring over the side of the ship, the deck being swabbed. Him? It still continued to drip off as he packed his pipe and looked over as Fionn came back with the lantern to get it lit. A strange aftertaste; the ichor of an ancient beast mixed with his tobacco. Odd, at best, on the palette.

“Nayreema.” He looked up to Dremara again. Perhaps a name lost to time; but once Anathema to the mainlanders. A name that, if a child spoke it? A father's belt would find a backside. “Mother of beasts, she’s called. A goddess of the old religion. A faith of ages past; when man did not hold dominion over the lands. When darkness reigned supreme. Before the heroes of the First Age took up fire, and steel, and carved out a home on this cruel world for all generations to follow.”
Orson chuckled, finally taking of his pipe again once he had it toasted the way he liked it, and hung the lantern on the hook near the wheel by it’s iron ring. Checking his compass, he continued. “If you believe the wives’ tales.” He said so in a manner that made him peer sidelong at Dremara, waiting for the-

“You’d be wise not dismiss the beliefs of our ancestors.” Dagris said, his runes on his arm still shimmering a bit as he pushed the mop.

Orson smirked at Dagris. “And I do not; how can I not believe in that which I've fought since I was old enough to hold a sword?”

“Because you-” Dagris, indignantly, looked up from where he’d been dipping the mop back into the bucket and his irritated gaze on Orson. He was having his leg pulled. “Lucky you’re alive. Prophecy or not.” He pointed a warning finger at Orson… then went back to his bucket.

Orson had discarded his furs; they were ruined and likely would just need to be replaced. There was no washing that level of gore out. He was washing his arms and holding his pipe in his teeth while Dagris scolded him… then went about his business.

Orson pulled his pipe out of his teeth with his hand and looked to Dremara. “She awakens the beasts of ages past; or anoints a new one.. Depending on her moods. The Kota stopped their worship of her some number of Chieftains past; and it angers her still.”

 

[Poprockz]

She had only nodded when he asked her if this beast storm was her first. The implication that there were more happenings like that in these lands didn't fill her with confidence, that was for sure. Even if they survived, such terror wasn't good for the heart.

Nayreema... the name sounded familiar, but she couldn't place it. The story didn't sound familiar though, so she wasn't sure why she knew that name. Perhaps she had heard it in passing at one point or another. Regardless, the name felt like it held weight, as though something listened and waited for it to be spoken. It gave her a bit of an eerie feeling.

The two men's banter had her a little amused, admittedly. Their back and forth reminded her a bit of herself and one of her old teachers. His name was Sir Willow, and he had been her geography teacher. He had loved to prattle on about the histories of specific regions, grumbling when she would slip in a good natured joke here and there, though she could tell that he had been a good natured man himself.

"She sounds like a jealous ex lover," Dremara commented thoughtfully, her eyes surveying his skin that was now less slathered with the death-juices of a god-summoned monster. What she was starting to notice though was that he was bleeding in certain areas, cuts and scrapes, none too deep to be dangerous but all of them looking painful and raw.

"You're hurt..." she murmured, looking up at him. "Do you want me to...?" Her arms reached out questioningly, prepared to heal him if he needed it.

 

[draco519]

Orson was continuing to wipe himself off, looking down at his pants and boots and.. He rang some water out over the boots, chasing the worst of the stench off of them before he looked up to Dremara’s reaction to the Beast Storms. And a jealous Ex lover. That.. was.. A more harrowing thing to say than she realized, in that moment. But then she spotted the wounds that the fading ichor that ran in stained black streaks of water down his musculature were revealing.

Do you want me to…

Orson brought his hand up, capturing the back of Dremara’s hand to turn it over. Raising it up to his face, he gently kissed the palm of her hand, gazing down into her golden eyes. “Do not strain yourself over what a bandage and rest will fix.” He wasn’t on the verge of losing a leg as Volan had been. He’d had far worse. “Besides.. Maybe one of these will scar.” He had a myriad of them; each telling of a victory. He released her hand.

“It will be bath time when I finish my duties.” He said, wringing the rag into the bucket as he crouched at her feet, bringing it up and running the rag through his hair to try to get some of it out; he cocked an eyebrow down at her. “Maybe forewarning will keep your book upright.”

And Orson smiled in his tease.

 

[Poprockz]

Dremara wasn't sure what he was doing when she found her hand being lifted by his own. She assumed perhaps he wanted to inspect it for something, but was taken off-guard when he pressed his lips against her skin. They were warm, much like that rough paw of his. The princess couldn't prevent a soft pink coming to her cheeks before her hand was free once more. Plenty of men had kissed her hand, though none of them had kissed that side of it, the side of it that was more sensitive. It seemed a more intimate, affectionate gesture in her eyes, and it left her wondering what had possessed him to do so.

How many scars did he have on his body by now, she wondered. Though she had seen him naked, she hadn't taken the time to truly look upon the landscape of this chest and arms, nor had she examined his back or legs. Most of the time she was trying her very hardest to avoid accidentally looking upon him in that state of undress.

Thank the Gods he wanted to take a bath! If he had decided to continue on all day with that smell clinging to him, she thought she might-

Maybe forewarning will keep your book upright.

What had started as a rosiness to her cheeks was now a full blush, the woman knowing exactly what he was referring to. So he had noticed that she was holding the book upside-down before she righted herself. "Perhaps you were imagining things!" she replied in a flustered manner, turning and making a tactical retreat back to their quarters. They both knew he hadn't been, but she was unable to admit her blunder.

 

[draco519]

Perhaps you were imagining such things!

“My mistake, Princess.” Orson called after Dremara with an amused twinkle in his eye, and he leaned down to keep cleaning up.

That night…

Orson opened his door, and great Bear God of the Kota help him? He laughed when he saw the sheet strung up in front of the bathtub. He hadn’t meant to, but he supposed it was for the best. Glancing over at Dremara in her book, he kicked out of his boots, took a couple steps, and kept staring at her. Then he reached for his belt to unbuckle it.

Would she peek? Would she?

Grinning because he was entirely too amused, he hung his cleaned belt and sword up on the hook on the wall and went to the bath Nettie had been kind enough to draw him. Likely she didn’t want to deal with the smell, either. Still.. The sheet was hilarious, though it barely came up to his waist. Dropping his pants, he stepped behind the sheet and picked up the linen and soap. Washing the filth off of himself was no small task with this one, and he noted the bucket of warm water Nettie had for more than one linen if it was necessary. She was an actual wonder. He did glance up, catching Nettie watching his bare chest. Perhaps to make sure he didn’t miss a spot?

He winced, feeling the warm water and soap on his wounds, but they needed to be cleaned out, too. Once the tub was filled with naught but his filth that had previously been on his skin? In his hair? He pulled a clean kilt out of his chest and wrapped it around his waist. It was easier than pants. Buttoning it up, he picked the tub up and dumped them down the pipe that would drain it out the side of the ship and returned to the sea the ichor of the Muirgheilt; from whence it came.

Drying off with a linen, he came from around the sheet and sat on the chest near the edge of his bed again, glancing over to Dremara. “Would you mind using that hair lotion again?” He’d fought a monster, he still had wounds that needed bandaging. Maybe he’d earned that much.

 

[Poprockz]

His laugh had drawn her gaze, but as he reached for his belt she quickly turned away from him once more.

No peeks were stolen, but one might have found it curious that she didn't turn the page for a while despite the fact that she had been known to be a fast reader. In truth, she was hyper-aware of his presence, sensing his tall form moving behind herself, probably naked. She couldn't concentrate on her reading as much as she tried to, and more than once she found herself reading the same line over and over before she gave up entirely. Was he looking at her? Was he completely ignoring her? She wanted to know but she didn't dare try to find out.

He probably wanted her to look so he could tease her, the smug scoundrel that he was. Perhaps this time he would accuse her of letting her womanly desires get the better of her, but she wouldn't give him the opportunity. He was ruggedly attractive, yes, but she wasn't a doe-eyed girl who could be swept off her feet with a few smiles, some fish, and a kiss on the palm.

She had finally remembered to turn a page when he asked her for more of the hair lotion.

The princess shut her book softly and set it down, turning to address him cautiously on the off-chance that he was still naked. As he wasn't (completely naked at least), she decided to grant his request. It was thanks to him that she hadn't met an untimely death today, and besides, the scent of the lotion would help remove the remnants of the ichor smells.

She stood and went to one of her chests, fetching the hair lotion and bringing it back with her as she approached him. "I can certainly apply more of it to your hair if you like, but would it be possible to have you angle your body to the side or turn around? I think it would be rather awkward to apply the lotion to your hair while having to reach around you."

 

[draco519]

Orson glanced up to Dremara as she once again received her hair lotion. He rolled his head to the side, relaxed after the hot bath, and gave a contented sigh, eyes lulling mostly closed for a moment. Then her request opened them, and it was a relatively reasonable one. He stood, stepped over the chest, and sat down on it once more so he faced away from her.

In truth? He was in a heightened state. After a battle? A glorious victory? He wanted ale, meat, and a woman. He felt her delicate hands through his hair and his nostrils flared with a breath. He felt his heart in his chest; as though it were protesting being caught between his spine, sternum, and ribs. It wished to beat outside of its captivity and be free. It didn’t hurt that he admired the Princess’s womanly form. She wore dresses that covered her modestly, and protected her honor, yes. But there wasn’t enough fabric to hide the womanly curves. The endowment of her breasts no bustier could suppress, the small waist beneath her cinched dress and hips that flared her skirts just so.

It wasn’t her fault; and he was having more and more difficulty keeping his hands to himself. He desired her. He knew he did. She had to know it, too. It was why she teased him so. With her little stolen glances. With her lady’s propriety. Even the way she ate; dainty and feminine. It was maddening. Another hand through his hair, along his scalp and the side of his head; and it was like bellows blowing over coal in a smithy’s forge. His eyes closed.. Did she not know he faced the Sea-Wraith to keep her from harm? That such protection and safety came from being.. His?

A bit of blood running down his arm brought his attention to look down as he felt the comb running through his hair. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been sitting there, but the rinsing of the lotion had been happening. When the water hit his wound and sent blood down his arm; the sting reminded him they still needed bandaging.

Movement caught his eye, the clear of a throat as Nettie laid some clean linen bandages down for Dremara to work with or herself, she wasn’t sure.