The Fall of Marigill (closed for Poprockz)

[draco519]

Orson remembered the way the rains fell over the village; the vampire enchantress that had descended from her palace in the WhiteCaps in search of thralls. To feed. She’d picked the wrong burgeoning city; Rimahven. His sword met claw. For all she cut him, for all she bled him? For she made every attempt to make him submit? Every feminine wile, every supernatural ability that made men cower at her feet? Orson stood; Unbroken. Unchained. He fucked her. Hard enough that she dared not hunt in RimeHaven again. Lest she incur more than his lust.

Orson shuddered at the attention his balls received. The tongue that supported and licked and coated in her mouth honey. The lips that sucked and teased. His breathing became uneven. His need more severe. Patience, he continued to remind himself. He’d waited three months; he can spare another hour. There was more pleasure waiting. He wasn’t sure how much more of her mouth he could take right now without firing down her throat. He found he didn’t want to so soon. He reached down with both hands, gathering her elbows and pulling her to her feet as though she weighed nothing. Bending his spine, he reached across her body with his opposite arm and picked her up to spin her upside down.

With her ass in the air, he had the perfect view of her beautiful, pink honeypot. The wetness on her thighs from where she’d been soaked. Her feminine, sweet aroma rising up into his nose. He leaned his head over, kissing a thigh and dragging his tongue along her sex’s juices before he laid her back on the bed. Hands on her elbows once more, he pulled her forward until her head hung off the edge. Letting her get her hair situated and comfortable, he brought his cock back to her lips.

His cock hardened, somehow, even more at the sight of the way her pale skin shifted when her throat accommodated his thrust. He kept himself buried there, hands running along her arms and over her shoulders and he took two handfuls of her breasts. “I’ve missed these..” He said, his voice shaking as he backed his cock away to let her breathe. He kneaded the soft tissue, capturing rosebud nipples between his fingers and thumb. He wasn’t hurried, pulling cock in and out of her through and mouth at a leisurely pace. Hungry sucking doing him no favors as he let out another deep groan.

Eventually, his hands had to leave her breasts, and he grabbed her hips to spin her and he was ever so naturally between her thighs where he stood at the edge of the bed. His eyes moving over her form, meeting her red eyes, and he found himself kneeling down. He drank her hungry kisses as his hands kneaded her glorious mountains once more. His cock dancing over her thigh, resting on her heat in all its glory.

When she reached for it, though? He swatted her hand, playfully. His lips trailed down her neck, finding the spot that turned her head and he trailed lower over her clavicle, the sternum, tongue trailing over one nipple - a hot breath - a gentle suckle into his mouth. He could spend hours worshipping them. He wanted to put his cock between them and let her suck the tip, or use that magic tongue of hers… But… later.

Right now? He had a purpose to fulfill. He tossed his head to the side, dark hair trailing over her pale skin as he kissed over her flat stomach and below her navel to the well shaven mons. His hands lifted and spread her thighs as he made it to his knees on the kodiak fur rug. It was a thing of absolute beauty; a work of art. He picked his gaze from it, over the flat plains of her stomach and ribs, between the valley of her peaks to meet her crimson stare. He kissed, first, her knee. Like her? His movements were sensual, slow, deliberate. He trailed his tongue over the inside of her thigh and found more of the sweetness.

Then there was a point where his fingers had released her knees and touched. Thick, strong fingers capable of gripping hard enough to bruise her pretty skin, but were gentle.. For now. He licked across the lip, feeling her radiate her womanly warmth with the agony of being kissed and touched and stimulated everywhere but there. It made him smile; and that smile reached his blue eyes that looked up at her.

Eventually? It was time. She’d been good and waited. And he brought out his tongue, lapping from bottom to top and back again. His fingers beginning to touch where it was the hottest, a finger teasing around her entrance whilst his free hand placed his shoulder against her hip as it climbed up, grabbed a handful of breast, and dove two fingers into her mouth.

His lips found her most pleasurable nub beneath its protective hooding, and he comfortably sucked it into his mouth, his tongue beginning to inscribe Ursui’s runes into it in patterns that crossed and took sharp turns. Judging which of the runes she liked best by the buck of her hips, or sighing gasps, or other such tells that women had. It would be a process to decide which was most effective; but he was patient. He would find it.

Withdrawing his fingers from her mouth, he brought them, slick and ready, to insert one. In. Out. And back again. And then surprising her with the second while his free hand gripped her hip more firmly, keeping her secure in place so she couldn’t run from him. And it went like this, his fingers pistoning in and out, his tongue and lips working their own brand of magic… Eventually, when he was confident she wouldn’t run? His hand left her hip and travelled up to take her by the throat.

He’d cut her air off periodically, especially when he pushed in harder with his fingers, his tongue continuing to carve his brand of pleasure into her. He wanted her wet. He wanted her to cum. He wanted her to coat his chest with her juices so he could make her lick it clean. And he wouldn’t stop until he got exactly what he demanded.

Because he is patient.

Because he is unbroken.

 

[Poprockz]

While it would take much more than strangulation to actually kill her, her body still responded to being choked; it thrilled her, adrenaline pumping through her veins when she would start to more desperately need a breath. It was another show of the power he could exert upon her, that no man but him would dare try to do such a thing with the cursed woman of the snowy peaks.

Between her moans and gasps, she found herself unable to do much else but grip two tight fistfuls of sheets. For a man of such strength, he had remarkable dexterity with both his tongue and fingers. It was almost too much at times, and she would find her hips squirming, unable to get away from the agile flicks of his instrument of pleasure.

"Orson!" she rasped after being granted the ability to breathe once more. The rush she felt from the oxygen returning to her lungs had her body trembling. Oh Gods, she could feel her orgasm climbing, ascending to heights she had only found in his company. Perhaps he was indeed Ursui's chosen- it was the only explanation she could think of for finding a man of such exceptional skill.

She huffed, her body rolling as he lapped at her throbbing clit and stuffed her cunt with his thick fingers. There was no resistance, nothing but submission to the climax she knew was only moments away. She knew it was going to be good- it was always good with him, but it was particularly good when she would feel her toes start to curl.

"ORSON! FUCK!" she wailed, her chest jutting up as her back arched, her pale body shuddering as she squirted. The waves of pleasure rolled through her, and when it passed she found herself collapsing against the bed, breathless and dazed. The evidence of her orgasm was probably dripping down his chest now. That broad, hard chest.

 

[draco519]

Orson watched between the valley that marked the separation of her well endowed breasts as the called his name for the first - and second - times of many that she’d find herself doing tonight. The warm liquid that shot out of her and caused him to release her clit so he could bring his tongue down and capture her nectar on his tongue, feeling it splash his cheeks and beard before he’d lap up over her sensitive bud once more. Just to keep the vibration of her thighs on his shoulders. He didn’t notice the correlation of his laps on her clit and the dancing shadows of the room, the flicking and spitting, coiling flames of the hearth. How her magic reached out, involuntarily, were he guessing? In seeming celebration of her favorite lover and jubilation of longstanding hunger being short lived.

When he could make her shudder no more? He withdrew his mouth, his fingers withdrew as he stood over her. His chest glistening with beautiful girl-cum, it fell in rivulets along the channels of his scars and caverns of muscle. His hand shimmered in the firelight as he brought it up to his lips, sucking her sweet honey off of them. Waste not; want not. Lusting blue eyes watching hers as he dropped first index, followed by middle finger from his mouth, her taste permeated on his lips and tongue.

He crawled over her slowly, like a predator in no hurry, his arm wrapping around her slender waist to pull her further into the bed. To right her head in alignment with the headboard; north to south. His lips demanded her kiss once more. A command to taste herself; and the mess she’d made. He felt the silken gates of her hips on his thighs.

“You made a mess.” He finally whispered against her kiss. His eyes opening as he backed away, sitting up on his knees, his hand gathering her hair at the back of her head to guide her to sit up and get to work. She had cleaning to do.

 

[Poprockz]

Something occurred to her when she tasted his lips: there was a taste there that she didn’t recognize. She wasn’t the only woman he was fucking, of that she was sure. Not that it offended her- after all,

It made sense seeing as she wasn’t here enough to satisfy his lust on a day-to-day basis. There had been times before that she could taste one woman or another lingering upon him, but this was different. This one tasted… hmm… she smacked her lips thoughtfully. Virgin? Yes and no. She could taste an undercurrent of chastity, but there was something else sweeter that intrigued her.

Y’sennia leaned forward to get to work in the task he had set for, a task that she always enjoyed. It gave her a chance to travel the geography of his scars, exploring his battles long past. Her smooth back was curved, allowing her moon-white ass to stick out for his viewing pleasure. She hoped he would let his eyes caress her, that he would yearn to be nestled in-between the valley of her backside.

Her tongue came to him and she started to collect the nectar he had seduced from her, starting at a long-healed gash on the left side of his pecs. She traced the edges of it, her lithe tongue scooping up what liquid it could find. Not that she left him too much dryer afterwards; her tongue left a light trail of saliva in its wake.

As she worked her way slowly downwards, one of her hands tried to reach for his cock, only to be swatted away once more. It put a smirk on her lips. She enjoyed the back and forth, testing his limits and patience to see if he would put her in her place. He had never disappointed her yet.

“I taste a virgin on your lips…” she said playfully, “there is something sweet in her taste that makes my lips sting so sweetly.” Though it hadn’t been spoken, there was a question implied: who was the woman she tasted?

 

[draco519]

Orson’s eyes closed, his hands moving over Senni’s body until he had to reach down and swat her hand away from his cock; he was taking this respite to calm himself. And, as a result of his decision? His inner fire was only stoked. As though the smithing god of pleasure’s bellows blew a mighty gust over it and it showed with the way his hands gripped her breasts.

I taste a virgin on your lips… sting so sweetly.

Orson gasped as she went over his chest, eyes opening and he cupped her chin to look up at him once he was satisfied with how well she’d cleaned him. The azure flames in his eyes were a perfect contrast to her crimson pools hazed over by her lust. He leaned down, demanding her kiss once more. His hands trailing through her hair before cupping her ass, bringing her closer to him and he felt his cock against her stomach. With no hands free? He couldn’t stop her from reaching for it now. But it was worth it to squeeze the pale mounts that he so enjoyed.

His fingers delved deeper. To the break in her thighs and touched her soaking, hot moisture once more. “Princess Dremara of Marigill.” His eyes opened; knowing two things. It was pointless to lie to Senni; and the knowledge he need not explain the significance of the Princess’s presence. How her royal blood would legitimize the Kota’s claims to RimeHaven and the WhiteCaps, the Tundra and the Frozen Wastes. It secured his home, and hers, from future incursions from the Kingdoms of Men.

Or guaranteed them; but they’d have allies and political influence at their disposal. “She will bear my sons.” Senni herself couldn’t, after all. Not that he knew of. And he needed heirs if he was to be the first Kota King. The thought of it made his cock harden in her hands; aside from the practiced strokes she placed upon it, that is. Though he didn’t have much more to say on the manner in his current, worked up state.

Without warning, he had a handful of her hair and his other reached across her body to her hip to spin her. To push her face down in the pillow, her breasts in the furs, and fulfill her wish of his desire to be between her legs. Behind her, his knee pushed at her calf, widening her sprawl and his hand pushed at her lower back to arch her hips before it trailed over and gripped an ass cheek. Kneaded the flesh, and massaged over it before he reeled back and smack.

He rubbed the sting out of her ass cheek, his cock between her thighs, resting the shaft against her entrance and her presence above it preventing it from getting level with his hips. When he was quite certain she’d go mad from him backing his hips away enough to reach down and draw the wet tip over one side of her lips and down the other? He spoke her favorite two words as the lock finally met the key.

“It’s time.”

He pushed. Deep. A groan resonating from his lips as he felt the stretch. His hand pulling back on her hair as his hips came forward. When his hips flushed with hers? He sighed, contented. Now? Now he felt like he was home.

 

[Poprockz]

Her eyebrows went up at the mention of the princess, indeed knowing what it would mean for them all. He was right in assuming that Y'sennia could not bear children. As a vampire, her womb was barren and the only way to pass on her bloodline was to turn a willing supplicant into a vampire herself. It was different from creating spawn; it involved a twisted ritual and a goblet of her own blood, as well as her dark blessing. She had only done this once, and had lived to regret it. To create more immortals like herself was to accept the fact that one day they might become your competition. It was an act of trust, and trust was not something she put her faith in anymore.

In all the years she was alive, she had never ventured to the Golden City, so she was curious as to what this girl might be like. Had Orson been made to throw her over his shoulder, kicking and screaming? Or had the girl begged him to take her when she saw the absolute bear he was? Either option amused her. There was something about his answer that eluded her though. Why did she make her lips sting ever so slightly? It was curious... And she decided that she would have to visit this girl to see her for herself.

She was roused from her thoughts when he spun her around and pinned her down, her ass up in the air before the breath could leave her lungs. He didn't have to nudge her too much- she knew this position and gladly assumed it. It was one of her favorites, though to be fair, it was hard to pick a favorite when everything he did to her had her foaming at the mouth.

A yelp sounded at the smack of his hand, and she reveled in the sting. Pain and pleasure were two sides of the same coin, the line blurring between them. Y'sennia waited impatiently, gritting her teeth in frustration as he pulled his cock away from her, teasing her drenched sex. Such a cruel lover, making her wait... Did he want her to beg? Did he want her to tell him of her need? He could already see the way her wetness sickened her thighs.

And then... it happened.

"FUCK!" she wailed as she felt him enter her. Her body had forgotten how thick he was, but it would soon be reminded. He was so deep inside her, his cock demanding that her cunt accommodate him. She could only acquiesce, licking her lips and reveling in their true reunion.

She felt him pull back from her slowly only to send his hips slamming into her once more. This happened a few times more, and each time he did so, she would moan loudly. Soon it seemed he wasn't content to delay any longer, and he started moving at a more moderate pace. Though she was a damned soul that would go to the hells once her body was lifeless, she had somehow found a slice of heaven in the bedroom of a chieftain.

"I love your cock..." she groaned, pushing her ass back to meet his thrusts. "I've needed this so badly..."

-----------------

Princess Dremara backed away from the other side of the door, looking as though she might have seen a ghost. She had insisted on coming to check on him out of concern for his safety, even though Faagen had warned against it. When she had arrived, she had reached out to knock. Before she could make a sound though, she had faintly heard the lustful moans of the vampiress and the grunts and groans of Orson himself. Even one as inexperienced as herself could recognize what was happening in his chambers.

The woman quickly turned on her heel and walked away with Nettie trailing behind her, all the way back to her own guest chambers. There were many feelings swirling around her head, but at the forefront she was kicking herself for not having picked up the obvious hints. A woman was impatiently waiting for him to return. In his chambers. Alone. Faagen had likely known what was happening, which is why he had tried to dissuade her.

Why was she… disappointed? Of course he had a lover back in his homeland- why would he not? It was not uncommon for men to seek companionship outside of a marriage, especially when they were typically arrangements born of duty. Her job was to present a united front with him while providing legitimacy to his bloodline, and to have thought otherwise even for a moment was foolish.

 

[draco519]

Orson felt the sweet walls within Senni acquiesce to the demands of thick, hard flesh that spread and filled her. His hand in her hair gave a little pull as he all but shoved forward, the sounds of lust filling the air. Senni’s howling wails, his deep grunts, the sounds of sweaty, spittle-laden, squirt soaked flesh making contact in wet slaps. His heavy balls contacted her clit and thighs. It was so good. It felt so good because she was so fucking good.

“Three fucking winters.” He slapped her opposite ass cheek again, then curled his fingers around her hip as he snaked his arm forward, leaning slightly to do so. “Not even…” Slap, slap.. “..in three winters…” Sweat began to give his skin a sheen of sweat. One particular bead of it rolled off of his beard and onto his chest, dancing along the caverns of muscle before it fell off of his pectoral and onto her back. Where it mated with her own and slid down her spine.

“...you hadn’t forgotten this.” He slammed deep, getting his middle and index fingers around her clit and began massaging it in time with his thrusts. He felt the very back of her against the mighty head of his cock; as though it had been made just to tease him. Pulling back on her hair, he finally let her sit up, so long as her back was arched, and he could continue pressing into her. His palm lay flat across her beautiful mons and him to guide her hips to stay angled how he wanted them.

His hand left her hair, letting it fall where it would and he cupped her chin, turning her head so he could lean down and claim her kiss. To taste her on his tongue the moment she gave in and came for him again. He wanted to shatter her entire world.

But he couldn’t keep this up forever. The feel of her walls sucking and squeezing him was becoming problematic for his goals of delaying his pleasure.

 

[Poprockz]

The deep thrust that had punctuated his growled words had her crying out in ecstasy, her eyes rolling back again. Every time he pistoned his rod into her abyss she was defeated by him once more, completely at his mercy. Her body wasn't her own in that bed- it was the King's. And the King seemed to want her to cum.

"Orson!" she crooned before their lips met once more in a wet, hungry kiss. Her tongue danced with his, playfully twisting and slipping around it as their lips smacked together. Her breaths were heavy now so she had to take gasping breaths whenever she was allowed a moment to do so. The exertion of their vigorous fuck was making her forehead and the small of her back beaded with sweat, the rest of her only having a slight clamminess to it.

Three winters... Three winters since she had felt him cum inside her. Every day had felt like a year, and yet here she was, about to receive the milk of life. She had wanted to resist, to hang on to her sanity until he himself had given in. But it was not to be. Victory was his once again as she felt his fingers making the final movements that would be her undoing.

Her body suddenly twitched and convulsed as though she had been electrocuted, a muffled scream sounding from where their mouths connected. Her pussy soaked his balls when she gushed her orgasmic fluids, and he would find his cock being squeezed more tightly by her spongy, spasming insides.

Though she hadn't been able to proclaim it to the world with a scream, Orson was the only word on her mind.

 

[draco519]

Orson released Senni’s kiss when he felt her cum. He wanted to hear her scream; his fingers showing her clit no mercy as he felt the vibration of her thighs. His hand holding her chin to watch her eyes as she rode her euphoric high. It was so much. His balls and cock doused in her squirt. He felt his heart roaring and the burning in his balls. And he wanted to-

He pushed her down without warning. Cock exited her as he breathed. Pulsing and so close..... His hands came up, gathering his long hair from matting on his neck and shoulders and he took deep, deep breaths. Then he smacked her across her ass once more, massaging away the worst of the sting before he took her by the elbow and guided her to come to him as he laid back. Letting her straddle him, he got his hair out from under him and his hands went to her hips.

“Make me cum already, Senni.” There was a playful challenge in his eyes. “Or do I need to send for the princess?” He grinned, his hands moving to her hips to push her down on him. His hips rose to meet hers as she acclimated to the new position. And it was wonderful. His grip on her hips was possessive, firm enough to leave small bruises as he bit his lip. Fuck.. It was so good when she did that. At just that angle that closed her eyes and caused her mouth to fall open.

“You’re going to have such a fucking mess to clean up.” He said, planting his feet as his knees bent, making her lean forward on his chest as he pushed up into her. His hand slid up her side to guide to the back of her head and pulled her down to kiss him, then he guided her down to his jawline, his ear.. and he exposed his neck for her.

 

[Poprockz]

Y'sennia had blinked in shock, her face buried in a pillow before it turned to the side. That fucking bastard. Did he really just pull out and deny her of the seed she so anxiously awaited?! He was about to get reprimanded for such a cheeky move when her ass felt his sting once more.

She moaned, and the next thing she knew, she was impaled atop his rugged form. It took her a moment to process what he had just said to her. After all, having just orgasmed twice in one night, her pussy was still a bit sensitive. It was distracting to say the least. However, the vampiress soon snickered, her fangs bared in a playful grin. "Before your wedding night? Please. Not unless you get off on being humiliated - I bet she would turn you down before you could say, "princess please," chaste little flower that she is."

“You’re going to have such a fucking mess to clean up.”

He had dicked around with her, so it was only fair that she do the same. Her tongue flicked out and traveled from his neck, back up to his jaw, and then traced the outside of his earlobe. A puff of warm air caressed his ear as she whispered, "maybe so, but can your princess do this?"

That would be all the warning he got, as with a practiced swiftness, her head whipped back and swooped down upon his neck. Her fangs pierced his skin, their poison pulsing through him. He could stand unaffected from her magic, but her bite could not be denied by any man, beast, or god.

 

[draco519]

Orson hadn’t lasted long. Not with her fangs in his neck. He brought his hand to the back of her head as he felt it. His other hand gripping her ass and he flipped her over, keeping her impaled as her entire body disappeared beneath his on the bed aside from her legs on either side of him. Her thighs were delicious on his hips as he got a few more thrusts in; but the bite? Oh.. the bite. From his neck, and it was like lightning throughout his body. Slow sensations, like sweat rolling down his arms, or the shift of her breasts against his chest in their endowed heave when he thrusted into her, became amplified when her fangs in his neck.

“Ahh!” He unleashed a warcry, feeling his cock pulse in time with the beat of his heart, and he pushed as deep as he could go. His hips applying pressure to hers. Streams, thick ropes of his seed fired from deep within his balls like a cannon to spray down the walls of her insides. The shifting of hips to milk him. The sensitive tip against the very depths of her core letting more and more loose. Torrents that gave every effort to swim deeper, only to find there to be very little room left.

“Oh…” His toes curled. Eventually, when he felt her tongue close his neck? He rose up enough to look down into her eyes, his own half closed, and pushed deep again. Pulsed. Then back for another throb. There was so much. It had been too long! All of her barbs had fallen by the wayside; forgotten and lost to time. Another pulse, more hot seed. His chest heaved, his hair wild with braids that had come loose, coated in sweat and squirt and spit. “Fuck..” He winced, feeling himself soften with two more soft pulses and he emptied the last of what was coming inside of her.

One breath.. Another. Another… hands that had taken handfuls of her tits. “You’re amazing.” He admitted, looking down to the absolute mess that was the pussy he’d just finished battering and filling. And the waste that would happen if her tongue didn’t want to do something about it. First, though? He leaned down for her kiss. Something that had been passionate; now tender.

 

[Poprockz]

His thrusts weren't enough to make her squirt, but she was sensitive enough that she had a mild orgasm, her pussy shivering around the cock that swelled and burst with cream. She groaned, grinding her hips against him as he let loose, finally getting the payload from his heavily laden balls. How delicious it was to feel so full...

She returned the kiss gently, basking in the afterglow of their heated romp. Her hand came up to lightly stroke his cheek, the cheek of the man she had waited so long to embrace. Though the vampress was loathe to openly admit it, she had truly missed him terribly. What if he had fallen in battle and she hadn't been nearby? What then? Here she would at least have a chance of saving him if he agreed to drink from her. But far away beyond her reach? She couldn't bear the thought of it.

"I know," she said with a little smile. "You make me feel alive again. Cocky bastard." She chuckled tiredly.

 

[draco519]

“How many times do I have to tell you?” Orson said, rolling his head to the side relaxedly as he shifted to pull the covers out and got beneath the furs. “You are alive; so long as you believe it.”

As she snuggled up to him? His hand came up to cup her chin. “I expect you to clean my tusks tomorrow.. And apologize to Faagen.”

–

The following day….
Docks

Orson was up and working. The docks were still offloading ships and reports of what filled the storehouses were flying in as though they had wings of their own. Families would eat for winters; enough gold to start an actual treasury… Enough gold to hire men to carve a vault into the ground beneath his home to store gold enough to start the actual treasury. His list of things to do was getting longer with each one. The warrior Chieftain of the Kota had no idea this was only the beginning of what it was to be King. The sun was hidden by the gray overcast skies; the rocky moors of RimeHaven on full display in the daylight. Orson was busy loading crates onto cards with yoked Oxen to pull them.

“Still no sign of Brannock?” Orson looked over to Roric, who carried this particularly heavy crate with him. Orson was walking backward whilst Roric stepped forward in time with the Chieftain.

“Nnngth!” Roric grunted, heaving the crate into the back of the cart and pushed it towards the back when Orson got out of the way. “No. Likely Josie won’t walk - or work - for a moon.”

They shared a laugh.

Fionn was busy rolling up thick ropes, tying them securely to keep them from being tangled, and tossing them into the crate to store them so they wouldn’t rot in the elements. One after the next, then he looked up to Cillian next to him doing the same.

“Do you think the Princess will be happy about Lady Y’Sennia’s presence?”

Cillian glanced over at Fionn, “Can’t say I've given it any thought.”

“How come?” Fionn inquired, tossing the rope in the crate and reaching for the next one.

“Because I don’t stick my nose where it don’t belong.” Cillian sniffed, but punched Fionn’s arm all the same with a little crooked smirk.

–

Back in the Orson’s palace - near midday

The servants of Orson’s palace had been running around as though their heads were on fire. The large hearths were lit and stacked high with firewood to keep them going; as they had been since before first light. Vegetables in the kitchens were being chopped and peeled and tossed into stews for the broths, meat on spits being rotated evenly to slow roast. Bear, boar, Ox, Elk, and rack after rack of cast iron pans containing cornish game hens all wafted their smells throughout the palace.

It made Orson’s stomach rumble as he crossed the threshold, having stomped his boots free of mud on his way in. He was in his clean furs, having bathed before first light. There was no rest for any of the Kota that had just returned home. Not when there was so much to do, reunions to be had and loved ones to hold. Faagen, he noted, was drowning in the missives, trying to keep them all orderly in the room Orson used as his office. The rack of scrolls on the wall near to overflowing. With a chuckle, he kept moving before Faagen noticed him. He’d deal with it. But… later.

He’d bathed before first light, dressed in his blue tunic with the furs of a silver wolf to keep him warm draped over his shoulders. And he spotted, “Princess.” Dremara and “Nettie.” He smiled, approaching them both and his hands came out to take Dremara’s. “Tonight we feast.” He was genuinely excited. It was a chance to share his tales of battle and hear those of his brother’s. The wisdom of the stories from their ancestors.

“I hope your rooms are satisfactory?” He knew his home wasn’t anything near what she’d been accustomed to. But, in time? It would grow into a palace proper.

 

[Poprockz]

The tusks in the throne room were returned to their former state before the sun could even hint at its arrival. She was a creature of darkness, after all, so Y'sennia had rested in his arms for a while before getting up and undoing what problems she had caused. The shadow had no issue sucking up and reabsorbing the blood. Faagen, for his trouble, awoke to find a pair of flat, deep-orange gems on his nightstand that fit perfectly in one's hands. They pulsed with warmth, having been obtained from the stomach of an infernal salamander. She was aware that he often had cold hands and feet, so she thought it would be a good gesture on her part.

Of course she would visit him in person at some point to apologize directly, but she figured he wouldn't have wanted to wake up with her standing over him in his room when all others were sleeping peacefully. Once her tasks were done, Y'sennia had slipped back into Orson's room and snuggled up with him once more, simply enjoying his company.

-----------------

Princess Dremara had dressed in a golden dress with white accents, wanting to look extra regal for such a big occasion. Though since no one was there to see her, she also wore a shawl made from the softest rabbit fur that had been fetched for her once one of the servants here had noticed that she was cold.

Most of the morning had been spent unpacking with Nettie, her dresses now hung and organized in her closet. The closet wasn't a big one, but she hadn't been able to bring an excessive amount of dresses either. Her other possessions were unloaded and situated in the room at her direction, and by the time they were done, they were all feeling a bit peckish. She had been off to the dining hall when Orsin had run into them.

Though he was given a smile, it was more of a polite one that didn't reach her eyes. "Our rooms are indeed more than acceptable accommodations for the period before the wedding. Thank you for your concern."

 

[draco519]

Orson smiled in return, offering her his arm to walk with her. It was nearing midday and he hadn’t had any breakfast. He himself could use a bite to eat. The servants buzzed by, bringing in decorative garlands to line the rafters and bringing more lanterns and torches to hang. The hall would need to be well lit. “Good.” He wasn’t sure how to broach the subject; but broach it he must. “Our greatest ally was waiting for me last night.” He took a breath through his nose. “Lady Y’Sennia Skolgrim; the Lady of the WhiteCaps.”

He arrived in the dining hall, pulling a chair out for her and he came to sit at the table as well. The servants going about putting plates together from the kitchens as water was poured for them. “It isn’t my intent to alarm you; but… She is a night enchantress.” A vampire. One who enthralled men and fed on the blood of humans. He cleared his throat. “I figured it best I told you of her than you seeing her red eyes and became startled.”

How could a proud warrior King who stood against Naymeera’s dark intentions allow such a creature to grace his halls? “There would be no RimeHaven without her. There are many tales my ancestors tell through the shamans. Times of famine, of plagues brought by foreign kingdoms.” It was too cold in RimeHaven for many plagues to survive or spread; it was one of the benefits. But when invaders brought their foreign diseases? It would take one or two of them; but it had no chance of being rampant like it would in the golden city.

“Lady Y’Sennia…” How did he put it? He looked to the plate containing a couple of chicken drumsticks, two sausages, greens and a few small wedges of cheese. “..She also believes in Dagris’s prophecy.” It sounded more and more rational when he considered how a being with the wisdom of lifetimes also saw it in him believed it so vehemently. “When the Kota had no other allies? We had the Lady of the WhiteCaps.”

He drank his water to get the dryness out of his mouth, unsure of why he was nervous to reveal this. “She will mean you or Nettie no harm; you’ve my word on that. In fact, you’re as much under her protection as you are mine.”

 

[Poprockz]

Orson wasn't spurned, his arm taken as they walked to the dining hall together. Princess Dremara was aware of how one's image could be changed even under the eyes of one's servants in their own palace. That was especially the case sometimes, as gossip was something that spread like wildfire. She wouldn't give anyone a reason to doubt their union, intent on keeping their image intact for politic's sake.

While he spoke, she helped herself to her own breakfast, chewing as she took in this new information. So Y'Sennia was the name of the woman he was with last night... And apparently she was an important figure here whether or not she was a vampire. More importantly, she was an important person to him. Dremara had read books that mentioned enchantresses of that nature, dark beings who feasted on blood and sought to lure men and women alike to become their thralls. Some insinuated that their thirst for blood was only eclipsed by their lust for power.

She would be lying if she said that the thought of living near a vampire didn't make her feel uncomfortable, but she could tell by the way he spoke of her that her objection would not lead to a favorable outcome. As with many things in life, she would simply have to bear with it and acclimate to this new reality.

A mouthful of sausage was chewed in silence before she swallowed and answered him.

"That is a relief to hear." It was said casually, the woman taking another bite of sausage and chewing. She couldn't think of much else to say on the subject.

Nettie, however, looked somewhat alarmed. "A night enchantress? Don't they... have a tendency to manipulate those around them?" She wasn't going to say it outright for fear of offending him, but it was clear that she was concerned about him having his strings pulled.

 

[draco519]

Orson glanced over to Nettie as they ate, and her concern was a valid one. “We battled when first we met; she’d come to RimeHaven to feed and find thralls, so I thought. Little did I know; she sought help against a great beast that she alone couldn't slay that threatened the WhiteCaps. Though I heard none of it. She was a Night Enchantress; I knew only what i'd been taught. We fought long into the night, from dusk to High Moon. It wasn’t until I had her cornered and bested did she try to enchant me; only to find Ursui wouldn’t allow it of his favored son.” He knew the runes were painted beneath his skin had something to do with it, but Dagris was the runecaster. He merely followed the wisdom of the Shamans.

“A bargain was struck; in exchange for her life and sharing my bed? The Lady of the WhiteCaps became an ally. She’s been loyal to the Kota, when all others had shunned us, since. When we are invaded? She comes to our aid. When the primal beasts of Naymeera seek to surface from the mountains? We go to hers. She’s shown my people many methods of farming and medicine that have helped keep my people fed and babes to not know hunger.”

He cleared his throat, trying to think of the best way to say it, but.. “I ask only that you judge her by her deeds and heart; not what you believe a Night Enchantress would be upon meeting one.”

Orson had told her; it’s what he’d intended to know. Dremara was rather closed off, and he… why did he feel this? In his heart? Was it guilt? Was it indignation? His eyes stayed on his plate, chewing one of the sausages and the events of last night played in his mind. Dremara took this development entirely too easily. He suspected something deeper; but he had no reason to. It was an inclination, no more and no less. But what did he give voice to?

He’d been genuine with her since the day they met; honorable, honest, and forthright. Perhaps he should’ve told her of Y’Sennia before now, but.. Fuck, had he forgotten in her presence? The way her golden eyes wouldn’t even look at him now… Was he torturing himself? Did he have anything to apologize for? If not, why did he feel like he might just? It all left him with more questions than answers. One thing was true; there would be no Kota in RimeHaven without Y’Sennia. She protected RimeHaven from threats from the of shadows.

Another thing was true; Dremara’s royal blood protected RimeHaven from the world of men. He found himself entirely unsure, and he did his level best not to appear as though this newfound, unwelcome internal struggle didn’t turn his stomach and ruin his appetite. He chewed dutifully, then remembered.

“The feast will have some time allotted if you wish to dance.” She was an accomplished Dremiri dancer, he did remember that, finally. When he wasn’t ripping himself to shreds inside.

 

[Poprockz]

Dremara listened quietly, having also been curious of what Nettie had asked. It would have been hard for her to believe that he was the puppet of a dark sorceress, so she readily believed him when he claimed that he was unaffected by her magic. His high regard for this woman was his own, as was the affection he clearly harbored.

What it sounded like to her was that the two had fought, resolved their differences, and fallen in love. From what she heard, love was one of those things that could change a person for better or for worse, and in this case it seemed to have reformed the vampress from blood-sucking fiend to powerful ally. Politically, it would be unwise to offend or break relations off with such a person, so she assumed that the guest quarters would continue to be prepared for her for the times after the wedding when she would leave them to his main room.

No… why should she be made to leave their room? She would have to talk about it with him at some point. Perhaps he could meet the vampress in her own castle when they had relations, or even the opposite side of the longhouse in one of the nice rooms.

The thought of the two of them rolling around his bedroom as they did last night put a pit in her stomach. It wasn’t necessarily the image of them engaged in.. improper activities that had her perturbed, but the idea of him looking softly at this other woman; cuddling with her into the night; whispering sweet nothings into her ear… Things that she had naively started to think would be reserved for herself someday when they had more time to acquaint themselves.

When had she forgotten that love had no place in a political marriage, save eventually for a mother’s love? What had possessed her to believe otherwise? Dremara barely knew this man who had taken her from all she knew and loved. He had done it for a noble reason, but it didn’t change the fact that he had plucked her like a beautiful flower in a gated garden. She needed to get her act together or she would find herself wilting. Only by growing her own roots would she find her own happiness in these lands… of that she was sure.

“That sound lovely,” she nodded. In truth, she wasn’t feigning interest in such a thing. Dremara truly thought that perhaps some dancing might help lift her spirits and distract herself from her new life.

Once again, Nettie fidgeted nervously and spoke up, “so, my lord… Is Y’Sennia known to the people of RimeHaven?”

 

[draco519]

Orson found himself chewing the drumstick and took a long drink of the water. He was conflicted, yes, but he hadn’t lied to Dremara. Senni and he had fought; he’d bested her, the rest had been their long and sordid history. Though it was apparent whatever thoughts plagued Dremara’s golden eyes? She wouldn’t share them just yet. They’d need to speak in private, he suspected.

Is Y’snnia known to the people of RimeHaven?

He glanced over to Nettie. And he appreciated that Dremara had a loyal handmaiden; one who cared about how her Lady was seen. “Yes. She’s a known ally and friend to many.” Though, in answer to what she hadn’t asked? “Those in my service are sworn to the utmost secrecy.” He looked between Nettie and Dremara, a Kota oath was no thing easily broken. “To break an oath was to be cast out of the Kota.” With the harsh terrain of the moors and the tundra and the WhiteCaps? Exiles didn’t survive long without enough to eat or the warmth of the hearths.

Orson finished his lunch, wiping his mouth and dropping the napkin on his plate before he picked up his water. “Gather your thoughts on the matter. I would hear them when you’re ready to speak on it.” Orson looked up to the approaching Faagen with a sigh.. And came to stand. “I shall see you at the feast, Lady Dremara. Nettie.” He bowed his head to them, turning to meet Faagen. Much to do, indeed.

The great hall’s walls are towering slabs of granite, their surfaces polished but etched with Ursui’s legacy: roaring bears, claw-mark runes, and Kota knotwork spiraling around battle scenes—warriors felling foes beneath Ursui’s starry gaze. Stone pillars, carved with bear faces snarling in amber-eyed ferocity, rise at intervals, supporting a high, vaulted ceiling of wooden beams, charred black and carved with Ursui’s constellation. The floor, a mosaic of smoothed stone slabs, is strewn with rush mats and bear-fur rugs dyed in Ursui’s sacred ochre, their knotwork patterns weaving claw sigils with clan emblems. Two massive hearths, each a stone behemoth ten feet wide, dominate the side walls—eastern and western—their granite mantels inscribed with ogham prayers to Ursui, their fires usually banked but now roaring for the feast.

From the wooden beams that support the ceiling, garlands of heather, ivy, and wild moor-flowers—gathered by the Kota youths—hang in woven loops, their greens and purples softening the hall’s stark granite. Intertwined with the garlands are strands of braided bear fur and dyed amber, their tips glinting with small amber beads that catch the firelight; casting a warm, dappled glow across the hall. The garlands sway gently, their earthy scent mingling with the smoke and meat, a rare softness in the Kota’s rugged world.

The twin hearths blaze, their flames licking high, fueled by oak and peat, their crackling a hymn to Ursui’s primal fire. Iron spits, each manned by Kota cooks, stretch across the hearths, roasting whole boars and deer. Their fat drips into the flames, sending up savory plumes. Smaller spits hold rabbits and fowl, while cauldrons bubble with stews of barley, root vegetables, and bear meat, seasoned with moor herbs. The heat bathes the hall in a golden haze, the air thick with the scent of roast, smoke, and spice, a feast worthy of Ursui’s warriors.

Between the long, oak-hewn tables that line the hall—each groaning under trenchers of bread, cheese, and mead horns—the central floor is cleared, a twenty-foot oval swept clean of rushes. The stone here is polished, etched with faint claw runes that glow amber under the firelight, a sacred space for celebration. Torches on the pillars cast flickering light, marking the area for dancers and entertainers—Kota drummers with bear-hide drums, pipers with bone flutes and ivory horns, and warriors ready to dance the clan’s battle reels, their steps a tribute to Ursui’s strength, Kota resilience, even the hope of a greater tomorrow.

Above the dance area, suspended from the rafters by iron chains, hangs the weaponry of fallen Kota brothers, a poignant tribute to those lost to Kael’s raids and past wars. Each blade is rusted but polished, their hilts wrapped in bear leather, some etched with Ursui’s claws, others with the owner’s name in ogham. They dangle in a solemn circle, their shadows swaying on the floor below, a reminder of sacrifice amid the feast’s joy. The chains creak softly, their lost’s contribution to the hall’s revelry, their weight a silent vow to remember the fallen.


Orson was dressed well in his cured silks; the finest garments he owned, with the fur of a wolf that once possessed patches of white, gray and silver furs. They gave a stark contrast to his dark hair and blue eyes. His kilt was patterned in black with the colors to match his furs patterned into it, as though to appear as the claw marks of the great sky bear. His boots were lined with fur and the tops of them disappeared into the kilt.

He had an intricate knife on his belt, but he had no need of his sword this night. Dusk was upon them; and his hair was brushed and braided after his bath. With one more check in the polished mirror glass, he heard the sounds of men laughing in the main hall. He’d need to make his appearance soon; and he wasn’t sure of what Dremara had decided upon. So, he knocked upon her door and when Nettie peeked through the crack? Orson inquired of her.

“Nettie.” He smiled a bit, bowing his head. “I was unsure of whether the Princess would prefer to walk into the hall with me or make her appearance once her dance was announced?”

 

[Poprockz]

Dremara felt a little better about things when he assured her that no one would speak of his relations with the Lady of the Whitecaps. At the very least, people wouldn't look down on her for not being the King's favored. Being disfavored by the King wasn't necessarily a dangerous thing, but it did affect how one was treated, especially in a foreign place where her position was under the utmost scrutiny. It could affect the quality of food she was served, whether she was disrespected, whether servants would "conveniently forget" do do certain tasks for her... She didn't want to have to deal with such a situation if at all possible.

She had nodded in regard to his instructions, watching as he walked away from the table. How was she supposed to articulate her thoughts to him when she wasn't completely sure how she felt? Even if she sorted it all out, would it be worth it to speak her mind? Sometimes doing such a thing only caused further issues.

"Come on, finish up your food and we'll start to gussy you up," Nettie said with a reassuring smile, "Regardless of what happens, this is supposed to be a celebration." The maid scooted her chair closer to the princess and reached out to put her hand comfortingly on her should, her thumb rubbing her much in a way a mother or older sister might. "I know this new life will take some adjustment, but today we can focus on celebrating an end to the war."

The Princess smiled. "That's true... Perhaps I'll try to set my worries aside for today." A playful glint came to her eye and she tipped her head slightly to the side. "maybe I can even keep an eye out for a worthy husband for you."

Nettie laughed and speared a tomato with her fork, "excuse me, Princess, but no one is worthy enough for the likes of Nettie Hollenstock, handmaid extraordinaire."

---------------------

"She will join you in but a moment, sir. I just need a little bit more time to finish with her hair," Nettie replied with a smile. With that, she closed the door and continued on with her work until it was done. Her hands were deft at their movements, the princes's hair having been prepared in short order.

Normally, the aristocrats of the Golden City would dress in regal dresses and fancy coats, the women covering up much of themselves in thicker fabrics that did not lend itself to movement. Most of the dancing that was done was one or another variation of a waltz. However the exception to this was a day that Dremara looked forward to every year: The Golden Harvest Festival. It was a joyous celebration where everyone was encouraged to be more free and light, and the emphasis on propriety was loosened for the day. It was a day dedicated to showing the Gods of the harvest their joy and gratitude, the people dancing, singing, and laughing from the beggar on the corner to the royalty themselves.

Dremara had been excited for this year's festival, so she had her dress already fitted and created well beforehand; she had figured that if her measurements changed at all, she could always have it tailored. It felt a bit bittersweet as she looked at the vibrant red of her flowing dress with its light and airy fabric. There would be no more Golden Harvest Festivals for her, but she would keep her treasured memories of those times close to her heart.

She had been informed of Orson's arrival, and it would not do to keep him waiting. Princess Dremara stood from the chair in front of the mirror, her dress jingling softly with the sound of the gold embellishments. Turning away from the mirror, Nettie opened the door for her and she stepped outside of it. Her eyes found Orson and gave him a once-over. He looked quite handsome, she had to admit. Regal, even. He certainly looked like a warrior king, but it was his presence that really sold it. The man had an air about him that made one want to follow him, to hear what he had to say.

Her head dipped in acknowledgement and he was given a small smile, "Thank you for waiting..." The woman's face screwed up in contemplation before she finally just asked. "I'm not sure what to call you, honestly. Do you prefer being called King, Chieftain, Orson, my betrothed? What would you prefer?"

 

[draco519]

Orson’s breath caught as he saw Dremara in her flowing gown. Eyes moving down and then up again. He genuinely hadn’t been expecting that; and he was clearly taken by surprise. He could only nod, dumbstruck, as she thanked him for waiting. He cleared his throat to remind himself he was still present in the conversation, reaching up to unclasp his wolf furs and remove them; draping them over her shoulders because he knew how cold his halls were. She likely hadn’t when she selected her dress. The great hall would warm more when it was filled with people and dancing.

Then she was asking him how he’d like for her to address him. “Forgive me.” He finally spoke. “Your beauty takes me off guard.” He turned, offering her his arm as he gave that some thought. “I’d like you to call me the equivalent of what you’d like for me to call you.” If that didn’t make sense? He couldn’t blame her.

He led her towards the great hall as he explained. “If you find yourself not wishing to wed me? You cannot see me as anything more than a duty? My lord. If you grow excited about the wedding, and admire me as a man? My intended. If you’d prefer to be on a first name basis? Orson. If you ever grow to love me?” He looked down at her with a small, secretive smile. “I wouldn’t be offended if you were to call me something that conveyed that. Beloved, my love, my heart, my breath..”

”In turn?” He looked down to the Princess as they came to her seat next to his bear-carved throne, and he pulled it for her. “I shall address you in a manner equivalent to what you call me.”

 

[Poprockz]

She hadn't been able to think of a response in the moment to his comment about her beauty, though she was a bit flustered by it. For her part, Nettie looked particularly proud of his compliment, knowing that she had a large hand in preparing Dremara's hair, make-up, and situating the dress itself. The handmaid was wearing an emerald green dress that highlighted her own deep green eyes.

The furs were accepted by the golden-haired woman, though she wondered whether he was going to end up being cold because of her. She made a mental note to ask him to allow her to procure some furs of her own.

"My King." Princess Dremara had decided that this was the most appropriate title in these circumstances. "I respect you as such, and I find you to be largely a man of good character- a good ruler to your people. I am here, duty-bound, to serve you as your Queen." Her tone wasn't particularly aloof, more matter-of-fact.

As far as she was concerned, feelings had nothing to do with it their arrangement at this point. Though she admired what she had seen so far of him, she didn't consider them friends let alone lovers, and she didn't think the latter was feasible. The best she could hope for would be for the two of them to be good friends, partners. He already had a lover, after all.

The implication that he would match her own feelings regardless of his own sounded hollow to her. What, would he call her "my beloved" as he left for his rendezvous with the Lady of the White Peaks, knowing that his own Queen had fallen for him? That seemed not only cruel but also as though he were merely humoring her. She was no mere girl- she would be a Queen, and while she would not demand his love, she would demand respect enough to treat her with sincerity.

She sat down in her own throne chair and waited for him to do the same. Though it was daunting, it was also exciting that soon the celebration would begin.

 

[draco519]

Orson took his seat, not nearly so bothered by the cold as he’d spent his life in it. Though, the last three winters did have something to say for acclimating out of it. At least the main hall had both hearths burning to prepare meats and stews. Even some desserts were going in the brick ovens in the kitchens proper. Music was being played near the end of one of the hearths where the musicians could enjoy the warmth of the fire without being in the way of the cooks.

There were already some women dancing a jig on the dance floor. Fur lined dresses and leggings to ensure they kept warm, but they locked arms and swirled their skirts as the men clapped in rhythm with the music. Swirling silk shawls and merriment was everywhere. Orson looked over his hall, to his gathered brothers and their women. The ale in their mugs would keep them warm when the fires would not.

“Orson.” It was Brannock who approached the table. “Lady Dremara.” He bowed his head respectfully before he leaned down with all seriousness in his gaze. “It’s time Fionn proved himself.”

Orson’s smile slowly faded, and he leaned forward, curling his arms to interlock his fingers as he stared into Brannock’s eyes. He was fully aware Fionn was behind Brannock; that the zealous fire of youth would not allow him to miss this conversation. “You know he isn’t ready.”

“I say he is.” Brannock’s eyes burned with belief, gesturing Fionn forward.

Fionn also bowed to the King and Queen of the Kota but stared with want for nothing more than to be recognized as Brannock, Cillian, Roric, Dagris, or Orson’s equal. “Brannock told me, Chieftain, Lady Dremara.. He told me everything I needed to know. I’m ready.”

Orson leaned back, a somber expression on his face as he picked up his ale. He gave a thoughtful look to Dremara; and there was unmistakable mischief in his eyes… “This isn’t about being the first to prove yourself in front of your new Queen, is it?” He brought his gaze, sidelong, to Fionn.

“N-no!” The poor boy blushed something fierce. “I was ready for the past two winters in Marigill! Brannock told me how you considered it, then. But the war wasn’t over! It’s over now.. And I'm ready! Please.”

“It’s a very binding Oath, young Fionn.” Orson had brought his head to turn back to the youngling. “Once you start on this path; you will be allowed only death or exile to escape it.”

“I’m ready.” Fionn, again, insisted. Having to stop himself from shifting his weight from right to left foot with restless impatience.

Orson rolled his tongue in his cheek, his thumb and forefinger of his hand nearest dremara tracing the tips of one another in thought. Eventually, he nodded slowly. “See it done, then.” He gestured to the dance floor, and held a hand up to silence the music and the hall.

Coming to stand, Orson picked up his cup of ale as the rest of the men did the same. “Young Fionn believes it’s his time for the Oath of the Odorous boot.”

Cillian, from his table, gave a rare grin, coming to stand.

Dagris bit his tongue not to laugh, setting down the stone he’d been scribing a rune into to climb to his feet.

Roric carried in a boot in one hand and a pitcher in the other; but this was no ordinary boot. It was aged with time; spots where the sun had faded it, patchwork on the hide to keep it from spilling ale out the sides of it. He was quite convinced flies would die if they flew too near it. Handing the pitcher to Brannock, he held the boot open with both hands so mead could be poured.

Fionn’s green eyes widened, a mix of dread and excitement, as the others chuckled. Dagris, leaning on his rune-carved staff, smirked, his gray eyes glinting with amusement. “Ursui demands strength, Fionn,” he said, his tone mock-serious, “even against Brannock’s stench.”

Cillian, ever the shadow, lounged against a pillar, his raven cloak blending with the granite, a rare smile tugging at his lips.

Roric, grizzled and steady, his wolf-head sword at his hip, his nod to Orson and Queen signaling the ritual’s start. “Prove you’re Kota, boy,” Roric said, voice firm but warm.

Orson raised a hand, silencing the hall once more. His blue eyes are now fixed on Fionn. “The Oath of the Odorous Boot is no jest, Fionn,” he said, though his grin betrayed him. “Our fathers endured it, as did I, as did every Kota warrior. You’ll swear to Ursui, to the clan, and to us—through Brannok’s reek.” The brothers roared with laughter, Brannok thumping the table, the boot’s stench wafting closer, making Fionn recoil.

Roric knelt before Fionn, the boot thrust forward like a sacred relic, its odor a tangible force—rotten leather, swamp muck, and a whiff of decay that made even Cillian grimace.

“Breathe deep, lad,” Brannok growled, “and swear the oath!”

Fionn, swallowing hard, took the boot with trembling hands, its weight heavy with history. He glanced at Orson, then at the brothers, their faces a mix of mirth and expectation, and steeled himself. Raising the boot to his face, he inhaled—a long, shuddering breath that turned his freckles pale, his eyes watering, a gagging cough escaping his lips. The hall erupted in cheers, Brannock slapping his knee, Dagris chuckling, even Cillian letting out a rare laugh.

Fionn’s voice, strained but defiant, rang out: “By Ursui’s claws, I swear—to the Kota, to my brothers, to my Queen, To RimeHaven! I’ll fight, I’ll bleed, I’ll—” He coughed again, the boot’s stench overwhelming, and dropped it, gasping, “—I’ll endure!”

The brothers howled, Roric nodding approval, Dagris raising his staff in salute.

Orson stood tall, his grin wide, and applauded.

Roric clapped Fionn on the shoulder, his grip firm.

Orson nodded solemnly to Fionn once more.“You’re Kota, Fionn,” he said, voice warm. “Ursui sees you, as do we.”

Brannock retrieved the boot, tucking it under his arm with pride, while Cillian brought Fionn a flagon of ale to wash away the stench. “You’ll survive worse than that, lad,” Cillian said, his voice soft but sharp, he didn’t know how correct he was; with what lurked beyond the WhiteCaps.

Roric added, “Aye. Keep that fire, boy.” Part of him was still in disbelief that he’d actually done it; though he hid it very well.

Dagris, his runes glowing amber, murmured a blessing to Ursui, the bear idol at the hall’s shrine flaring as if in approval.

Fionn, still coughing but grinning, raised the horn, mead spilling down his chin. “To the Kota!” he shouted, and the brothers echoed, their voices a thunder in the granite hall. The firelight danced on the walls, Ursui’s claws pulsing, the bear god’s strength binding them.

“Now you dance!” Orson grinned, coming to sit and nodded his go ahead to Fionn, a wave of his hand to the musicians. “It shall be your second act of loyalty.”

The music picked back up as Fionn hopped on one leg, touching his nose with a finger and spun in a timed circle. Causing laughter in the halls once more.

“Oath of the Odorous boot.” Orson spoke lower to Dremara. “Biggest bunch of shit I've ever had to make up.” He looked over, amused, at Dremara.

 

[Poprockz]

The Oath of the Odorous Boot? It wasn't something she had ever heard of before, so she assumed it was some kind of Kota custom. She watched with curiosity as they brought out... a literal boot?

Her expression turned to one of confusion as she looked around to each of their faces. Some of them looked serious while others looked amused. Was this a real tradition, or was it some kind of practical joke? The young man seemed to be taking it seriously enough.

The Princess leaned forward to try to see it better, only to recoil at the scent that had wafted her way. A hand came up to cover her mouth in horror and she pressed herself back into her chair. By the Gods! That stench could wilt crops! It was a wonder that Fionn hadn't lost the contents of his stomach right in front of them. For that she had to applaud him, at least.

When he enlightened her to what was really going on? Her eyebrow raised and she couldn't help a little smile of amusement herself. "You know, most traditions are started by someone just making something up. If you're not careful, his great-grandchildren will be sucking down the stench of your boots as well."

 

[draco519]

Orson was doing his level best not to laugh as Dremara pieced together the joke young Fionn had unknowingly fallen for. And her words of traditions are just something made up. He had to think on that one. It was a fair point, but.. He looked back over to Dremara.

“It can’t be worse than Brannock’s old boots. I wash my feet.”

All the same, he smiled as Fionn finished his dance routine and dinner was served. Orson watched as the servants of his palace cut flanks of meat for his people.

“Faced ten of them, I did!” Brannock had a large flagon in his hand, standing in the middle of the hall while all manor of food was served up around them. Stories of valor simply passed the time so everyone could get a plate. “With the Gills coming down the mountain pass? It was up to me and YOUNG FIONN” He called out the boy’s name; the freshly sworn youngest of Orson’s pact. And they would many times to elicit cheers and make the boy smile. So he’d never suspect the oath of the odorous boot.

“And ten of our brothers to keep the main encampment from being flanked!” Brannock had carried on with his story until a plate was brought to him with a massive rack of bear ribs on it. “Oh, hello beautiful!”

“Careful.” Orson warned Brannock. “I figure Josie isn’t too keen on being upstaged by a rack of ribs.”

Josie, at her seat as Brannock’s guest, laughed hard enough that she brought a hand up to cover her mouth. The rest of the hall following suit.

“Chieftain.” Faagen entered with a dark haired woman of petite form and deep green eyes. “Princess Dremara; allow me to introduce my wife, Laela.”

Laela curtsied deeply. “It lifts heart to see your return, Chieftain. Perhaps I can get a moment alone with my husband now.”

Orson chuckled.

Laela turned to the Princess, offering a warm and welcoming smile. “RimeHaven is wonderful, dear. You’ll find these bear-men give bear-hugs and never let you leave.” She sighed, wistfully. “If only they could give the bear-hugs somewhere warmer.”

Faagen cocked an eyebrow at Laela playfully. “What is this warm you speak of?”