Dion

Sonic - The New Generation

''heh. i think its fine. we can just kill lord shadow before anyone figures out he defected... heh.''

Here I am. Pleased to meet you.

@Stuzzie Welkom op RPG. Weinig Nederlanders hier dus elke nieuwe is er weer eentje bij.

Sonic - The New Generation

Diotron came into the area where Boruto's dad and Sonic are, sonic was his brother so it was ok. ''sonic what do you think?''

Sonic - The New Generation

diotron the hedgehog
he can copy any power
theme song:
cause hs cool :)

Foreign Language Thread

Eeeey. Kung gusto niyo mag-aral ng Filipino, nandito lang ako. Haha, joke.

@PaulHaynek

TANGINA MO

» ᴘᴀʀᴀᴅɪsᴏ

^{Gangjeon Min-soo}

---

^{TIME: 3 AM. | LOCATION: Koraebul backroom. | INTERACTION: Gangjeon Seong-ho, @Grim}

The store was completely empty, despite Paradiso's long-standing nightlife scene and a 24/7 economy, where it was more or less a requirement to be open 24 hours a day in order to be able to compete. Especially as a small time restaurant with a very niche branch of specialties. Seafood. Who even ate seafood anymore in Paradiso when you could get fucked up by some genetically altered mushroom soup, right? An older Korean gentleman slowly closed the blinds of the storefront, put the tables back in order and put the chairs on top of them. Then, once he was done, he switched the light off, flipped the open sign to closed, and left the store. He carefully locked it behind him when he did.

During the brief moment he had the door open, any outside passer-by's would've been able to hear the screams coming from inside, barely audible to begin with due to the very loud music coming from there too, but the man was just quick enough to prevent it from sounding serious by closing the door rapidly.

“What the fuck did you think you were doing? Did you honestly think we wouldn't find out?”

“L-look, I didn't do it! It's a mist-”

The answer was cut short by a fist in the face. The man reared back, his head hanging awkwardly to the right. His face was swollen, blue and purple, but he couldn't even shield himself from further assault. He was tied down to a regular wooden chair, held back by an accomplice of the one doing the punishing. “IT'S A MISTAKE? SO YOU'RE SAYING I'M LYING?”

“N-no, I'm not saying that at all! I'm just saying when you saw me take that NEON, it was because I struck a deal with someone!”

“Ah, really?! So why didn't we know about that deal?!”

“I was gonna tell you lat- NO, WAIT!”

Again the fist struck the mans face, and again, and again. It looked painful but yet - at the same time - it wasn't nearly severe enough to cause permanent, lasting damage. Whoever was doing this was just toying around, keeping him awake and conscious just so he could continue this charade. It made sense, too. They already knew that the man was lying - otherwise, they'd never have taken such serious measures.

The loud music kept playing as the beating continued. Kang Shal politics were nothing to fuck with - the Kang Shal had to assert themselves and make sure everyone knew they were ruthless, savages that stopped at nothing to protect was theirs. After all, compared to other gangs, they were just 'some kids' that dealt drugs and occasionally beat people up. Kang Shal was so much more than that, but 'what is' doesn't matter when it's 'whats seen' that determines your prestige. So, the Kang Shal made sure to let everyone know that they didn't stop at anything to do their business.

Not even one of their own. The man bound in the chair clearly had a Kang Shal logo tattooed on his lower arm, so that left little to the imagination as to who this man swore loyalty to.

“You fucking rat, eat my shit and tell me how it tastes you..” A fist rose into the air, ready to strike. Then the knob to the back door twisted and opened, revealing Min-soo and his brother Seong-ho standing there. Min-soo had a lit cigarette in his mouth and was glancing off to the side, laughing at his brother about something. In his other hand was a can of beer. His face soon turned towards the situation in front of him.

Not a word was said during that small amount of time as the man stood there with his fist in the sky, ready to hit the thief again. Then, finally, Min-soo opened his mouth. “Oi.. what's going on?”

“Ah, Min-soo sir, we caught him stealing neon.”

“Oh,” Min-soo replied, continuing further into the backroom, letting the door fall closed behind him and Seong-ho. He rose a hand to the stereo installation and turned the knob, turning it down so they could actually understand each other. “And why are you beating him up without my orders then? Geong-so, did you order this?” Min-soo's head pivoted towards Geong-so, but an answer wasn't really required. He knew he didn't order this, since he'd been with his brother in a neon lightclub all night. “This isn't how we treat thieves.”

“A-ah, sorry Min-soo sir, Geong-se sir,” the assailant replied, bowing his head down and backing off, lowering his fist only then. Clearly, the man was scared of the two brothers' reaction to his 'transgression' of operating without orders. “I just thought..”

“Bak-jo, you don't need to think.” Min-soo walked closer, putting a hand on 'Bak-jo's' shoulder and patting him softly. “You're too dumb for that. Just leave that to us.” Not daring to talk back to his leaders, Bak-jo only nodded and kept his head down. So, Min-soo turned to the thief. Instead of continuing the assault, Min-soo undid the rope around the man's body and helped him up. The surprise was visible, both in Bak-jo's face as the thieves' face.

“We are rather old-fashioned, as you know..?” Min-soo posed, gripping the thief by the wrist tightly, and holding up the mans' hand in front of his face, so he could see clearly. “No bruises on your knuckles. So, you didn't fight back?”

The man shook his head. “N-no, Min-soo sir, I would never hit another Kang Shal!”

The boss' head turned to Seong-ho then, a sinister smile on his lips. Clearly he wasn't impressed by the mans' answer, but only Seong-ho would know him for long enough to be able to detract the meaning behind his smile. “A rat...” Min-soo slowly posed, “... and a coward.” Suddenly Min-soo forced the mans' hand onto the chopping block that was on the nearby table. Being in a restaurant backroom had its' benefits. In one single, swift movement he reached for a nearby knife - it was a heavy, butchers knife - and raised it high. It wasn't meant as intimidation, either, because before the man could react, struggle or say something, the knife chopped into the block. His fingers had been separated from his hand, roughly around the middle joint.

The mans' eyes widened, then he started screaming. But Min-soo didn't stop, dropping the knife onto the block and walking the man to a nearby stove, where a pan was waiting to be cleaned. “Seong-ho,” Min-soo said while he pulled the man forwards. “Show Bak-jo his reward for taking initiative without our orders.” 'Reward' was the word he used, but there would be none. Not today. Min-soo flicked on the fire on the stove, heating the pan up while holding the thief closeby. He was becoming pale, but Min-soo had all the time in the world. When the pan on the fire was sufficiently hot, Min-soo picked it up and, without warning, pushed the hot underside against the mans' fingers, cauterizing them to the best of his ability.

The goal here was to scare the man into submission, to send a sign out to the other Kang Shal, and the other gangs, about what they did with thieves. “Next time,” he warned, as he shoved the man away towards the back door, “I'll take your others, and you'll be a cripple.”

» ᴘᴀʀᴀᴅɪsᴏ

@vietmyke are you still in?

ℰxpedition for the ℬanner of St. ℱriedrich

Ketill occupied himself with chores that were normally Najla’s – cooking, light cleaning, things that according to his eye had not been done for a while. However, even if Najla had tried, it was entirely likely that Ketill still wouldn’t have been satisfied. He was in the middle of cleaning out the pot used for cooking by melting snow in it, so that the water could clean out the remnants of whatever Najla had attempted to create in it, when Basim entered again. In his hands was a stack of wood, which he placed down on the larger stack of firewood that they’d been storing for a while now. ‘’Najla!’’ Basim yelled out when he entered, looking for his sister, perhaps to tell her something. After peeking around inside the house, he turned to Ketill. ‘’Did you send her out?’’

His remark caused Ketill to sigh. ‘’You could say that.’’

‘’What do you mean?’’

‘’She couldn’t hold her tongue, so I told her she could leave. She’s out there somewhere.’’

‘’W-what? It’s freezing cold out there!’’

‘’I know. She knew that before she insulted me too. It didn’t stop her, did it?’’

‘’You can’t- you can’t do something like that!’’

Ketill slowly rose from his squatted position, leaving the pot on the ground. The annoyance and anger was visible in his eyes, and Basim slowly backed away a little bit until he felt the door against his back. ‘’This is my property now. I can do whatever I want. The rules here aren’t like in the sultanate,’’ he calmly stated, staring Basim down. It would perhaps be the first time Basim felt Ketill’s anger turned towards himself and not Najla. ‘’There are different rules here. My rules.’’

He stood silently for a moment then squatted down again, returning to his work, rinsing the pot. He continued, talking slightly more silently as if he’d calmed down, but Basim knew better. ‘’Everyone pulls their weight or they get left behind. That is the reality. I can’t afford to feed three people if only two of us are working. She’s dead weight. Spoiled by a life as a princess, and as a result, has no use in a land like this. You were there, you know I’ve given her plenty of chances to learn like you have. But you can’t teach someone that doesn’t want to learn.’’

Basim hesitated for a moment, his mind trying to determine whether he should be loyal to his family or his own survival. He knew that going out there with Najla was a pointless endeavour no matter how much he felt attached to his own sister. However, in the eyes of God… the answer was clear. ‘’Fine,’’ he replied, suddenly much colder than how Basim had usually spoken to Ketill. Before Ketill could even look up, the boy had gone back through the door and gone outside to search for his sister.

---

It would be at the very least an hour, and perhaps closer to two hours before Basim returned. Except, this time, he’d brought someone with him. The knock on the door alarmed Ketill to their presence, and he was quick to open up, barring them from entering by standing in the doorway. The irony was funny to him – she called him a dog, but now she had come crawling back like a wounded dog with her tail between her legs. He didn’t show his amusement however, finding that there was a different thing he needed to show her.

Perhaps it was because of his short stature, but Ketill barely took note of Basim taking up a defensive position before Najla. It wouldn’t have mattered – Ketill had no intention of ruining the prophecies he’d seen in his visions by killing Najla himself, and even if he had, Basim was quite possibly the smallest obstacle to doing so. A single punch to the side of the head would be likely to put the boy out of commission when it came from someone like Ketill.

When Najla urged Basim inside, Ketill didn’t block him, but when Basim was inside, Ketill would close the door. Now he stood before Najla, waiting for her to speak. He didn’t interrupt or even say anything back – there was nothing he could say, and nothing he felt like saying. Her promise to pull her weight was meaningless, but Ketill was not beyond offering her a second chance now that she had seen what kind of effort it took to survive here. The fact that, up until now, Ketill and Basim had shared the burden of feeding Najla was coming to an end and she’d have to do something to offer them, or at least Ketill, a reason to give her anything.

Her remarks about his threat, however, earned a grunt from him. ‘’If it gets that far, you won’t have anything to say in the matter anymore. You’d do well to remember that. To grant you a favour at that point would be like you granting me a favour when you were still a Sultana.’’ The way he said it, ‘when you were still a sultana’, was almost certainly meant to remind her that she was no longer anything worth anything in the cold north. Any value she had now was purely derived from her being exotic and a woman. All she was was that, and her prestige was now tied to that of Ketill. ‘’There is no point to it.’’ So he concluded. However, before he’d allow her back inside, he’d grab her arm and look her in the eyes, offering her some sort of warning. ‘’Do not test me. In Broacien and the Sultanate there is plenty room to lie, deceive and test people and live to tell the tale. Here? Look around you. Does this seem like a place where there is anything in surplus? If you decide to mess around and not do what we tell you to do, that means we all die. That also means I have no qualms in getting rid of you to save myself.’’

He’d stare her down for a moment more before asking, ‘’do you understand?’’ Regardless of the answer, he’d let go of his tight grip around her arm, and let her go inside. The warmth would most likely be very welcoming, given the fact that Ketill had seen fit to stoke it up quite high to battle the winter cold that was setting in. As he opened the door, a loud yell came from behind it as Basim had apparently been standing behind it, listening in on the conversation. ‘’Idiot,’’ was all Ketill would say before stepping past the both of them and returning to the fire he had been working on.

A few weeks later, Basim had confronted Ketill when Najla was not there – presumably out looking for edible roots or so. While Ketill was sewing a new cloak from deerhide, from the stag they’d shot during their initial hunting trip. Basim’s entry into Ketill’s personal space had been very sudden, causing Ketill to raise an eyebrow before even looking up. ‘’What is it. Lost your cloak?’’ he asked Basim, obviously bored of the conversation already, before it’d even started. However, Basim was not so easily put off.

‘’Why’d you send her out?’’

‘’She’d insulted me,’’ Ketill replied, turning his eyes back onto the cloak. Basim didn’t leave, but Ketill tried to ignore him none the less. After a few minutes of silence, Ketill finally gave in, and with a sigh he put down the cloak. ‘’Okay, what?’’

‘’That’s not a real answer,’’ Basim replied, his eyes having some fire in them. A stark difference with Najla, who seemed void of life at this point. Nobody could blame her – but even when nobody could blame her for it, Ketill had found a way. ‘’You sent her out because she didn’t contribute. That’s why you’re annoyed with her, right?’’

‘’Oh, so even you, her own brother, see it too?’’

‘’Th-that’s not what I meant. She’s just not used to this.’’

‘’I told her that ages ago. I told her, no, warned her. One day she’d lose her empire and she’d have nothing left. She is pampered. She has no skills.’’

‘’So you send her out to die? I knew you were a savage, but this is beyond you. Even you, Ketill.’’

Ketill sighed again, his sigh speaking of a deep and growing annoyance at the boy, for who Ketill normally had a lot of patience. But it was wearing thing now, with these questions. A boy as smart as Basim would’ve and should’ve understood. If Najla had been anyone but his own sister, he likely would have understood. He rose from his seated position, and suddenly was much larger than Basim. But, for once, Basim didn’t back down. ‘’You’d rather I wring her neck with my own hands?’’

Basim shrugged defiantly. ‘’It’d be more humane, at least.’’

‘’I’ll tell you what I told her. Look around. This is not the Sultanate. It’s not Broacien. I can afford to make mistakes – I know the lay of the land more than you do and I have the knowledge to survive. What do you have? Yes, you are smart, you can learn and adapt. You have a chance.’’

‘’And Najla has-’’

‘’Najla has nothing. Get that through your head,’’ Ketill quickly interrupted him to avoid Basim going on a rant on how nice his sister was. Perhaps she was nice to him. Being nice, however, did not fill a stomach or warm a frost-bitten hand. Ketill remained silent for a moment before continuing, his tone slightly calmer than before. ‘’She was dead weight.’’

‘’And now? She’s learning now, isn’t she?!’’

‘’That’s the point.’’ Ketill’s answer did not seem to satisfy Basim. He had every right not to be satisfied – the answer was cryptic and did not give much of a clue as to what was actually meant. Yes, that’s the point, but what was the point? That she learned?

‘’What do you mean?’’

Ketill grinned. The wisdom of Audrun. ‘’I will tell you tonight, if you start making food. I am tired of eating your sisters… whatever she calls it.’’

‘’You think my cooking would be better?’’

‘’No. Just different.’’

And so it was done. Basim cooked – relieving that duty from Najla for once, who would instead be instructed to spin the fibres of plants into cord. With Basim’s earlier explanation, the chore would be doable for her, even if her pace would be dreadfully slow. Ketill himself kept preoccupied with the cloak, which turned out to be a hellish task. However, close to nightfall, Basim would be done. Although the flavour was not worth mentioning, at the very least he’d made it look nice.

They’d gathered around the fire, first to eat, then second to listen to Ketill. Perhaps Najla had no interest in the story – but it offered her respite from work, and despite her changed working ethics, a break might’ve been welcome. Between the crackling of the fire and the dark environment, the knowledge he was about to impart on them would seem far more wise and perhaps mystical than it was in reality.

‘’Haltur ríður hrossi, hjörð rekur handar vanur, daufur vegur og dugir. Blindur er betri en brenndur sé, nýtur manngi nás,’’ he’d say while cutting a piece of wood using the axe they’d been using to chop wood. He stared into the fire momentarily before glancing up at Basim, who looked at him expectantly. He didn’t have to guess what the boy wanted to know – he wanted to know what it meant. It was surprising, really, that Ketill was even able to remember the words, but he did, as they’d been imparted onto him like he was imparting them onto Najla and Basim now, by his father, long ago. They’d been the leading thread throughout Ketill’s live ever since.

‘’The lame can ride a horse, a flock of cattle can be driven by a handless, the deaf can fight a battle bravely. It’s better to be blind than to be burned, the dead are no use to anyone.’’ Whether or not it was intentional, perhaps the saying alluded to Najla’s saving grace, when Basim had stopped Ketill from killing her during the coup. A short glance to Basim was all the boy needed, and he quickly raised a question.

‘’What is its meaning?’’

‘’Everyone has purpose, even the deformed. Only the dead are useless.’’ With a short chop he smashed some wooden chips off of the wooden stick he was chopping, before chucking it into the fire. ‘’As long as you are willing to pull your weight.’’ Clearly, he was talking about Najla now, and even though Basim caught on to that, he was apparently more interested in deciphering the meaning behind it even further.

‘’What about someone who is bed ridden? They are not dead – but they are useless.’’

‘’Perhaps, if you are wealthy and have many sons, you can afford to keep this person in your home and take care of them. Then they can give you support. A listening ear is always welcome. If you cannot afford this…’’

‘’Then they will die,’’ Basim filled in. Ketill nodded slowly. It was the sad and harsh reality of living in the North. It seemed Basim was catching on. Ketill caught Basim shooting a glance at his sister, before turning back to Ketill. ‘’Where did this come from? What teaching or book?’’

The remark earned a hard laugh from Ketill, who honestly hadn’t expected such a question. ‘’Books? There are no books here. And even if there were, nobody can read. We have the runestones, that we raise in honour of our forefathers. Some contain the epic saga’s of heroes or Audrun himself. I am a lucky exception, as I learned to decipher them early on when my father and I stayed at a blóthus.’’

‘’So the stone with the red paint on it that I stumbled upon was a runestone?’’

‘’Yes. Perhaps raised to mark a grave. I doubt you’d find experienced stone cutters out here. The lands here are good, which is why there are not many people here – there’s a lot of competition. Being a stonecutter isn’t exactly a profession that will help you survive. To answer your previous question, we spread our sága’s like I do now. By talking of them. Perhaps, one day, we can invite a gódi here, and he can tell the others. There are a great many number of them and only the gódi know them all.’’

‘’I see. So, all must find purpose.’’

Ketill nodded slightly, though had one correction. ‘’You mustn’t,’’ he added, but quickly added, ‘’but you should.’’ Not just for survival – also for purpose, pleasure in life and good standing with others.

Basim stared into the fire a while longer before dropping over backwards to ponder the saying, which was truly not that deep at all, but Basim realized he had little else to ponder about and he had already realized that Ketill was not the most knowledgeable about these new gods and their rules. He knew interesting bits left and right, but the true teachings, the names of all the gods, their purposes, he didn’t know those. Just how to please them.

Ketill instead looked to Najla, making eye contact with her over the fire that rose and died down ever so slightly over and over. ‘’There is one more thing we must do before the winter truly falls,’’ he told her, a serious look in his eyes now. It was clear that whatever he was going to say wasn’t as easy as ‘come on a hunt with me again.’ ‘’I’ve spotted tracks of a bear nearby when I was out hunting.’’ Clearly, a bear was a bad sign anywhere – in the sultanate, in Broacien, and in the North trifold. ‘’We can use the meat. We just need bait.’’

---

And so, the plan was made. It was expected that Najla would struggle against the plan, and logically Basim had his thoughts about it too. But, Basim had been convinced after Ketill showed him his plan. From the corner of the room, he’d pulled a gigantic branch he’d been shaving down to be the perfect size and width. It was almost like a real spear – not exactly straight, but close enough to where you couldn’t tell. On the end of it was a groove, where Ketill had tied down a heavy, large stone that he’d chipped down and sharpened. A painful job, but ultimately the result was there – a long wooden shaft, pointed with a heavy and sharp stone.

But, that wasn’t all. After all, he hadn’t made Najla and Basim spin fibres into thread. With the thread he’d not only sewn more clothing, but also made a net of sorts that could be worn as a cloak. Attached to it was a hood that would be able to go over the head, covered in furs, likewise the rest of the netting.

‘’With this, I can lay down and hold my spear. You’ll cover me with snow. When the bear approaches Najla, I will be able to see, hear and feel it. When it storms Najla, I jump up and jam the spear into its heart.’’

The plan would seem fine in theory – and when Basim asked why Ketill expected to kill a bear, the answer to both him and Najla was simple. ‘’A Daab can kill a daab. Asides, with the winter setting in, if the bear is still out in the wild now, that means it’s hungry. It should’ve gone for its winter sleep already. So, it might be weakened, but more aggressive. That means it’ll be more likely to charge. If it goes wrong, then it’ll be me in its’ path, not Najla.’’

And so it was decided – Najla would eventually have to give in, or else Basim would be used as bait. The day that they had selected a hunt was a day carefully selected by Ketill – he’d seen a white and black rabbit running together the day before, and had decided that that meant the gods favoured their hunt. After all, rabbits were the key animal of the goddess of hunt.

They had to track down the bear first, which was not an easy feat, and it took them several hours of wandering through the cold to find the location it’d started its’ day from, and then it would take another hour of tracking it, in which they once went the wrong way because Ketill read the tracks wrong. An easy mistake to make, but a mistake that cost them several minutes.

The preparation itself was not that hard – Ketill laid down in the path that they presumed the bear would take, lured by some meat that Ketill put close by to draw it towards them, Basim would cover him with snow and then hide in a distance. He immediately felt the cold of the snow against his body, which made him shiver despite the clothes he was wearing. The wait for the bear took, what felt like, hours, but it turned out to be closer to half an hour, or three quarters. The cold was beginning to take its’ toll on him, shaking and shivering but determined to see this through. He was about to get up and cancel the plan, when the nearby foliage shook violently, and the breezes of the animal came closer.

Ketill was nearly invisible in the snow, his cloak hiding him from sight, but not from smell. Hopefully, the combination of meat and Najla would make the animal not take notice. The breezes came closer quickly – the bear was charging madly, it’s frame still strong despite its malnourishment. When the beast was close enough, Ketill would yell at Najla, ‘’RUN!’’ and in a flurry of white snow blasting upwards, he shot up, put his spear into the snow and prepared to strike the bear.

His hands were cold. So cold…

The spear moved left to right as he shivered, the mighty beast rushing forwards still with a newfound flash of surprise in its’ eyes. It hadn’t anticipated the man jumping up and was now barrelling directly towards the spear, though perhaps the Gods had found it was not Ketill’s kill just yet, for the shivering of his body made his spear move too much, and when the body of the bear came forwards, it got pierced in the chest, but missed the hear by an inch.

Instinctively Ketill pushed the spear forwards and then pulled it back to deliver maximum damage and still keep the spear, but the force of the bear left him barely hanging on to himself, rolling backwards through the snow kicking up another flurry of white powder. Luckily for Ketill, the beast rushed off again leaving behind a crimson red trail of blood for them to follow. Ketill had been lucky – the beast had ran away instead of charged further ahead, and possibly mauled Ketill to death. He had no pretences about the spear stopping the bear – only if he could catch the beast off guard would it work. He was not physically hurt, but his chest was pounding with adrenaline, and the white breaths coming from his mouth had grown considerably in size, either because of how cold he was, or the adrenaline – perhaps both. But to give up now would be ungrateful for the chance.

‘’Ketill!’’ Basim yelled, as he trudged through the thick snow as fast as he could. ‘’Ketill, are you okay?!’’

Ketill raised a hand to signify he was alright, before turning to the path the bear had left behind. He trudged forward himself as well, moving to trail the bear and kill it for good.

‘’What are you,- Ketill! Give up, this beast is no match for a wooden spear!’’

Ketill shook his head violently, as if he was in a daze, confused and certain he had to kill it. ‘’I saw the sign. A black and white rabbit. I will succeed. It’d be ungrateful to leave such a beautiful creature to die with nobody there to use it.’’

‘’Beautiful creat-, Ketill!’’

Najla and Basim seemingly had little choice than to follow Ketill along the trail of blood that got thicker as they closed in on it. It was almost as if Ketill was determined to throw himself into the clutches of the bear, judging from how fast he was moving, though his mind was on a whole other goal. Food, mostly, but also the rest of the winter. This was their safeguard, sent to them by the gods. To not use it would be a mistake – an insult to the gods.

They found the bear in a corner, against a steep wall of stone, where it was trying to climb up. Any chance it had to move away was not forfeit, as Ketill closed in on the one gap it had that’d allow it to get back to the forest to try another route. The creature seemed to realize this, and backed itself into the corner.

Rather counter-intuitively, Ketill began taking off the cloak and handed it off to Najla, not saying as much as a word. He needed the space to move, despite the biting cold. He felt something swell inside, something he hadn’t felt since he was in the Sultanate – that red mist that seemed to cover everything, that rage inside that seemed to belong to the Gods yet moved through his body like it was his own. He didn’t leave it at the cloak, however, and took off his tunic, baring his chest. It seemed insane – it was insane. With his eyes focused on the bear in a savage type of tunnel vision, it was clear that he wasn’t taking it lightly, despite it being insane. Dropping the tunic into the hands of Najla, he’d step forward, wielding the spear in his right hand and pulling the axe from the leather strap on his belt around his waist.

‘’AUDRUN!’’ the deafening warcry called out, as he raised his weapons into the sky, turning his face there too to point himself to the gods. ‘’WITNESS MY BRAVERY!’’ Then without further warning or bravado, he stepped forwards and prepared himself to fight. He twisted his shoulder to prepare himself, to prepare his body, and marched steadily forwards. Either to his death or his testament of strength.

The bear only moved back into the wall further, but when Ketill got too close, he roared, and charged forwards. Similarly, Ketill sprinted forwards, holding his spear back. When the bear roared again, Ketill met with his own roar, and the bear stood on his hind legs then, preparing to swipe at Ketill. Quickly, Ketill stepped the last step of his sprint, and jammed the spear into the creatures’ rib cage, though he didn’t see the bears paw swipe forwards.

Blood was drawn that day, and Ketill was forced backwards. His face ran red with blood – his own – seeping from three large swipes running from the top right of his face down, over his nose to his left cheek. He was lucky his eyes were unscathed, or else he’d have been blinded, crippled for life and unable to do anything. Anything but die in this forest. It seemed not to be the cold, but the bear itself that was the danger. Its’ hunger made it extra ferocious, hungry for meat, and its’ lack of escape routes meant it was flight or fight for the creature. His spear had gotten stuck in the bear, and when it fell onto its’ front legs, the spear broke off into several pieces, the end of it still stuck in its’ hide, sticking out.

Ketill didn’t seem to feel the wound – in fact, he breezed more loudly, letting loose another warcry. ‘’AUDRUUUN!’’ he cried. He switched his axe from his left to his right hand, and made ready to fight. The bear did the same – he barrelled forwards, crashing into Ketill. They went to the ground both, though the bears’ superior strength won out and naturally ended him up on top of Ketill, who was forced to use the handle of his axe to hold the beasts’ head back from biting him. If it hadn’t been for the Gods’ fog in his head, the red mist that seemed to hang everywhere around him now – or was that the blood seeping into his eyes from the wound he’d received – he would’ve given in, but the fog gave him strength, gave him some brutal form of focus on the task ahead.

In the distance, he vaguely heard a boy yell his name. His left hand began searching for a weapon to use now that his axe was already in used to secure himself against the powerful jaws of the beast. His hand scanned left – nothing, yes, a rock but one that wouldn’t be big enough. He then moved his hand against the beast, to try and push it off to no avail. ‘’WITNESS ME!’’ Audrun cried again as he pushed the beast with all his might, and managed to get the beast off for a moment. His left hand shot further down the beast’s pelt and felt wood. The spear, he thought and instinctively he grabbed it, and with an inhuman strength he pushed it in. The bear roared loudly, and pushed down with all its’ weight now that he felt his lifeblood gushing away. It became increasingly hard to push back against the 400 pound creature, as the bear gave in and focused itself solely on biting and mauling Ketill. Again Ketill pushed the spear in, and then the bear fell completely still, snapping its’ jaws at Ketill once more. The stink of the beasts gaping mouth was awful, as the thing hung only a few inches from Ketill’s own face.

Ketill felt the drops of the beasts’ drool on his cheek, but he kept up, knowing that it was do or die. After a few more seconds, that felt like hours, the beast sighed heavily and then dropped its’ full weight onto Ketill. It was dead - finally.

He crawled out from under the beast, the crimson red on his body staining the snow. It wasn’t his – no, that dripped out below his face. Pieces of flesh hung rather loosely from his face, though for the most part it’d been a deep, but non-lethal cut. He breathed deeply, fast at first, then a single slow breath. Before Basim and Najla could reach him, he rolled over onto his bare back, and yelled at the sky loudly. Triumphant.

They had to work quick after that – skinning and butchering the animal would cost close to two hours as Ketill insisted on taking utmost care in preserving the beasts’ hide. After dressing up again to avoid hypothermia, he’d skin the animal himself. ‘’For my new cloak,’’ he’d said, and admittedly it would be a fine thing to have – a cloak of kings. Perhaps it was a fortunate coincidence, but it seemed almost like a sign of what was yet to come. When everything was said and done, it was closely to nightfall, and they’d have to return and cook if they wanted to go to bed without hunger. Despite the pain in his face, which was setting in now that his berserk had ended, he seemed ecstatic about the hunt – something about killing a bear on your own was immensely satisfying.

---

Progress on the bear cloak would have to wait, as it was a process best saved for true winter, when there was nothing to do. The scars on his face had healed well, though they were very visible, three thick stripes across his face. It made him look more rugged with his beard and longer hair, especially since he’d taken great care to continue to braid the iron rings into his beard. When Najla and Basim were busy making more cord form plant fibre, Ketill had been busy preparing the bear cloak. It seemed almost like an obsession if his as he carefully laid out the fur and measure everything twice, thrice, or sometimes more. He used charcoal to draw lines on the backside of the fur, almost to the point of perfectionism. He’d never done this before for any other cloak he’d made to replace the older ones they had, so most certainly it was strange.

Stranger was the knock on the door, which caused Ketill to look up. Najla and Basim were inside, speaking in Sawarimic, so he knew it wasn’t them. Ketill slowly got up, looking at Najla who asked him if he missed one. He shook his head, no, he did not. Of that he was certain. ‘’Whoever it is, if they wanted us dead, we’d smell fire and burning, not hear a knock at the door,’’ he said to her, though admittedly he was also trying to convince himself of that. Audrun himself had said to always be wary of strangers, after all.

He closed in on the door and slowly opened it, holding his hand on his axe ready to strike. As he opened the door, he saw a group of three – all rugged men, clearly. The leader, a man with a beard and hair that flowed back into a pony tail of sorts, seemed surprised to see Ketill. ‘’Is Sigurd… here?’’ he slowly asked. Ketill’s fingers clutched the axe tightly.

‘’Sigurd is dead,’’ Ketill said, presuming Sigurd to be one of the men he’d killed. ‘’I killed him.’’ The men did not seem surprised at all, though turned to face Ketill more frontwards, their interest seemingly captivated.

‘’For what reason? You know that murder is punishable?’’

‘’They attacked me, with four of them. When I sliced the first, two of them ran off,’’ he explained, opening the door completely so the men could see inside – in the background there was Najla and Basim. ‘’I found them here through the blood trail and finished the job. Sigurd was a friend of yours?’’

‘’I wouldn’t call him a friend. We usually stay at his house when we travel to the South for the winter.’’

‘’To the mountains, close to Broacien?’’

‘’Through them – we are going to work there for the winter, then return when we can live here again.’’

Ketill’s eyes scanned up and down the men individually, before he stepped aside to let them in. ‘’We haven’t got much to offer, but you are free to our food and drink, and the comfort of our fire for the night.’’

The men nodded, gratefully so, and stepped inside. The mood seemed to relax a bit, though there was still a visible tension in the air. Ketill went to sit on his spot again, in the comfort of the fire on some furs. He soon pulled the bear fur onto his lap again, resting his hands on it.

_{The leader}

‘’My name is Ketill Grimhildrsson,’’ he told the men, as was custom. ‘’These are Basim and Najla,’’ he then explained, gesturing towards each of them. The three strangers offered cautious but respectful nods, unsure of who the two were or how to say their names.

‘’Do they speak our language?’’ the leader asked, seemingly being familiar with Broacieniens enough to know they could speak ‘some’ Nordic, or at least make sense of it.

‘’Well enough, like a Broacienien. But they are from further south – a land where there is no snow, only sand. And heat.’’

The men laughed as the leader raised a comment on that, saying that he ‘’much preferred constant heat over constant cold.’’ Ketill could only shake his head.

‘’The heat there will kill you. Where we northerners lack food, the southerners lack water. No snow to melt, no rivers to drink from.’’

The men nodded at that, pondering it for a moment before putting it out of their head – such a strange land was far beyond their comprehension. ‘’We are from the northern lands, not too far from here. My name is Grettir Osmundrson, this is my brother Arngeir Osmundrson, and our companion, Hádski Arvidsson.’’

‘’It is good to meet you then. Najla, give them some food and a fur each for the night.’’

---

The men stayed for the night, though there was little conversation as the men seemed ready to sleep when they had arrived, and were fast asleep even when Ketill continued working. The next morning, they thanked Ketill, Najla and Basim for their hospitality before continuing on their way. As a parting gift, Ketill imparted on them some additional supplies for the journey, as well as giving them directions to a farmer he knew in the Barren Flats, where he was sure they’d receive a good pay.

‘’We will see them again,’’ Ketill told Najla and Basim after he shut the door. He had a feeling about them, something he couldn’t shake. Not necessarily negative, but something told him that these men were going to be familiars of his and the others some time in the future.

The winter would last forever, it seemed, and they were stuck inside for the most part of that. At the very least it gave them some time to think about things – perhaps too much time. Ketill spent half his time on chores, such as maintaining a fire, working on his bear cloak, or other chores of such variety, and the other half of his time entertaining Basim’s questions, which seemed to be piling up now that they were stuck inside for a prolonged period of time. Of course, they could go outside, and Ketill did a few times to get more firewood, or to get snow to melt into water, but it was a task that he didn’t willingly undertake unless he had to. Understandably, neither Najla nor Basim would enjoy going out there.

‘’What about this house?’’ Basim asked, laying on his back near the fire, kicking his foot up and down as he laid there one leg crossed over the other. His head was rested on a stack of a few furs, his hands further pushed behind his head to support it.

‘’… yeah, what about it.’’ Ketill not so much asked as much as he stated it. This was the third round of questioning Ketill would receive, so he had grown rather tired of it. ‘’It’s a house.’’

‘’So… it’s yours now, right?’’

‘’I killed for it.’’

‘’So are we staying here then?’’

‘’Have you looked at the walls?’’ Ketill then asked, gesturing to the side. The walls were in a state of disrepair and barely kept the cold out and the warmth in. It would’ve been a problem for a prolonged stay, obviously, though Ketill didn’t presume that Basim had the experience of living in a regular home outside of a palace to realize that. And the notion of winter cold was entirely foreign to him, too. ‘’I don’t think you would enjoy living here for long. Even the new things get old at some point.’’

‘’Maybe. So where do you want to go, then?’’

‘’We will stay here, because the land here is good. But we will need to rebuild a house,’’ Ketill replied, the task of building a house seemingly not daunting him in the slightest. ‘’That would take a while. But we have the time. There’s no rush here, unlike in other lands.’’

‘’I guess that’s true. But that’s not because there’s nothing to do. It’s because we can’t go outside.’’

‘’Technically you can. I just wouldn’t do it.’’

---

As winter was closing, and the snowfall stopped, and even the snow outside started melting, Ketill had finished his mastercraft – his bear cloak. He draped it over his shoulders, and it was clear that the extra time they’d spent in the cold, despite his bleeding face, had been well worth it as the quality of the fur was impeccable. Despite his rather amateurish sewing skills, it’d become quite a nice cloak too, and it meant he could give away the older one made of stag fur. He’d also made two separate necklaces with bear claws hanging from them – 5 claws on each necklace.

Despite his feelings towards her, Ketill had to admit she pulled her weight when luring the bear, so he put the necklace on top of the stag fur cloak and placed it on top of the furs she’d sleep on for her to find. No additional words were needed on his end – there was little he was interested in saying. He put his own necklace around his neck, which was additionally adjourned with the bears’ teeth as well unlike Najla’s, as a sign of strength. After all, killing a bear was a great feat, and wearing the skin and the claws would only add to that.

When the heath started appearing again, it’s colourful purple being a bright contrast to the once pure white landscape, Ketill would go outside to set some traps again – food was running low and they needed to get back to ‘regular’ business as soon as they could. Before he could leave to enter the woodlines again, however, he saw three figures approaching in the distance. ‘’Najla! Basim! Come out, and bring me my axe,’’ he’d yell, just in case. When Basim came out, he handed off the axe towards Ketill, and all three of them would wait for the three people to approach. It turned out rather soon that the three strangers were actually familiar, carrying behind them a wooden handcart loaded with goods. Ketill knew better than to ask how the obtained that, he just hoped that his directions hadn’t lead them there.

‘’Heill og sæll, bróðir,’’ Ketill greeted them, cautiously holding his axe in his hand. But the man did not seem interested in fighting. Rather, they were interested in something else entirely.

‘’Heill og sæll, to you too!’’ the leader cheerfully replied, and soon after the three of the men came to a halt. ‘’I see winter has done you well, a new cloak and a necklace. A bear no less.’’

‘’You could say that – winter has done you well, too,’’ the reply would come from Ketill.

‘’Very much. But now that we are here, I should say we were interested in settling nearby. Next to you, if you’d be open to that?’’

Now Ketill paused and observed the men one by one. He knew Najla and Basim would probably not be too happy, given that these men were clearly cutthroats and far removed from ‘honorable’ Northerners. But he had to admit that the burden would be lessened by a large amount with three added men to the group. Furthermore, the fact that they’d be building a new house would only be made easier. They’d be able to build at least two houses of decent size and convert the existing one into a small house to store items or animals in, if they ever got any.

‘’I would have no problems with that,’’ Ketill started, twisting the axe in his hand uneasily, wording his words carefully. ‘’As long as it is recognized I own these lands.’’

‘’Naturally, we just want a place to call home, with people we can call friends. It’s hard to find here, in these parts.’’

‘’That it is. You can sleep with us, inside, in your own corner. We will begin building a house as soon as we have restored the food supply. You can load off your supplies and help with that. Najla, show them their place.’’

For their ruggedness, again the men seemed complacent to follow his commands and were happy to follow Najla. Perhaps they were more well behaved than things let on. As soon as they’d settled in, they indeed set out on their own to hunt, using their own bows. Ketill himself took only an hour to set traps in spots he knew had animals run through them and then returned, finding Najla and Basim inside.

‘’Are you sure about them?’’ Basim asked.

‘’No,’’ was the answer. It was clear and not much was left to the imagination, except for that one burning question.

‘’Then why let them sleep here?’’

‘’Many hands make light work. We cannot live off of meat forever. We need to start farming. I’m not a farmer, neither you, and your sister can’t even tell wheat from hops.’’ He paused for a moment, and Basim did too, giving Najla ample time to put her piece of mind into the conversation.

ℰxpedition for the ℬanner of St. ℱriedrich

Whatever answer she’d been hoping to hear from Ketill, that had not been it. She’d wanted to ask him why he hadn’t told her the men had approached before, but that was a question answered before it left her lips. His next words however, would bring many more, though she would not speak those either. Rather, she watched Ketill walk off after the trail of blood, following some ways behind him. It seemed neither Najla nor Basim were eager to be close to Ketill when the next events occurred, that gruesome trail of blood was enough of a clue as to what happened.

It was for this reason that she paused at the edge of the clearing, standing between the trees as she watched Ketill move forwards through the mud and grass. There was no need to edge closer, nor did she hold a desire to see firsthand what would happen. Violence no longer turned her stomach, and Basim seemed to have grown accustomed to it, or at least more so than before, but she did not want to see what would happen if he lost. They’d have to flee into the forest then, or risk being captured by the very men that killed him. Whatever the outcome, it was better to watch and know now, than to have to guess at it for fear the answer would turn her stomach.

It seemed Ketill would find a way to turn their stomachs regardless. She watched in horror as the man was thrust through the door, eyes wide as it slammed into his face, again and again, until he slumped down into a bloody heap. Then, the door shut, and they were left to guess once more. Not for more than a moment however, for a familiar sound sent goosebumps over her skin. She’d heard those screams before. Najla prayed they weren’t Ketills.

She should have known. She should have known he wouldn’t lose, that it would end with corpse after corpse being dragged out of the house, into a pit that Ketill then piled with wood. A distasteful burial, there was no doubt about that. Yet, neither Najla nor Basim complained. Basim perhaps realized the reality of the situation, that taking the time to crack through the snow and ice in order to bury such men was a waste of time. Najla simply didn’t care, nor would she pretend to. As distasteful as it was, she had no part to play in it, and thus, the blame would not be on her. Besides, she would not stick around long enough to think on it, for the smell of burning flesh quickly grew to be too much for her senses. The familiarity was disturbing to her senses, though she’d find their new shelter to be well worth it. Basim stayed out a little longer, but Najla went into the house quite quickly, eager to get out of the cold and away from that horrid smell.

The house wasn’t much, but Najla seemed to take comfort in it nonetheless, quickly stripping herself of the cloak for what felt like the first time in ages. She would never find a home that quite compared to that which she had grown used to, but after being made to sleep in that small shelter, with only branches to block out the cold and leaves to block out the discomfort, it seemed this was plenty. Najla took a seat upon the stack of furs, but was barely given time to enjoy this new comfort before Ketill’s voice cut through the newfound peace, as ill-gotten as it was.

The sound of his command immensely irritating, and yet, she said nothing, replying only with a frown. He’d ordered her to start cooking, assuming that she’d have any clue as to how to do it. Or more likely, expecting that she would at least try, knowing she’d likely fail regardless. Ketill knew quite well that she held no skill or knowledge of cooking, and so she would not seek to inform him of this as he left, but remained seated. She would not move, not until Basim finally entered the house, looking around as he too, stripped off his cloak.

<“Where did Ketill go?”>

Najla’s shrug answered him, though she finally pushed herself to stand, walking around the small house. There was not much to find, nor would she know what to do with what she found, but she would occupy herself by searching regardless.

<“He told me to tell you to get firewood, so I assume he didn’t go to do that.”>

<“Then where?”>

<“Ya Sawarim, how would I know? Probably hoping he’ll find another one to finish off.”> She seemed distracted as she tossed out the words, looking around the shelter for anything to throw into that pot. She was not quite sure how she’d manage, but it seemed that if she did not do it, it would not be done, and Najla was not quite eager to feast on roots again. <“I don’t know why he left this to me, he knows full well I don’t know how to do it.”>

Basim’s grin answered her, and he moved to pick up Ketill’s axe, barely having given himself time to look around the house before he put his cloak back on, ready to go outside once more.

<“I’ll trade if you want to chop firewood.”>

<“We’d be cold and hungry then. Hurry, please, I’d love a fire now.”>

By the time Ketill had returned, Najla seemed quite excited at the prospect of eating meat, anything other than the stale roots they’d been eating on their travels here, but far less so when it was unceremoniously dumped beside her. Clearly, she had little idea on what to do with it, but she did not need to tell him that. It was a process made simple by her lack of experience, throw everything that seemed edible together and hope that she’d cooked it. It was boring, and the smell entirely unappetizing, a task that was made no better when Ketill spoke up late in the evening.

“Perhaps.” It was an unsatisfactory answer to an unsatisfactory performance, but she did not seem to care in the slightest. “I would not know.”

---

It seemed that attitude would continue as the days continued. Najla did not seem to care how well she completed her tasks, regardless of how they affected her. It didn’t seem to matter that she would go hungry for longer if she didn’t get up and get cooking, nor did she care that Ketill and Basim would have to wait as well. It didn’t seem like much of anything mattered to her, not here. While Basim had been able to adjust to the new living conditions, finding some sort of relief in occupying himself, Najla had been quite the opposite. Rather, she was willing to live within her memories, as if she found more comfort in dealing with her grief than adjusting to the new life ahead of her.

Beyond that, in her mind, she was still a sultana. Basim had always been less comfortable with the airs of royalty than she had been, even as a prince, she’d often have to remind him to hold himself higher, above those he was meant to rule. On the other hand, Najla had groomed herself into those attitudes easily, and found them difficult to release now, especially when the orders were given by a man who had once been her slave. It was easier to follow the patterns she was used to, and so when Basim shook her awake early one morning, Najla barely opened her eyes, speaking even as she shoved his hand away.

<“Leave me alone, I don’t want to.”>

<“Don’t be lazy, come on.”>

It didn’t take much more urging from Basim, for Najla seemed more annoyed at his words than at the fact that he’d woken her up. She finally pushed herself out of the bed, retrieving her cloak and joining the waiting men before they took off. Not a word was spoken to Ketill, and he wouldn’t talk to her either, precisely how both of them seemed to want it. Truthfully, Najla would have preferred to have been left at home, where he wouldn’t be at all, but refusing her brother was far more difficult than ignoring Ketill’s orders.

Despite her reluctance, some of the details of the hunt were interesting. It was no joy to force herself through the snow, something she held no skill in, and the cold was something she would never adapt to. Najla missed sweating under the desert sun, would kill to feel a warm breeze on her skin again, but there was no chance for such daydreams out here. Rather, she’d try to keep her attention on the information Ketill was giving Basim, as if that would distract her from the cold.

It was not the sort of hunting she was used to, not that that had ever been a hobby allowed to her before. She’d heard stories of it quite frequently from her brothers and cousins, boasts about the animals they’d set free and chase, squabbles about whose arrow it had been that caught them, but that was all it was. Boasts, stories, games they’d play to pass the time and then forget about until they were bored again. This upped the stakes, a wrong move meant they’d have to feed off of roots and rabbits throughout the cold winter, a ‘win’ meant they’d keep their bellies full until the next one. It made it more enjoyable, in some way, though only as a spectator. It would not be quite as fun if she had been the one with a bow in her hand, forced to learn what she was doing in the hopes of a meal. But in the hands of someone more capable, it felt more like the sport she was used to hearing about.

Perhaps that’s why she didn’t object when Ketill shoved the gloves into her hands, though it was far more likely she simply didn’t want to scare off a chance for a decent meal. She did take her eyes off the stag to glare at him, but there was nothing to gain from that, for his attention was on the bow. It was an almost artistic process, enjoyable to watch, though her attention was quickly diverted to the stag as the arrow pierced its chest. The death was a far more familiar process than the act of the killing itself, and so it did not keep Najla’s attention for long. What was far more interesting was the process Ketill followed after, the rune he drew, the way he dripped the blood over it and the instruction he gave as to sacrificing the meat. She knew little of his life, and it was interesting to consider where he might have picked up such habits, for she had seen no one teach him since they’d arrived here. She said nothing of it as Basim and Ketill dragged the stag back, while Najla merely walked behind them, perfectly happy to help. However, once Ketill had left out a piece of meat for his Gods, Basim finally commented on it, prompting her first response as to the whole situation.

<“It’s fascinating, isn’t it? They thank their gods the same way we do, but not as if they were blessings. He told me that they don’t have blessings-”>

<“It’s a waste. What sort of God needs a mans hand to feed him?”>

---

The days and nights had passed in an agonizingly slow manner, and Najla found that there was no relief whether it was light or dark outside, for she was rarely free of Ketill’s presence. Those moments he left, to do whatever tasks needed to be done outside the house, those were brief moments of peace, but also cut with boredom. Perhaps, if she had been as eager as her brother to learn, it would not have been so achingly dull, but her pride kept her from most of it. Perhaps not consciously, but it felt beneath her, even now, to cook for a man she’d use to own. Even when she managed to pull herself up and do so, her skill seemed to match her motivation, and the process of trial and error was far less enjoyable to her. She’d never had to complete such tasks before, not even when she was a slave in Broacien, for then, her life had namely consisted of scrubbing castle floors and enduring heated stares. Cooking was a skill she’d largely ignored before, and so they were made to suffer through many overcooked meats before she slowly began to get the hang of it. Still, it did not make it any more enjoyable.

Thus, it was particularly aggravating to hear Ketill order her out of her bed to begin cooking. Najla had grown sick of his tone already, little different than how he’d spoken to her in the Sultanate, but it felt different when they were not merely empty words.

<“Stupid dog.”>

It had not been intended for Ketill’s ears, a muttered complaint born out of frustration. She would not have even realized that he’d heard it, if it hadn’t been for the sounds of the footsteps coming towards her, and suddenly, the feeling of a hand wrapping in her hair. A sensation she remembered from long before this day, and one she’d hoped never to feel again. The force yanked her to her knees, and Najla barely stifled a whimper as she found herself forced to look up at Ketill, his hand gripped tightly in her hair. She reached a hand up to his wrist, as if that would help ease his grip, though it was just as fruitless as she would have imagined.

Suddenly, she felt him spit in her face, a sensation that would have been humiliating enough in itself, though he would not allow it to be so. Rather, he yanked her even closer to him, and Najla was forced to stare into his eyes as he told her what he should do with her, a threat that sent her stomach sinking to her feet. She was given no time to dwell on the likelihood of its occurrence, for he was quick to yank her up to her feet, dragging her after him.

Najla was forced to follow, dragged behind him by his tight grip in her hair. It would have been painful, but the fear of what was coming next was overwhelming. She did not reach for her cloak, perhaps she would have, if she could have guessed what Ketill meant to do with her, but she found no such luck. Rather, she scurried behind him, forced to follow as he swung the door open, the cold suddenly blasting into the house.

“Ketill, stop-“

Whether her words would have turned into a plea or an insult, there was no chance for her to speak them, for soon, Ketill had pulled her along to the edge of the forest. Her words were cut off with a heavy shove, and she fell harshly into the snow, unable to catch herself from the sheer force behind his push. His words rang in her ears cruelly, as she pushed herself to sit up in the snow, spitting out a mouthful of it.

“I did not ask to die here! You dragged me here to sacrifice, you-“ The slam of a door answered her, and her words quickly shifted to her mother tongue, a newfound bravery in them now that Ketill was no longer dragging her behind him. <“Fucking brute! Son of a thousand whores!”>

Only the wind answered her. Najla reached up and touched the back of her head gently, feeling at where he’d gripped her hair to drag her along. It ached, but that was a small concern now, an irrelevant matter against the rising snow. She pushed herself to stand now, not because she was eager to move about after the incident, but because sitting in the cold in such rags would be unbearable for any longer. She’d truly been thrown out to die. Without a cloak, food, or the barest knowledge of the land, Najla had little choice but to wander about in search of a corner to die in. The realization hit her harder than Ketill ever could, and she turned away from the house now, trying to consider her options.

She could try and return now, but Ketill would never allow her back in. Even if he would, even if she could have spit out an apology and tried to make herself of use, she could not forget his words. She was even beneath being forced upon, only to be killed after. Perhaps this, to die out in the wilderness was a kinder fate than to return, to give him the chance to do what he threatened. Najla began to walk deeper into the woods then, wondering just what came next. What would Basim do, when he returned to find her gone? She prayed that he’d stay, that he wouldn’t try to brave the snow for her. For now, all she could do was keep walking, in the hopes that she would stay somewhat warm that way.

It didn’t work. Najla hadn’t expected it to. Rather, she trudged through the snow as best as she could, her teeth clattering, especially now that she had little to cover herself with. She’d die out here, that much was quite clear, a death worse than being sold back to the Sultanate and the clutches of her husband. Had she escaped all that just to die like a dog kicked out in the wilderness? If she had not been so cold, perhaps the humiliation of that knowledge would have sunk in farther, but for now, Najla could think only of how to grow warmer. She’d been able to collect firewood before, one of the few tasks she’d actually taken upon herself from time to time, and even if she failed, it would be better to die like that than sitting under a tree, waiting for the frost to catch up to her.

She would try, for some time, but starting a fire quickly proved to be a fruitless endeavor, despite how badly Najla craved the warmth. She could find few dry branches in the heavy snow, and knew that even if she had managed to collect enough, she would have to figure out how to start the fire itself. With a resigned sigh, Najla sat at the base of a tree, shivering as she watched the snow fall. How low could one sink? Najla had believed she knew the answer to that question, that she had faced it and risen once more, but nothing could match this humiliation now. She’d felt cruel hands upon her before, but to be left out in the snow like an abandoned child was pitiful. The only thing worse would be to stand and return now, to face the man who’d tossed her out and ask for a place in the home again. His home. He’d made that quite clear now.

Suddenly, the sound of a call startled her. It was somewhat distant, but she could still hear who they were calling for, the voice itself was still recognizable. Without hesitation, she pushed her freezing fingers into the cold snow, only to push herself up towards the voice. It called again, but this time, she responded, weaving her way through the trees, until she came face to face with her brother.

<“Basim, what are you doing here, you shouldn’t-“>

He did not let her finish speaking, but was quick to bridge the distance between them, pulling her in tightly. Whether out of relief or because he could see that she was freezing, Najla did not know, but he was quick to release her, passing her the cloak he’d brought her as he spoke.

<“You didn’t honestly believe I would leave you to freeze out here on your own, did you?”>

<“Is it better to freeze together?”>

<“We don’t have to. I’ve picked up some skills, maybe there’s a chance.”>

<“Ya Sawarim, my blood, you know that’s not true. Go back-“>

<“No.”>

Najla looked up at him with a startled expression, as if she was seeing a new man in her brother’s eyes. He’d proven a new sort of strength to her in these travels, one she had never known he could possess. It had rarely been enough to silence her before, but she could sense now that her words wouldn’t ever be enough to change his mind. It was an attitude she’d likened to Harith before, or even her father, but she could see neither of them in his gaze now. His determination was his own.

<“Come on. I’ll need to find a better shelter than this. Ketill’s not going to let you back in there, and I’m not going without you.”>

There was a silence again, and Najla kept her eyes on Basim, studying him with worry. He reached out a hand to her, as if trying to pull her along, but she did not take it. Clearly, whatever Basim knew of the confrontation between her and Ketill, he did not believe it could be resolved. Worse, Najla realized he would not speak the words she was waiting for him to say, to tell her that she’d been little more than a burden in their time in the north. She did not need him to say it, his words were careful indicators of his thoughts. I’ve picked up some skills, I’ll need to find a better shelter, she had no place to play in those labors. And yet, it didn’t seem to matter to him. He was still a Sawarim, after all, and she was still his blood. The thought pushed a deep sense of shame into Najla’s heart, a sensation she had not known for some time.

<“Let’s go back.”>

<“Didn’t you just hear me? Ketill’s not going to let you back.”>

<“I’m not going to bury my head in the snow without trying.”>

<“You aren’t worried? What if he-“>

Basim trailed off then, unable to speak the words. However much he’d grown, he was yet unable to look his sister in the eye and imagine what harm could come to her, just as she was unable to allow her brother to freeze to death on her account. They’d have to make difficult choices for the other, and though Najla did not wish to swallow her pride, that was not the greatest fear she held now. Ketill’s threat rang clearly in her ears, reminding her of just what he could do to her, what he might have done if he did not hate her so thoroughly. Regardless, she shook her head, hoping to wipe away Basim’s concerns, even if she could not do the same for herself.

<“He won’t. If he wanted to kill me, he’d let the snow do it, he’s proven that already.”>

It did not take much more to convince Basim, for he did not seem too intent on wandering off into the cold, despite how he’d spoken before. Perhaps he’d just been trying to ease her fears then, just as she was now, though they were both stubbornly throwing themselves into danger. Najla did not speak much on the walk back, still shivering from her time left out in the cold, despite the cloak that Basim had been smart enough to bring her. More than that, she was thinking carefully on the words she’d have to speak soon, ones she’d never believed she’d have to say.

When they finally arrived, it seemed whatever hesitation Basim had held regarding their return had faded, and he was quite eager to get her inside the house, beside a fire. He knocked on the door once, standing slightly in front of Najla, as if hoping to protect her from Ketill. Perhaps a subconscious reaction, but Najla had noticed, and once Ketill would open the door, she would be quick to remove that barrier.

<“Go inside.”>

Basim frowned in surprise, not yet moving. He seemed reluctant to leave her with Ketill, and Najla could not blame him for that. However, more than anything, she did not want him to hear the words. It was not as if Ketill would invite her into the house to speak with him in private, and Najla was prepared to endure the cold a little longer if it meant Basim would not have to hear her words.

<“Please? This needs to be done in private. Trust that I’ll be there soon.”>

<“Fine. But if you’re not, I’m coming out again.”>

Perhaps it was the sound of the word ‘please’, one her brother did not hear from her often, that convinced him. Perhaps it was the cold, his faith in her, whatever it was, he nodded, moving inside the house. When the door closed after him, Najla looked up at Ketill, hesitating for a moment before the sharp cold reminded her to hurry. She did not know quite what to say to him, he wasn’t the sort of man to hope for blind apologies, she knew that well. For Ketill’s part, he’d learned all too well that she was willing to manipulate her words based on whatever benefit she could imagine from them, and it would take a massive effort on her part to convince him otherwise. Her only other option would be excruciating. He’d spit in her face, dragged her out into the cold, and here she was, standing before him, begging for a place in his home. It was easier not to think on it, to allow the cold to push her into speaking the words instead.

“It wasn’t right to call you a dog. It’s not right to make Basim suffer for it, no matter how set he is on doing so. I know I haven’t been much help but-“

The words were clearly difficult to choke out. It was a small relief that Basim had gone inside, though not as great of a relief as she’d hoped. Even now, as she looked up at Ketill, she could feel that fear settle in her stomach. More than anyone, Najla knew just what he was capable of. She had seen it, had felt only a small portion of the anger he held towards her, and was not quite willing to see the rest. He was not willing to show her either, it seemed, for there had been little to stop him from enacting his threats now. She would not want to see them enacted either, the threat he’d spat in her face would have been enough to chill her regardless of her time out in the cold.

“I will be. I’ll learn, for his sake.”

She clutched the cloak around her tightly as she waited for Ketill to accept, or to endure whatever harsh words he’d want to throw her way now. It was clear that she was trying to apologize without saying the words, believing Ketill would not care for an apology so much as a promise to be useful in the future. She would only spit out a true apology if prompted, though it would hurt her pride to do so. However, she would say nothing more, not until Ketill would move to open the door and allow her in, out of the cold. Then, her hand shot out, covering the door, as if that would stop him from opening it. Her strength would not be enough, but whatever words she wished to speak to him now, she clearly intended for them to be spoken in private. That much could be seen in her hand, blistered and red from the cold, though it rested on the door, blocking her path to whatever relief she’d find in the house. Her voice was hushed now, as if she believed Basim would be waiting behind the door, to hear if his sister would be allowed in. She would have been, if she was him.

“To suffer this indignity is… I can do it. But what you threatened, I will never. Not for my life, not for my blood. I am not a fool to believe I can stop you, I just ask that you slit my throat before. Not after.”

---

Regardless of how Najla felt about the incident, it did seem to have a marked impact, and she stayed true to her words. After all, she had no choice, not when Ketill had made it quite clear that any other option would end with her left out in the snow to die. Still, her wariness of Ketill had only increased, and though she would not mutter insults at him any longer, there was no hiding the way she looked at him. It wasn’t as if it bothered him regardless, both seemed content to stay away from the other as much as they possibly could. It was near impossible, when the cold had blocked them in their home this way, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t try.

In that sense, she found a strange comfort in doing some sort of work. Her pride had already been shattered by the way he’d treated her, so there was little to stop her from actually working now. It was difficult to hold the pretense of being above such work after an incident like that. Besides, it provided a welcome distraction from time to time, something to focus on besides the cold outside and the events that had brought her here to endure it. There was no marked increase in her abilities, especially since she had no one to learn from regarding the tasks that had been dealt to her. It would have been a blessing in that sense to have another woman in the house, one who understood cooking beyond throwing items in a pot together, one who could have taught her how to sew, but that was a luxury she would not have had now. Still, she did what she could, without complaint this time, and would even seek to learn more from time to time, an endeavor that clearly surprised her brother.

Najla sat before the fire, her eyes watching her brother as he twisted the plant fibers in his hands, gnarling them together into a tight rope. He seemed to enjoy these tasks, mostly because they’d offer him something to do, but seemed even more eager once his sister spoke up to him.

<“Show me how to do that.”>

He looked up at her with a frown, though there was no anger in his expression. He simply seemed confused, but when she beckoned for him to move closer, he did not hesitate, picking up the fibers and moving to sit beside her, showing her how to twist them together in a rope. Basim clearly seemed to enjoy teaching Najla something new, something he’d rarely had a chance to do before, when their only necessary skills had those that brought them power or pride. It was not as entertaining for Najla to learn these sort of survival skills, but there was little else to do here. She would follow his motions, but as she stretched her hand out, a sudden pain flitted through it, one that elicited a small noise from her, more out of surprise than the pain itself.

<“Still?”>

Najla shook her head at Basim’s question, though she set the fibers down onto her lap as she examined the scars on her hand. It had healed to where she could perform most tasks, but she often had to remind herself that the full range of motion had been taken from her, and that stretching her hand in such a manner would only bring pain. Still, she would not allow Basim to worry for long, for she was quick to snatch the fibers again.

<“Don’t worry about it. Show me how to twist it again, I can’t seem to get it.”>

<“It’s not that hard.”>

<“Maybe for you.”>

<“You’ve memorized hundreds of prayers but twisting some plants together is too complicated?”>

<“Shut up.”>

Najla’s reply was not harsh, and a hint of a smile was apparent in her expression now, the first one since she’d been allowed to enter again. Basim did not mean these words harshly, he never did, the patient way he waited as she tried again was enough to prove that. It was simply how he was used to interacting with her, without having to worry about hurting her feelings or bringing up painful memories.

<“See, you’ve got it. I told you it’s not that hard.”>

<“Really, don’t you ever get tired of talking?”>

<“It’s the only way to stay warm here.”>

His comment elicited a laugh from her, though it was cut short by a sudden pounding on the door. Najla’s eyes widened at the noise, and she turned to look around the house, as if counting who was there. All of them were inside, there was no one of them left to knock. Basim seemed startled too, but it was Najla that stood, looking back at Ketill, for it was clear she expected him to be the one to open the door. She would not be the one to do it.

“I did not think anyone else lived here.” Najla’s voice was hushed now, though her eyes flitted between Ketill and the door, waiting for an explanation from either end. “I thought you killed all of them. Don’t tell me you missed one.”

@persianversion

» ᴘᴀʀᴀᴅɪsᴏ

@ShovelKnight all A$AP tracks got nasty beats. Atleast when all of A$AP is there.