idlehands — Roleplayer Guild

continued

Vigi gritted his teeth seeing the bloody scene unfold before him. The sight of blood arcing through the air made his mind flashback to his vision of the norse raid. He quickly cast the imagery aside and focused on the present. He jumped down from the bench, his grip white knuckle on the carved wood of his seax’s hilt. He grabbed a woman that was about to fall prey to one of the freshly turned corpses and threw her behind him.

Rushing forward his black blood covered blade cut through the air swiftly to slash through the throat of the Draugr. Pale flesh spread open as though it were thin cloth and more black blood oozed forth. However it did not slow the corpse down at all and it lunged at Vigi with it’s mouth open wide.

Heart racing he snapped his blade up, the long dagger pointed directly in front of him. The Dragur slammed into him it impaled itself on his seax through it’s open mouth. The speed and strength it had moved with to attack him proved to be it’s own downfall as it just drove itself so fiercely into the blade that it went clean through the skull.

Vigi stumbled back from the heavy weight, snapping his hand out to grab a post to steady himself. His breathing came harsh and fast as he stared down at the lifeless eyes and slack face impaled on his weapon. He had never fought draugr this closely before and it felt like his heart was going to burst from his chest from how hard it was beating.

He shoved the corpse back so it would fall off his weapon and to the floor. His pale green eyes moved around quickly through the chaos of the healing house, noting that it didn’t seem as crowded as before.

Tora felt little as Wilfred carried her, the view from so far up was interesting. So much blood and bodies falling. She observed it with a detachment she vaguely recognized as the same when she had been attacked the day before. Watching from above as it happened to someone else. She could see Anndrais fire his bow, the sharp twang seemingly loud in her ears as the shouts and screams faded to a buzz of noise in her poppy drugged mind.

Faolan fell back, getting out of the monk’s way as he aimed his bow and he held his spear defensively. Wilfred would be near helpless holding Tora and Robbie was hurt. He watched the movement around them, seeing Vigi leap into action and he felt a grudging moment of admiration for the shaman. The Irish slave backed up, covering Wilfred’s other side as he left Anndrais to face the front of the house and any threat that might cut them off from the door.

A movement caught his eye, the corpse Anndrais had created out of the draugr shifted and he saw a small white hand reach out. The girl was still alive! He felt a rush of dread and adrenaline kick in and despite her being a Norse she was just a slight twelve year old girl. Otherwise he would not have bothered. Faolan moved over to the dead draugr and shoved it over, reaching for the girl who looked up at him, her long blonde hair matted with coagulating blood, the wound of her neck so hideous he could see a glimpse of white from her vertebrae. It took a split second for him to register the fact that the girl was dead and yet living.

“Shit!” he cried out as he felt her grip on his left wrist, stronger than any girl should have had. Her teeth gnashed and she tried to bite him, snapping down on the hanging sleeve of his oversized tunic. Her other hand grabbed at his ankle and he stumbled back, swinging the spear downward.

It struck her in the back, the force enough to put the sharp iron head through her slender body and pin her to the floorboards. Faolan was able to get away from her and he stood back, his face dark with disgust as he watched her flail and cry out as she still tried to reach for him in her desperate hunger. He breathed out and looked around for something to finish her with. His guts roiled when he spotted a heavy iron pot still hanging over a fire.

Without thinking too much about it, he darted over and snatched it, dumping the contents out onto the ground. With a grim look on his face he moved to the girl still impaled on the spear and smashed her skull in with the pot. Faolan closed his eyes and held his breath as he felt the hot blood and bits of bone and brain hit his face. Her hungry cries ended with the third hit and he dropped the cauldron, hearing it roll away as he snatched up his tunic to wipe away the gore.

He opened his eyes, the girl had stopped moving and lay in a bloody mess. Faolan yanked his spear from her body, grimacing at the flesh hanging from it. Even though she had become a draugr, she was still a twelve year old girl and it even made his cynical stomach roll at what he had to do. The Irish slave shook off his spear and moved to Wilfred’s side again, not wanting to look back at the dead girl.

Across the long house, on the other side of the wide fire pit, there were draugr stirring from their benches, tearing at anyone they could grab. One of the women who had tended the sick was dragged down by two, torn apart, her guts spilling like fat blue snakes onto the floor. This was half hidden by the skins hanging on a line, a semblance of privacy attempted at by the healers to divide the house in two while the sick recovered. Anndrais’ view would be obscured by it but anyone walking through the door would be confronted with the sight.

Faolan could hear the door opening, knowing Haakon and his sword were just outside.

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