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11 yrs ago
I'm so happy, found two orphan newborn kittens and was able to put them in with a nursing momma cat and she adopted them right away!
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11 yrs ago
Ladies, come help me defeat the men in the count down game in Spam. They're just asking for it.
11 yrs ago
Free used couch. Only has three legs and missing one cushion, stains minimal. Please pick up from the curb.
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+18 only, I check IDs
Most Recent Posts
I dun getit
Darkmatter said
Of course, Just like me.Now it makes sense
Darkmatter said
srsly?have you seen this frickin' gimpicorn?<-----
Yours is special.
I'm dying 
SO BEAUTIFUL
o u nasty
collab between Constable Walrus, Igraine, and idlehands
Trelleborg, late afternoon, House of Ragnarsson
“He’s my brother, I can’t let that son of a whore take his head and not seek revenge,” Amund swore, his fist pounding the earthen wall of Harald’s longhouse. Rain had begun to fall and the men were swathed in moth eaten woolen cloaks over their patchwork leather and cloth armor. They passed around a flagon of ale, they had been drinking most of the afternoon as they kept watch over Harald’s longhouse. The slave girl had been a nice diversion but the appearance of her master had been sobering.
“Your brother had a big mouth,” grunted Knut, one of the older guards. “I saw it. He should have kept his temper and he would have kept his head.”
Amund glared at him, “I’ll make Ragnar pay, if Harald will not. He sits in that house and allowed this to happen.”
“Hold your tongue,” another guard replied. “He’ll get his soon enough. Thegn Harald will see to it.”
“I can’t wait for that,” Amund tucked his axe into his belt and drained the last of the ale before tossing the skin down into the mud. “If you are not cowards you will join me.”
Knut pulled his hood lower against the rain as it began to fall harder and sighed, “What did you have in mind?”
“He has a wife and children and a house to himself,” Amund said, “He doesn’t have but a few men. While Harald waits, he could be gathering alliances of the missing Jarl’s warriors. I don’t want to wait for that. We kill his family, loot his home. Then force him before he’s ready to face us. We’ll break the man.”
The older guard rubbed his beard, the young man spoke with ambition and he was unsure if Harald would appreciate it. Still, his idea was sound, though his bravado increased with the ale. Ragnar had not the numbers they had and eliminating him quickly made sense. Why Harald was waiting was beyond him but then Knut was not a politician, he was a raider and the thought of what the thegn might have horded away in his new house was appealing.
Knut raised his shaggy eyebrows and belched, tossing aside the empty mead flask, “I’ll go, what about you lot? Want to hang around holding your dicks in the cold or have a little fun?”
In the end, three more men accompanied Amund and Knut as they made their way from Harald’s longhouse to that of Ragnar Ragnarsson. Amund smiled grimly at the sight as they walked into view. He saw a handful of children playing and a young pretty blonde woman watching them. Only one warrior was there, a short dark foreigner bearing a sword, his face painted as if for battle. The five men fanned out, moving in like a wolf pack.
Orran smiled, his sword still in his hands and was using a finger to draw into the mud circles and larger circles each coming to form a picture; a small boar. Orran looked up at the children his eyes resting on Eyja, and he spoke softly “Now just keep spinning the circles in the same pattern to make it bigger and bigger. These have to be drawn on the skin with very sharp tools, they prick to put the color in.” He looked at the boys “Little ones it hurts, more than any blade.” He looked down at the girl and smiled “So I’ll teach you to draw it on paper.”
His head cocked up at the noise of boots on the soft ground and his hand gripped his sword tighter; he turned to see the men standing quickly he yelled at them “Announce Yourself! And halt.”
Though she knew Orran was only doing this to entertain the little ones, Svala was as engaged in his instruction as any of the other children, fascinated by the spirals and the strange, foreign sound of his voice as he spoke. Eyja was still just as awed by the fact he’d allow them to draw such things on paper - real paper! And the sisters’ quiet, enthralled enthusiasm pulled all of them into the circle of the painted man, whorls and wild animals running through their imaginations like waking dreams. And Svala even managed a smile, a true one, a wide one, bright and almost carefree, such as had not been seen for many days.
So when Orran shouted, she leapt in fright, startled from where she leaned against the Ragnarsson’s home, dark blue eyes wide as her gaze darted all about them. Sigrid’s instructions before she left to the healing house ran through her head, and Svala moved instinctively to snatch up Dagny from where she stood, the littlest child among them.
The boys looked up and both of them took deep breaths at the sight of the armed men rapidly approaching. Their parents were gone and neither of them had ever faced strangers without them present. Ragnar the Younger snatched up his small shield and his practice sword and his brother did the same out of instinct. One had seen only eight winters and the other seven and neither would be much help in the defense of their home. Dagny clutched at Svala and Ranulf stood defensively in front of Eyja.
Amund and Knut lead the men and in a normal raiding situation they would have shouted war cries to frighten those that stood before them but they were wary of the close quarters and the possibility Ragnar could be alerted. One of the men, a tall stout man with unusually dark hair and a scarred face grinned wickedly at Svala.
“Take what you want, that one’s mine,” Geir boasted to the others as they moved toward Orran and the children. “Pretty little thing.”
Amund ignored him and stared right at Orran, noting his armor, “Step aside, Christian, this is not your business.”
Orran watched the man carefully noting their positions quickly in his mind, their weapons armour, all categorized in his head; he turned to the side slightly. “Inside… Now. Boys the bravery is noted but get inside now.” he spoke quickly never taking his eyes off the men; and he scowled at the scarred one before his eyes moved to Amund meeting the gaze.
Orran rolled his shoulders moving his blade out in front of him; readying his stance. “You made it my business.” He spoke as well as he could muster in the tongue of the danes, “When you took that girl’s innocence you made it my business, and when you threatened these children you have made it my business.”
Amund laughed, “The slave girl, she was far from innocent. Why defend Ragnar’s brats when he would cut you down for being a Christ’s man?”
Orran's eyes shone darkly looking at the men “If you seek hell so quickly then so be it… I will send you all there, and you will burn in fire forever, the wolf will not back down.” He changed his stance letting the cumbersome cloak drop from his shoulders and rolls them again free from the confines of the heavy cloak. and he cursed at them in pictish taunting them with his body language “Come then! and I will send you to your face your false Gods in hell!”
“Raudr,” Svala hissed, as she beckoned toward the would-be warrior boy with her hand. Dagny was in her arms in an instant, hiked up on one hip as she back away from the vicious men assembling around Orran, intent on killing Sigrid’s babes. “Please, come away. Ranulf, Eyja - inside! Quickly! Go!”
Sigrid’s words before she left, her order to run for the keep: the words rang through Svala’s head, but there was simply no help for it. They’d never get past all five men with only Orran to keep them at bay, no matter his battle prowess. For all her wisdom, all her far-sighted and cunning ways, she doubted even Sigrid could have foreseen five men descending on the house from all directions - and if she had, she never would have left.
She shot Orran a quick glance, as awed at his transformation from man to wolf as she was horrified by the words of the scarred man. Svala was no warrior, but she was sick at the thought of leaving him with alone with five armed men, as if she’d failed some test of courage. But there was Dagny clinging to her neck with all the strength in her little arms, her small body shaking in her grip. The children, she had to protect the little ones and there was no fleeing through this pack of rabid animals. Not unarmed and vulnerable as they were.
Ranulf grabbed Eyja’s hand and pulled her toward the open door, Raudr hesitating for a moment wanting to stay by Orran’s side. He waited until his younger brother had made it to safety before he retreated himself. He ran back and held up his small round shield as he put himself between Svala and the door.
“They have to get by me first,” he said to her but his normal arrogance was tempered with real fear.
Amund ignored the children, his axe now in his hand and his black and yellow quarter painted shield up on his arm. His pale eyes focused on Orran and he began to approach him, studying his stance and the long sword he held. His axe was a plain but sharp and well cared for and he was eager for blood.
“I tell you once more, Christian,” he said as he began to circle Orran. “Back away and live. This is not your fight. I’m here for Ragnar Ragnarsson’s blood.”
Knut was just behind the young man and he held a large axe, gripped with both of his hands. It was a massive deadly weapon and he grinned at the lithe Pict.
“Listen to him if you wish to live another day to worship your ergi Christ,” Knut spat on the mud and flashed a gap-toothed grin.
Trelleborg, late afternoon, House of Ragnarsson
“He’s my brother, I can’t let that son of a whore take his head and not seek revenge,” Amund swore, his fist pounding the earthen wall of Harald’s longhouse. Rain had begun to fall and the men were swathed in moth eaten woolen cloaks over their patchwork leather and cloth armor. They passed around a flagon of ale, they had been drinking most of the afternoon as they kept watch over Harald’s longhouse. The slave girl had been a nice diversion but the appearance of her master had been sobering.
“Your brother had a big mouth,” grunted Knut, one of the older guards. “I saw it. He should have kept his temper and he would have kept his head.”
Amund glared at him, “I’ll make Ragnar pay, if Harald will not. He sits in that house and allowed this to happen.”
“Hold your tongue,” another guard replied. “He’ll get his soon enough. Thegn Harald will see to it.”
“I can’t wait for that,” Amund tucked his axe into his belt and drained the last of the ale before tossing the skin down into the mud. “If you are not cowards you will join me.”
Knut pulled his hood lower against the rain as it began to fall harder and sighed, “What did you have in mind?”
“He has a wife and children and a house to himself,” Amund said, “He doesn’t have but a few men. While Harald waits, he could be gathering alliances of the missing Jarl’s warriors. I don’t want to wait for that. We kill his family, loot his home. Then force him before he’s ready to face us. We’ll break the man.”
The older guard rubbed his beard, the young man spoke with ambition and he was unsure if Harald would appreciate it. Still, his idea was sound, though his bravado increased with the ale. Ragnar had not the numbers they had and eliminating him quickly made sense. Why Harald was waiting was beyond him but then Knut was not a politician, he was a raider and the thought of what the thegn might have horded away in his new house was appealing.
Knut raised his shaggy eyebrows and belched, tossing aside the empty mead flask, “I’ll go, what about you lot? Want to hang around holding your dicks in the cold or have a little fun?”
In the end, three more men accompanied Amund and Knut as they made their way from Harald’s longhouse to that of Ragnar Ragnarsson. Amund smiled grimly at the sight as they walked into view. He saw a handful of children playing and a young pretty blonde woman watching them. Only one warrior was there, a short dark foreigner bearing a sword, his face painted as if for battle. The five men fanned out, moving in like a wolf pack.
Orran smiled, his sword still in his hands and was using a finger to draw into the mud circles and larger circles each coming to form a picture; a small boar. Orran looked up at the children his eyes resting on Eyja, and he spoke softly “Now just keep spinning the circles in the same pattern to make it bigger and bigger. These have to be drawn on the skin with very sharp tools, they prick to put the color in.” He looked at the boys “Little ones it hurts, more than any blade.” He looked down at the girl and smiled “So I’ll teach you to draw it on paper.”
His head cocked up at the noise of boots on the soft ground and his hand gripped his sword tighter; he turned to see the men standing quickly he yelled at them “Announce Yourself! And halt.”
Though she knew Orran was only doing this to entertain the little ones, Svala was as engaged in his instruction as any of the other children, fascinated by the spirals and the strange, foreign sound of his voice as he spoke. Eyja was still just as awed by the fact he’d allow them to draw such things on paper - real paper! And the sisters’ quiet, enthralled enthusiasm pulled all of them into the circle of the painted man, whorls and wild animals running through their imaginations like waking dreams. And Svala even managed a smile, a true one, a wide one, bright and almost carefree, such as had not been seen for many days.
So when Orran shouted, she leapt in fright, startled from where she leaned against the Ragnarsson’s home, dark blue eyes wide as her gaze darted all about them. Sigrid’s instructions before she left to the healing house ran through her head, and Svala moved instinctively to snatch up Dagny from where she stood, the littlest child among them.
The boys looked up and both of them took deep breaths at the sight of the armed men rapidly approaching. Their parents were gone and neither of them had ever faced strangers without them present. Ragnar the Younger snatched up his small shield and his practice sword and his brother did the same out of instinct. One had seen only eight winters and the other seven and neither would be much help in the defense of their home. Dagny clutched at Svala and Ranulf stood defensively in front of Eyja.
Amund and Knut lead the men and in a normal raiding situation they would have shouted war cries to frighten those that stood before them but they were wary of the close quarters and the possibility Ragnar could be alerted. One of the men, a tall stout man with unusually dark hair and a scarred face grinned wickedly at Svala.
“Take what you want, that one’s mine,” Geir boasted to the others as they moved toward Orran and the children. “Pretty little thing.”
Amund ignored him and stared right at Orran, noting his armor, “Step aside, Christian, this is not your business.”
Orran watched the man carefully noting their positions quickly in his mind, their weapons armour, all categorized in his head; he turned to the side slightly. “Inside… Now. Boys the bravery is noted but get inside now.” he spoke quickly never taking his eyes off the men; and he scowled at the scarred one before his eyes moved to Amund meeting the gaze.
Orran rolled his shoulders moving his blade out in front of him; readying his stance. “You made it my business.” He spoke as well as he could muster in the tongue of the danes, “When you took that girl’s innocence you made it my business, and when you threatened these children you have made it my business.”
Amund laughed, “The slave girl, she was far from innocent. Why defend Ragnar’s brats when he would cut you down for being a Christ’s man?”
Orran's eyes shone darkly looking at the men “If you seek hell so quickly then so be it… I will send you all there, and you will burn in fire forever, the wolf will not back down.” He changed his stance letting the cumbersome cloak drop from his shoulders and rolls them again free from the confines of the heavy cloak. and he cursed at them in pictish taunting them with his body language “Come then! and I will send you to your face your false Gods in hell!”
“Raudr,” Svala hissed, as she beckoned toward the would-be warrior boy with her hand. Dagny was in her arms in an instant, hiked up on one hip as she back away from the vicious men assembling around Orran, intent on killing Sigrid’s babes. “Please, come away. Ranulf, Eyja - inside! Quickly! Go!”
Sigrid’s words before she left, her order to run for the keep: the words rang through Svala’s head, but there was simply no help for it. They’d never get past all five men with only Orran to keep them at bay, no matter his battle prowess. For all her wisdom, all her far-sighted and cunning ways, she doubted even Sigrid could have foreseen five men descending on the house from all directions - and if she had, she never would have left.
She shot Orran a quick glance, as awed at his transformation from man to wolf as she was horrified by the words of the scarred man. Svala was no warrior, but she was sick at the thought of leaving him with alone with five armed men, as if she’d failed some test of courage. But there was Dagny clinging to her neck with all the strength in her little arms, her small body shaking in her grip. The children, she had to protect the little ones and there was no fleeing through this pack of rabid animals. Not unarmed and vulnerable as they were.
Ranulf grabbed Eyja’s hand and pulled her toward the open door, Raudr hesitating for a moment wanting to stay by Orran’s side. He waited until his younger brother had made it to safety before he retreated himself. He ran back and held up his small round shield as he put himself between Svala and the door.
“They have to get by me first,” he said to her but his normal arrogance was tempered with real fear.
Amund ignored the children, his axe now in his hand and his black and yellow quarter painted shield up on his arm. His pale eyes focused on Orran and he began to approach him, studying his stance and the long sword he held. His axe was a plain but sharp and well cared for and he was eager for blood.
“I tell you once more, Christian,” he said as he began to circle Orran. “Back away and live. This is not your fight. I’m here for Ragnar Ragnarsson’s blood.”
Knut was just behind the young man and he held a large axe, gripped with both of his hands. It was a massive deadly weapon and he grinned at the lithe Pict.
“Listen to him if you wish to live another day to worship your ergi Christ,” Knut spat on the mud and flashed a gap-toothed grin.
collab between Constable Walrus, Igraine, idlehands, and RoadRash
Trelleborg, late afternoon, The Healing House
Ragnar led the way towards the healer’s house, the severed head of the guard he’d killed still clutched in his left hand. Haakon and Ivarr flanked him, Faolan bringing up the rear. As they approached the building Ragnar adjusted his sword at his side, his eyes narrowed. His rage at the situation was plain, and he was in the mood for a bit more killing. He reached the door and threw it open, not bothering to knock or announce himself.
Hallerna’s head snapped upward at the unexpected arrival, knowing full well this was definitely not Sigrid. She blinked, the fading light of day streaming past the bulky men’s forms still brighter than the relative darkness within the candlelit healing house. Ragnar… Of course. She shot a quick look toward the weepy Christian man, half warning and half worry as she stood quickly to her feet and approached the thane swiftly.
The severed head in his hand was probably one of the least subtle hints imaginable, that he was in no mood for anything other than straightforward and no-nonsense. “Ragnar!” she called in what, prior to his ‘entrance,’ would have been a far-too-loud hiss of a whisper to the thane and the men who accompanied him. “Tora is over here,” she said, gesturing to him swiftly, toward where Anndrais still skillfully tended to the thrall woman.
The feral light in Ragnar’s eye was not lost on Hallerna in the least, as she seemed oh-so-naturally to sidle up to the monk, to insert her body between the enraged Dane as he approached, the ‘Priest Killer,’ and this Christian healer. She might not yet hold a grand opinion of the man, but this was the seidrmadr’s house, and he had done no small amount of good for Tora.
Turning her head slightly she looked over Anndrais to where her master entered the doors and she went pale at the thunderous look on his face. Her grey eyes flickered to the head in his hand and she felt a small twinge of gratitude, she recognized him from the nightmarish encounter. Tora slowly turned over onto her side, her body aching all over and she pushed herself up on her elbow.
“Master,” she whispered, her voice still hoarse from screaming.
Anndrais looked up at the throwing open of the door his eyes narrowing at Ragnar for a moment then looking back down towards Tora wincing as she moved over and he hushed her softly and he looked up at Ragnar “Are you done with the loud racket? We have wounded trying to get rest, the charging in like a stumbling bull won't help anything or prove a point.”
Anndrais leaned down and murmured to Tora “Hush, you need rest. I’ll talk to him.”
Hallerna winced, rolling her eyes with a soft sigh of frustration when the monk spoke so rashly to the enraged Dane, but said nothing. Weepy and suicidal? There wasn’t much she could do for the man, no matter his great skill, if the thane decided it was one word too many.
Ragnar posted Haakon and Ivarr outside the door, then eyed Anndrais’ cross with disdain, his lip curling. He lifted the head by the beard and growled, “My point has already been proven today, Christian. You may be working your arts on her, but don’t forget that we have a healer of our own, and don’t presume to tell me how to behave.”
He crossed to Tora, looking her over. “Get some rest,” he grumbled. “You’ve done no wrong, and have no need to fear punishment.” She may be only a slave, but she had served the Thegn’s family well, and he had a soft spot for her. At least, as soft a spot as was appropriate for a man of his standing to have for a thrall. Turning his back on Anndrais pointedly, he spoke to Hallerna. “Where is my wife? Has she been informed of what’s happened?”
“Thank you, Master,” Tora murmured and lay back down on her stomach, pulling the large robe up to her chin.
“I expect Sigrid any time. I sent my daughters in the company of Anndrais’ man to retrieve her,” Hallerna replied softly as her attentions returned to Tora, one hand falling carefully to the young woman’s shoulder. However gruff, her master’s words should give some measure of reassurance, and she had been as brave as any man during all their ministrations.
Sigrid walked with a quick and determined stride, ignoring the cold rain that began to fall as she approached the healing house. Her beads swayed and her coppery hair began to come loose from the braid as the wind picked up. She pushed between Ivarr and Haakon who instantly made way for her as she entered the warm shelter.
“Ragnar,” she said, approaching her husband, glancing at the head. “I’m disappointed that is not Harald.”
The Thegn grinned, his rage vanishing for a moment, replaced by amusement at his wife’s barb. “The coward wouldn’t fight me, so I took the head of his rassragr instead.”
A smile twitched her lips, “I hope he was a favorite then.”
She eyed the monk and went to sit on the other side of the bench where her slave lay. The cot next to hers was occupied by a large slave whom she ignored as she looked closely at Tora. She could see some of the injuries and she grit her teeth. Her green eyes flashed as she stroked the girl’s dark hair back from her face.
“Rest now, we need you healed, the children miss you already,” she said quietly.
Tora nodded and blinked back tears, she was embarrassed at being the center of attention, especially for such a reason. Sigrid spoke to the monk without looking at him.
“Is there a reason you sit with my slave?” she asked. “Hallerna? Who treated her wounds?”
Anndrais looked up at Sigrid “I sit, because she is under my care. I am the one who found the poor girl in the snow, and I would not leave her save God himself asking.” He did the sign of the cross at his blasphemy but it was none the less had to be said.
He looked down at Tora her hand still clasped in his and quieted himself.
Hallerna was surprisingly relieved when the monk’s words didn’t result in the loss of tongue, much less his head. Thankfully, Ragnar’s rage was disarmed handily by his wife, and the very air felt lighter, as if they stood in the wake of a passing storm.
“We both treated her, Sigrid,” she replied softly, “And yes, the monk was the first to find Tora, and then tended some of her wounds as well. It is his man Orran, who accompanied Svala and Eyja to your home - they arrived safely, I can only assume. And your own little ones? I’m sure Tora would love to know how well they’re doing. It would lift her spirits, I imagine.”
Perhaps not the subtlest words to change the subject at hand, but it might do. Nothing good could come with a similar battle of words in the healing house, as she’d had when she first met the Christian man. Not with the fiery Sigrid at least.
The redheaded Dane woman looked over the monk, “Your kindness is appreciated, Christian. Hallerna, your girls arrived safely, they remain under the watch of the painted man.”
She turned to Tora, “The children are fine, they do miss you though. Especially Dagny.”
Tora tried to smile but it hurt, her mouth was swollen. Sigrid patted her arm gently, “Rest. You can stay here if you wish, so that Hallerna can tend to you. We will sacrifice to Thor for protection.”
She reached into the pouch and fished out a silver coin, flipping it at the monk, “For your help.”
Anndrais looked up; letting the coin drop to the floor and he scowled at the woman “I do not need your money, this was not done for coin… It is done out of love.” Anndrais resisted the urge to say more “No need for a sacrifice, she is under the protection of MY God.”
Anndrais looked down at Tora before returning his gaze to sigrid “If her health is worth silver, than I pity you… The woman is worth more than coin, it is a child of God, the cost of a soul is priceless.”
Sigrid looked from the fallen coin to the monk with an amused smirk, “Love doesn’t feed the belly or clothe the back. Take it.”
She stood up and came around the side, standing close to the monk, “Her body and soul belong to her master and I. Remember that. And for a sacrifice we were going to offer bread and mead.”
Leaning a little closer she looked at his cross and back up at his face, smiling a little, “What did you think we were going to do?”
Anndrais glared up at her but his face softened into a smile “The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want.” He straightened and looked up at her “That answers your first question, I do not need coin.” He breathed deep again “I find it a pity, that your heart is so black… So lifeless, that you no longer feel for a woman. A fate, that could fall upon you as well. Have you not a shred of humanity?”
Ragnar stepped forward, growling deep in his throat. “Mind your tongue, christian,” he spat, raising the hand that held the severed head and pointing at Anndrais with it. “Your kind have waged wars aplenty, and killed kinsmen of mine, so don’t pretend that your faith in a coward god makes you so pure.” The Thegn crossed his big arms over his chest, narrowing his eyes at the monk.
He looked up at the man his face still keeping the calm “I do not pretend or fein myself to believe I am perfect, and I have my own vices, anger being one that I have to control.” He looked back at Tora “Anger against the man who did this to a woman, the want to see him drawn before a crowd and gutted like the coward he is.” He looked up and met the gaze of Ragnar “So calm yourself, I am just as upset. Maybe even more so than you, in my lands it is a crime punishable by death to assault a woman in this way.”
“He’ll die,” Ragnar, grumbled, glancing down at his thrall’s battered form. “He hasn’t given me proper cause to take his life yet, but he will soon enough. He’s a coward and a schemer, and it won’t be long before I sheath Skull-Taker in his guts and plant his head outside my hall.” The warrior rested his hand affectionately on the pommel of his sword as he spoke, imagining the keen steel splitting Harald’s spine like so much dry kindling.
Anndrais rolled his eyes and tended to Tora, speaking softly “I feel for her suffering, the meek have a place at the seat of our lord.”
“Really?” Hallerna asked with a small, sharp bark of a laugh, shaking her head with yet another grand rolling of her dark blue eyes. A farmer’s widow, she was no grand theologian, learned of letters like the monk, but the dark humor of the moment didn’t escape her at all. “Don’t you followers of the dead god think you should be like him too? Meek and gentle, soft spoken and kind? I doubt calling a woman’s heart black, or her husband’s defense overblown, is going to win you converts, hmm?”
Anndrais looked up at Hallerna “Yes, to be like him… And it is a something I work on everyday, to pray for the strength to temper anger, the will to continue to spread the good word, even though at times I feel unworthy to…” He looked his head down “And I have been kind, my outbursts may be short, but they do more damage to me than you realize, I feel for all the injured here.”
“I am not perfect, but I try more than any to be like him. Salvation is not easy, my Salvation is not easy..” He glanced up again at Hallerna “I may not be perfect, I am like you… Different culture, different race. But flawed, just because I am a Christian does not make me immune to being a man, and making mistakes as all men do.”
He looked at Sigrid “I am sorry, for the words I have said against you. I care for this person very much, even though I have known her for little more than a few hours… And I am sure in your own way, as shown by your anger you do too.”
Sigrid brushed a strand of red hair back, “I’ve known Tora since she was a child, don’t tell me what I might feel or not. She is a valued and valuable member of our household. Tora is quite expensive and now she’s damaged. You dislike hearing a person described as such don’t you but it is the way of things here. Some are born to be slaves and some are not, our fates are not our own. If you are done, there is something more important that needs to be discussed.”
Anndrais Looked at Sigrid “I pity that you put a value on someone so close to you… No amount of coin will ever bring back whatever innocence this girl had before it was ripped away from her. I pray for your soul, in the hopes that one day you will understand why my people, not just Christian’s but those that reside in Alba, my homeland view this practice as cruel.”
He looked down at Tora speaking again “And we are not bound to a fate, never to this one especially… I can only pray you see the folly, before the people you grind into dirt, force to toil in your fields, wait on you. Rise up and take their fates back from those that would oppress the soul. Because if they do, they will have no mercy.”
Her eyes flashed at the monk and she spoke in a low, hard voice, “If you think I cannot see how she is suffering you are a bigger fool than I thought. I’ll let you stay, because you seem to provide Tora with some comfort but do not presume that gives you leave to fill her head with nonsense.”
She walked away from him toward Ragnar, touching his hand that lay on the hilt of his sword, “Harald must be dealt with. This was merely a game for him, a cruel jest and insult towards us.”
Ragnar nodded, well aware of the situation. “It was an insult, but you know as well as I do that I can’t challenge the worm over a thrall. I’ll continue trying to provoke him, but if he does nothing, all I can do is kill his men one by one.” He reached out and placed one of his large, calloused hands against her cheek.
“This will be handled, rest assured,” he rumbled. “In the meantime, I don’t want you going anywhere alone. You’ll take Haakon or Ivarr with you, and I’ll brook no argument on the matter.”
“Of course,” she replied, pressing against his hand for a brief moment. She looked up at her husband, flushed with the warmth and security she felt when he was near and gave him a slight smile. “I trust you will handle him, despite him hiding in his hole like a rat.”
Trelleborg, late afternoon, The Healing House
Ragnar led the way towards the healer’s house, the severed head of the guard he’d killed still clutched in his left hand. Haakon and Ivarr flanked him, Faolan bringing up the rear. As they approached the building Ragnar adjusted his sword at his side, his eyes narrowed. His rage at the situation was plain, and he was in the mood for a bit more killing. He reached the door and threw it open, not bothering to knock or announce himself.
Hallerna’s head snapped upward at the unexpected arrival, knowing full well this was definitely not Sigrid. She blinked, the fading light of day streaming past the bulky men’s forms still brighter than the relative darkness within the candlelit healing house. Ragnar… Of course. She shot a quick look toward the weepy Christian man, half warning and half worry as she stood quickly to her feet and approached the thane swiftly.
The severed head in his hand was probably one of the least subtle hints imaginable, that he was in no mood for anything other than straightforward and no-nonsense. “Ragnar!” she called in what, prior to his ‘entrance,’ would have been a far-too-loud hiss of a whisper to the thane and the men who accompanied him. “Tora is over here,” she said, gesturing to him swiftly, toward where Anndrais still skillfully tended to the thrall woman.
The feral light in Ragnar’s eye was not lost on Hallerna in the least, as she seemed oh-so-naturally to sidle up to the monk, to insert her body between the enraged Dane as he approached, the ‘Priest Killer,’ and this Christian healer. She might not yet hold a grand opinion of the man, but this was the seidrmadr’s house, and he had done no small amount of good for Tora.
Turning her head slightly she looked over Anndrais to where her master entered the doors and she went pale at the thunderous look on his face. Her grey eyes flickered to the head in his hand and she felt a small twinge of gratitude, she recognized him from the nightmarish encounter. Tora slowly turned over onto her side, her body aching all over and she pushed herself up on her elbow.
“Master,” she whispered, her voice still hoarse from screaming.
Anndrais looked up at the throwing open of the door his eyes narrowing at Ragnar for a moment then looking back down towards Tora wincing as she moved over and he hushed her softly and he looked up at Ragnar “Are you done with the loud racket? We have wounded trying to get rest, the charging in like a stumbling bull won't help anything or prove a point.”
Anndrais leaned down and murmured to Tora “Hush, you need rest. I’ll talk to him.”
Hallerna winced, rolling her eyes with a soft sigh of frustration when the monk spoke so rashly to the enraged Dane, but said nothing. Weepy and suicidal? There wasn’t much she could do for the man, no matter his great skill, if the thane decided it was one word too many.
Ragnar posted Haakon and Ivarr outside the door, then eyed Anndrais’ cross with disdain, his lip curling. He lifted the head by the beard and growled, “My point has already been proven today, Christian. You may be working your arts on her, but don’t forget that we have a healer of our own, and don’t presume to tell me how to behave.”
He crossed to Tora, looking her over. “Get some rest,” he grumbled. “You’ve done no wrong, and have no need to fear punishment.” She may be only a slave, but she had served the Thegn’s family well, and he had a soft spot for her. At least, as soft a spot as was appropriate for a man of his standing to have for a thrall. Turning his back on Anndrais pointedly, he spoke to Hallerna. “Where is my wife? Has she been informed of what’s happened?”
“Thank you, Master,” Tora murmured and lay back down on her stomach, pulling the large robe up to her chin.
“I expect Sigrid any time. I sent my daughters in the company of Anndrais’ man to retrieve her,” Hallerna replied softly as her attentions returned to Tora, one hand falling carefully to the young woman’s shoulder. However gruff, her master’s words should give some measure of reassurance, and she had been as brave as any man during all their ministrations.
Sigrid walked with a quick and determined stride, ignoring the cold rain that began to fall as she approached the healing house. Her beads swayed and her coppery hair began to come loose from the braid as the wind picked up. She pushed between Ivarr and Haakon who instantly made way for her as she entered the warm shelter.
“Ragnar,” she said, approaching her husband, glancing at the head. “I’m disappointed that is not Harald.”
The Thegn grinned, his rage vanishing for a moment, replaced by amusement at his wife’s barb. “The coward wouldn’t fight me, so I took the head of his rassragr instead.”
A smile twitched her lips, “I hope he was a favorite then.”
She eyed the monk and went to sit on the other side of the bench where her slave lay. The cot next to hers was occupied by a large slave whom she ignored as she looked closely at Tora. She could see some of the injuries and she grit her teeth. Her green eyes flashed as she stroked the girl’s dark hair back from her face.
“Rest now, we need you healed, the children miss you already,” she said quietly.
Tora nodded and blinked back tears, she was embarrassed at being the center of attention, especially for such a reason. Sigrid spoke to the monk without looking at him.
“Is there a reason you sit with my slave?” she asked. “Hallerna? Who treated her wounds?”
Anndrais looked up at Sigrid “I sit, because she is under my care. I am the one who found the poor girl in the snow, and I would not leave her save God himself asking.” He did the sign of the cross at his blasphemy but it was none the less had to be said.
He looked down at Tora her hand still clasped in his and quieted himself.
Hallerna was surprisingly relieved when the monk’s words didn’t result in the loss of tongue, much less his head. Thankfully, Ragnar’s rage was disarmed handily by his wife, and the very air felt lighter, as if they stood in the wake of a passing storm.
“We both treated her, Sigrid,” she replied softly, “And yes, the monk was the first to find Tora, and then tended some of her wounds as well. It is his man Orran, who accompanied Svala and Eyja to your home - they arrived safely, I can only assume. And your own little ones? I’m sure Tora would love to know how well they’re doing. It would lift her spirits, I imagine.”
Perhaps not the subtlest words to change the subject at hand, but it might do. Nothing good could come with a similar battle of words in the healing house, as she’d had when she first met the Christian man. Not with the fiery Sigrid at least.
The redheaded Dane woman looked over the monk, “Your kindness is appreciated, Christian. Hallerna, your girls arrived safely, they remain under the watch of the painted man.”
She turned to Tora, “The children are fine, they do miss you though. Especially Dagny.”
Tora tried to smile but it hurt, her mouth was swollen. Sigrid patted her arm gently, “Rest. You can stay here if you wish, so that Hallerna can tend to you. We will sacrifice to Thor for protection.”
She reached into the pouch and fished out a silver coin, flipping it at the monk, “For your help.”
Anndrais looked up; letting the coin drop to the floor and he scowled at the woman “I do not need your money, this was not done for coin… It is done out of love.” Anndrais resisted the urge to say more “No need for a sacrifice, she is under the protection of MY God.”
Anndrais looked down at Tora before returning his gaze to sigrid “If her health is worth silver, than I pity you… The woman is worth more than coin, it is a child of God, the cost of a soul is priceless.”
Sigrid looked from the fallen coin to the monk with an amused smirk, “Love doesn’t feed the belly or clothe the back. Take it.”
She stood up and came around the side, standing close to the monk, “Her body and soul belong to her master and I. Remember that. And for a sacrifice we were going to offer bread and mead.”
Leaning a little closer she looked at his cross and back up at his face, smiling a little, “What did you think we were going to do?”
Anndrais glared up at her but his face softened into a smile “The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want.” He straightened and looked up at her “That answers your first question, I do not need coin.” He breathed deep again “I find it a pity, that your heart is so black… So lifeless, that you no longer feel for a woman. A fate, that could fall upon you as well. Have you not a shred of humanity?”
Ragnar stepped forward, growling deep in his throat. “Mind your tongue, christian,” he spat, raising the hand that held the severed head and pointing at Anndrais with it. “Your kind have waged wars aplenty, and killed kinsmen of mine, so don’t pretend that your faith in a coward god makes you so pure.” The Thegn crossed his big arms over his chest, narrowing his eyes at the monk.
He looked up at the man his face still keeping the calm “I do not pretend or fein myself to believe I am perfect, and I have my own vices, anger being one that I have to control.” He looked back at Tora “Anger against the man who did this to a woman, the want to see him drawn before a crowd and gutted like the coward he is.” He looked up and met the gaze of Ragnar “So calm yourself, I am just as upset. Maybe even more so than you, in my lands it is a crime punishable by death to assault a woman in this way.”
“He’ll die,” Ragnar, grumbled, glancing down at his thrall’s battered form. “He hasn’t given me proper cause to take his life yet, but he will soon enough. He’s a coward and a schemer, and it won’t be long before I sheath Skull-Taker in his guts and plant his head outside my hall.” The warrior rested his hand affectionately on the pommel of his sword as he spoke, imagining the keen steel splitting Harald’s spine like so much dry kindling.
Anndrais rolled his eyes and tended to Tora, speaking softly “I feel for her suffering, the meek have a place at the seat of our lord.”
“Really?” Hallerna asked with a small, sharp bark of a laugh, shaking her head with yet another grand rolling of her dark blue eyes. A farmer’s widow, she was no grand theologian, learned of letters like the monk, but the dark humor of the moment didn’t escape her at all. “Don’t you followers of the dead god think you should be like him too? Meek and gentle, soft spoken and kind? I doubt calling a woman’s heart black, or her husband’s defense overblown, is going to win you converts, hmm?”
Anndrais looked up at Hallerna “Yes, to be like him… And it is a something I work on everyday, to pray for the strength to temper anger, the will to continue to spread the good word, even though at times I feel unworthy to…” He looked his head down “And I have been kind, my outbursts may be short, but they do more damage to me than you realize, I feel for all the injured here.”
“I am not perfect, but I try more than any to be like him. Salvation is not easy, my Salvation is not easy..” He glanced up again at Hallerna “I may not be perfect, I am like you… Different culture, different race. But flawed, just because I am a Christian does not make me immune to being a man, and making mistakes as all men do.”
He looked at Sigrid “I am sorry, for the words I have said against you. I care for this person very much, even though I have known her for little more than a few hours… And I am sure in your own way, as shown by your anger you do too.”
Sigrid brushed a strand of red hair back, “I’ve known Tora since she was a child, don’t tell me what I might feel or not. She is a valued and valuable member of our household. Tora is quite expensive and now she’s damaged. You dislike hearing a person described as such don’t you but it is the way of things here. Some are born to be slaves and some are not, our fates are not our own. If you are done, there is something more important that needs to be discussed.”
Anndrais Looked at Sigrid “I pity that you put a value on someone so close to you… No amount of coin will ever bring back whatever innocence this girl had before it was ripped away from her. I pray for your soul, in the hopes that one day you will understand why my people, not just Christian’s but those that reside in Alba, my homeland view this practice as cruel.”
He looked down at Tora speaking again “And we are not bound to a fate, never to this one especially… I can only pray you see the folly, before the people you grind into dirt, force to toil in your fields, wait on you. Rise up and take their fates back from those that would oppress the soul. Because if they do, they will have no mercy.”
Her eyes flashed at the monk and she spoke in a low, hard voice, “If you think I cannot see how she is suffering you are a bigger fool than I thought. I’ll let you stay, because you seem to provide Tora with some comfort but do not presume that gives you leave to fill her head with nonsense.”
She walked away from him toward Ragnar, touching his hand that lay on the hilt of his sword, “Harald must be dealt with. This was merely a game for him, a cruel jest and insult towards us.”
Ragnar nodded, well aware of the situation. “It was an insult, but you know as well as I do that I can’t challenge the worm over a thrall. I’ll continue trying to provoke him, but if he does nothing, all I can do is kill his men one by one.” He reached out and placed one of his large, calloused hands against her cheek.
“This will be handled, rest assured,” he rumbled. “In the meantime, I don’t want you going anywhere alone. You’ll take Haakon or Ivarr with you, and I’ll brook no argument on the matter.”
“Of course,” she replied, pressing against his hand for a brief moment. She looked up at her husband, flushed with the warmth and security she felt when he was near and gave him a slight smile. “I trust you will handle him, despite him hiding in his hole like a rat.”
How do you go from angelic sweetness to raping pies?
I'll have my CS up soon.
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