Collaboration post between @MiddleEarthRoze,@MacabreFox, & @Leidenschaft A quiet sigh of irritation passed Roze's lips as she looked on at the rather rude intrusion into her and the Nord's woman's introductions. Her grin gave way to a more narrow-eyed, flippant expression, mind already brimming with thoughts on how to make this arsehole's day worse.
Normally, she wouldn't have stood for some brazen man touching her without her permission - actions like this usually resulted in a knee to the groin, and perhaps even the taking away of certain parts usually deemed quite invaluable to over-bearing warriors like this one. However, she was certain that, despite the man's universal hatred around the camp; she wouldn't get off scot free for harming him. Chances are that she would end up dead on the front-lines of the attack if she laid a finger on Dumhuvud. Therefore, she was going to have to deal with this in a far more...
lady-like manner.
Rolling back onto her left foot so she was leaning away from the figure before her, Roze offered up an impertient smile.
"You must be Dumhuvud, the Cat-Kicker of the camp! Thank Goodness we have you here. Gods only know how we would have coped against the Forsworn Alley-cats without your aid." She said cheerily to Dumhuvud. "As for my business here... well, I'm not sure if you've heard, but the people in charge of this place are hiring for help. I have come to lend my bow - and I look forward to using it alongside those large feet of yours against the deadly Forsworn... or cats, in your case."
Beneath the surface of Sevine's pallid skin, her blood boiled with hot, wild rage. The wisps of air that evaporated from her mouth, rising up into the night air like white tendrils of smoke. Her first reaction would have been to step in front of Rozalia, and defend her, thief or not, as the young woman had aforementioned, and she did when Rozalia made her own sarcastic retort. The look upon her face spelled bitter contempt for Dumhuvud, his words knotted her stomach with disgust, she knew that he enjoyed picking on the new arrivals. The cracking of his knuckles, and the sneer on his face only angered her more. She had no qualms with Dumhuvud, and that made it easier for her to challenge him.
She pushed forward, past Rozalia and grabbed Dumhuvud's forearm in an iron-like grip, and growled something fierce at him in a wrathful tone.
"If you're looking for someone to pick on, pick on someone your own size, I don't care who you are, Cat-Kicker. I'll fight you right now if it's blood you're looking to spill, because I'd be happy to spill yours."
Sevine knew that she could get into a lot of trouble for speaking to Dumhuvud, but she wouldn't tolerate belittling of others, especially for their own personal satisfaction. Her other hand travelled to the war axe at her hip, ready to defend Rozalia and herself, if need be. If one were to gaze upon Sevine, they would see her crimson brows furrowed together in, a pair of intensive, green eyes glaring at Dumhuvud, and a frown so severe, and frightening, it would make any child cry. But, Dumhuvud was no child, and she knew that she could full well receive some type of repercussion for speaking out.
"What the hells did you say to me, you fucking harlots?" Dumhuvud saw Sevine's fingers twitch towards her axe and her hard words. Only gave him more reason to crack his nasty smile and a chuckle gurgle up from him as he rested his hand on the haft of his axe. "You've got sharp words, girl, just be careful you don't cut your own throat on 'em."
"What's this about spilling blood and cutting throats, eh?" Jorwen stepped up facing Dumhuvud's axe-hand. His face was hard on any given day but the shadows cast about the angles of his face, narrow-eyed and heavy bearded made it look that bit harder.
"This don't concern you, Jorwen." He sniffed and Jorwen could see Dumhuvud's dawning realization of how many people stood against him. A few of Dumhuvud's housecarls hung about in the dark, eyes agleam with anticipation of the building violence in the air, thick and putrid as the smell of blood.
"I see a Legionnaire standing against a Stormcloak." Jorwen said, head tipping forwards and the shadows swallowing a bit more of his face.
"The fuck does that mean?" Dumhuvud growled.
"Six times I gave the Legion a learning about standing against a Nord in his own lands and six times they were at least honorable enough to stay with the Legion." Jorwen took a step forward and Dumhuvud’s eyes stayed locked on his until they were close enough almost to touch noses. “All except you. I’ve been meaning to have words about that since you bumped me, Dumhuvud. You been on my mind and now you’re right in my hand. So, you need a learning, boy?”
The pair stood like that for a few long moments, shoulders tensed, and right when Jorwen was sure they’d all be getting bloody sooner rather than later, Dumhuvud stepped back with a frown as nasty as his smile. He backed away slowly until he was in the shadows, then like wolves him and his went back to the night to look for easier prey. Jorwen stood there looking hard enough to knock chunks out of the mountains before he let go a huge breath smoking on the cold night air, age setting its hand upon him again. He managed a smile, “I was about to piss, I was.” He ran his hand through his thick hair and chuckled, “My name’s Jorwen. Folk sometimes call me Red-Bear, think you already met the Wolf-Tooth.” He nodded to the woman with the respect one warrior gives to another, “Sevine.”
Sevine let go of Dumvuhud’s forearm, and took a step back as a familiar man stepped between them. Jorwen Red-Bear, the tailor that had mended her dress sleeve back in the Civil War, swayed the situation to a more calming one, even though Jorwen had confronted Dumvuhud just as Sevine had done. Inside, she still fumed over Cat-Kicker calling Rozalia and her harlots, but she let it go. The tension in the air grew heavily between the two men as Sevine watched quietly, her temper simmering down.
She watched as Dumvuhud walked away, a disgusting sneer plastered across his face. Gratitude emanated from her body as she turned round to face the towering man, his beard was absolutely grand, and reached past his chest. A friendly smile came over her face.
“My friend, Jorwen! It is good to see you again, I knew I had spotted you about camp.” She embraced him quickly, as a welcoming gesture before stepping away. Glancing at Rozalia, she grinned again.
“Sevine Varg-t’uk, by the way. A pleasure to meet you Rozalia.”
Unlike Sevine, Roze couldn't help but crack a wicked grin at Dumhuvud's reaction to their words. It was always highly amusing to her to see how easily big fellows like this one were wound up.
The situation became all the more entertaining when another Nord lumbered over to give them aid - despite his mountainous appearance, once Dumhuvud had slunk back into the shadows like the skeever he was, the daunting look from Jorwen's face disappeared, and it became clear he was far more friendly than most others she had met at the camp. Roze looked up at the large man, smile settled into a far more friendly one now.
"Red-Bear? I've met brown bears, black bears, and even snow bears. I am honoured to finally meet a red one." Roze said in a somewhat teasing manner - however, there was gratitude in both her words and her smile towards the pair before her. "You can both call me Roze, if it pleases you - and it's also a pleasure to meet you both."
Glancing behind her shoulder to see that the Cat-Kicker had in fact, retreated in full, Roze chuckled under her breath as she looked back to Sevine and Jorwen.
"A damn shame that a bastard like that has power in this camp - thank the Gods someone else is in charge."
"You won't be thanking the Gods in his name when you're in the thick of it. You arrived just in time, lass." Jorwen said. He looked around at the bustling camp. People sharpening their blades, checking their armor, psyching each other up. Thrice-Pierced nodded at him as he passed with a wicked grin splitting his face, a grim reminder of the task soon at hand. "Sevine can give you the short of it. I need to be somewhere else. Neither of you die, you hear?" He said, waving his goodbyes.
As Jorwen walked away from the two women, Sevine’s eyes lingered upon the bearded man until she could see him no more. Turning to look at Roze, the huntress offered her an optimistic smile.
“Well, the company is planning an attack against the Forsworn within hours, there are people needed to help carry the battering ram, as well as carry the ladders to breach their walls, we’re also in need of mages, and archers. I recall that you said you were a thief, I’ll hold no judgement against you for that, but what is your main choice for a weapon? Can you wield a blade? Or shoot an arrow?”
The Breton woman was striking in appearance, especially for her eyes, such a beautiful shade of blue. With her diminutive stature, and innocent, child-like air about her, Sevine felt an obligation to look out for the young woman, even more so since Cat-Kicker targeted her.
Roze let out a light chuckle at Jorwen's parting words. It was common for her to cheerily tell people to avoid death in her departure from a conversation; for some reason, some people got offended. She couldn't see why - it was technically a nice thing to say.
"Well, despite these obvious bulging muscles I have, I think I'll avoid the battering ram." Roze replied jokingly to Sevine, relaxing in the larger woman's presence. Despite the fact Sevine was larger, older, and definitly more intimidating than Roze, there was a trusting aura about her. A kindness hidden in those deep pine eyes.
"No, my forte when it comes to dealing death lies with the bow and arrow." Pausing as she unbuckled her cloak, she let it fall to the floor to reveal the bow around her shoulders - she held it out in front of her proudly. It was definitely an old one - the string had been replaced countless times. But the bow itself was still a magnificent looking specimen - regularly polished and cleaned, the Dwarven metal gleamed like it had been just made.
Well, if one ignored the scratches.
Looking back at Sevine, she regarded the woman shrewdly.
"You look like you can handle a sword just fine - but I'll bet you prefer the bow too." Roze guessed with a knowing smile.
Sevine gave a hearty laugh at Roze’s joke to her
bulging muscles, “I was beginning to wonder how you ended up here, a small thing like you would easily be run down underfoot.”
As Roze unbuckled her cloak, she revealed a magnificent bow, well-used, and made of quality Dwemer metal, Sevine’s eyes lit up in awe.
“My, that is quite a piece you have! I haven’t seen many bows before made of metal like this, only in Markarth really.” She admired it from where she stood, “Well not so much a sword, I prefer my axe in close combat.” Here she turned to the side, revealing the war axe she would have used against Dumvuhud had things escalated.
“But you’re right, I prefer my long bow over anything. That’s why they call me
The Huntress. Ever since my mother passed when I was young, my father taught me how to wield the bow. If you run into our quartermaster around here, the blonde Nordic woman, her name is Edith. We grew up in Falkreath together, she could enlighten you with many tales of my hunts. I once served with the Stormcloaks during the Civil War, that’s how Jorwen and I met you see. Any arrow I ever loosed, struck true, and caused fear in the hearts of the Imperial soldiers we fought against.” Finished speaking, Sevine eyed the young woman, looking her over head-to-toe, as if she were looking for something she could not see.
“If you need a place to pitch your tent, or lay out your bedroll, there’s plenty of room by me, in case you wish to avoid Cat-Kicker again. He’s a foul man, never liked him much myself.” Added the huntress, placing a hand upon her hip. She quite liked Roze, as the young woman had a unique sense of humor.
Roze couldn't help but smile at Sevine's story, and how it was somewhat similar to her own.
"My father taught me how to wield my bow too. This was his. My Mother taught me my more sneaky attributes." She replied, holding her bow closer to her fondly. It was one of the few things left of her father - being a family of Thieves and plunderers, they didn't have much in the way of items with sentimental value; stuff like that was irreplacable. Other than her Father's bow, her Mother's necklace, and various letters from both, Roze carried nothing of personal value.
That didn't mean she'd be quite happy to part with anything, of course.
Roze looked back up, somewhat surprised at Sevine's offer. Here she was, having only just met her, and she was pretty much offering Roze protection. Although honoured, there was a small amount of doubt niggling away in the back of Roze's mind. All throughout growing up, she'd been taught to never depend on someone else for safety. At times, it was unavoidable - in illness, it was always nice to have someone you trusted watching your back. But Roze was not ill, nor injured.
Before the battle, at least.
"Thank you for the offer... however, I may not look like much, but I'm used to looking after myself." She said, some of the joking in her tone receding. It was fair to give off the impression that she was naught more than a jovial and innocent cutpurse, but that wasn't a label she was happy to retain for the rest of her life. It was forever tiring to have people assume she needed protection. However, Sevine seemed nice - one of the more genuinely good people Roze had met very few of. It would be both advantageous and fun to have a friend like this one - especially considering the fact she was unperturbed by Rozalia's thieving nature.
"However, I'll gladly take up your offer. Despite the fact the rocks by my bedroll are prettier looking than the Cat-Kicker's face, I've still yet to get a conversation out of them." She said, quirky grin returning as she retrieved her cloak from the ground, shaking the snow from it.
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