Recent Statuses

21 hrs ago
Current Fate tells me I cannot withstand the storm. Dutifully but boldly I answer, I am the storm.
4 days ago
I let the blade do the talking... So my tongue shall become iron. And my words the mighty roar of war. Revealing my divine anger´s arrow shall strike. All action for the good of all.
4 days ago
valhalla.. only 1 rule... no asianatic women allowed... join now to claim your free insult...
7 days ago
They built me an echo chamber so I can't hear my anger.
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7 days ago
RIP Lil Peep. Thanks for introducing me to Pouya, Fat Nick and $uicideboy$ peep. Now you with god.


ᚹᛖ ᚨᚱᛖ ᚨᛚᛚ ᚷᛁᛚᛞᚱᛖᚾ ᛟᚠ ᚦᛖ ᚨᛚᛚ ᚠᚨᚦᛖᚱ᛬ᛋᛟᛗᛖ ᛃᚢᛋᛏ ᛞᛟᚾᛏ ᚲᚾᛟᚹ ᛁᛏ ᛃᛖᛏ᛬

The Words of Óðinn the High One | |
Gáttir allar
áðr gangi fram
um skoðask skyli
um skygnask skyli
því at óvíst
er at vita hvar óvinir
sitja fleti fyrir

Two are hosts against one, the tongue is the head's bane,
'neath a rough hide a hand may be hid;
he is glad at nightfall who knows of his lodging,
short is the ship's berth,
and changeful the autumn night,
much veers the wind ere the fifth day
and blows round yet more in a month.
I counsel thee, Stray-Singer, accept my counsels,
they will be thy boon if thou obey'st them,
they will work thy weal if thou win'st them:
tell not ever an evil man
if misfortunes thee befall,
from such ill friend thou needst never seek
return for thy trustful mind.
Each man who is wise and would wise be called
must ask and answer aright.
Let one know thy secret, but never a second, --
if three a thousand shall know.
A wise counselled man will be mild in bearing
and use his might in measure,
lest when he come his fierce foes among
he find others fiercer than he.

Þagalt ok hugalt
skyli þjóðans barn
ok vígdjarft vera
glaðr ok reifr
skyli gumna hverr
unz sínn bíðr bana

The Saga of Buddha | |

I am dedicated, myself to the High One, that he might know my strength, that I may join him in Valhalla, to do battle in his name, trusted as Einherjar. We do not kneel before the Gods, superior they might be, for our valor in battle is equal to theirs, much like our strength. If we demand their favor, we do not pray and ask like lambs, we sacrifice and take what we might need. Our god is not a kind god - oh, no - our god favors the strong and the brave, those that do not steal to take, but earn their keep with wisdom, sagacity, virility, strength and the will to live.

I'd rather be a wolf of ÓÐINN than a lamb of GOD.

To go Víkingr is what I want | |

To take by force is a honorable thing - to take without knowledge is a thieves way | |

While raiding a coastal farm, Egill and his men were captured by the farmer and his family, who bound all of the raiders. In the night that followed, Egill was able to slip his bonds. He and his men grabbed their captors' treasure and headed back to the ship. But along the way, Egill shamefully realized he was acting like a thief, saying, "This journey is terrible and hardly suitable for a warrior. We have stolen the farmer’s money without his knowledge. We should never allow such shame to befall us."

So, Egill returned to his captors' house, set it ablaze, and killed the occupants as they tried to escape the fire. He then returned to the ship with the treasure, this time as a hero. Because he had fought and won the battle, he could justly claim the booty.

Waarom doorgaan met leven?

Most Recent Posts

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-“>


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.


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.”

@ShovelKnight all A$AP tracks got nasty beats. Atleast when all of A$AP is there.
@Furiosa Fair enough. By all means, if you need help feel free to PM me!
@Furiosa intimidating? Why? Did you have a character concept? I'm sure you can pull up to our standards given that advanced RP is generally slower moving.
@ShovelKnight A$AAAAP!
@DeadbeatWalking "gaan naai jou mama" dat is niet heel erg aardig.
In hi hi! 4 days ago Forum: Introduce Yourself
@morrie welcome to the place of writing

i hope you write here
In 'Ello 4 days ago Forum: Introduce Yourself
@Xanadu tochno tak ze, drug. Ça va bien. :) Perhaps I'll see you around.
@thorne welcome thor. see you in valhalla.
In Mahz's Dev Journal 4 days ago Forum: News
<Snipped quote by Odin>

i expected better of you than to use apple products.


The UI is nice and an added bonus is that sometimes icons on RPG change into emoji for no reason which is funny.
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