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Post by Nyte on Jun 24, 2019 20:48:17 GMT -5
Varmod stood in the ice a little while longer, still in awe by the lack of the bite the cold since his gift, and only turned back towards his home once all sounds besides that of the wind had faded away. He gave a short sigh as he did, the warmth of his breath sending a swirl of fog into the frigid air, and pushed the events of the evening from his mind. It never did him any good to dwell on his harder decisions. Not to mention of others found out he had doubts or second guessed himself he wouldn't be able to lead as effectively.
When he arrived back in his home he shut the door gently behind him and slid the lock into place to prevent any visitors from simply letting themselves in. As his eyes adjusted to the light of the hearth he saw that Azariah was sitting before the flames to warm herself, but her expression seemed troubled rather than her relaxed and calm expression he had come to be so familiar with during their evenings together. He sighed once more and unclasped his cloak, pulled it from his shoulders and hung it over a chair at their table. "I hate sentencing my own people to the ice." He finally said after the silence had ruled the room for several moments. "Hopefully since they were sentenced together their chances of returning are greater. They can share warmth and help each other hunt. Makes it easier when you have someone to depend on." He spoke without being prompted but didn't really expect her to respond either. He simply made his way to their bed and let himself fall back into the furs and stare up at the ceiling.
Though he hadn't known Odin was in his home he could feel the tension in the air that remained. It was uncomfortable but he kept silent about it. Perhaps once they slept they would feel better about the whole ordeal. Varmod would also ensure the boys were taken care of before they left in the morning for Whitlock. He wouldn't leave them to fend for themselves even while he was facing a very dangerous battle.
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Post by Blindside Tex on Jun 25, 2019 19:01:37 GMT -5
Azariah did not look to Varmond as he came into the home. Her lungs ached from Odin’s power over her. Just the thought, if he ever wished her dead in battle, Odin could freeze her in place and she would be no more. When Varmond began to speak she moved her head slightly and gave a nod, though she didn’t offer much of a response for him to go off of. Azariah looked back into the fire as Varmond walked away, seemingly defeated to the bed that they had shared together for so many evenings. Her calm relaxed demeanor and her loving smile was wiped from her expression this evening. After Erik nearly killed her and now Odin with his hold over her. She let out a breath after nearly an hour of sitting before the fire, she’d listened to Varmond’s breaths deepen as he fell into a slumber.
The princess stood slowly her silver hues glanced to her husband as she placed the lid over the pot of stew he had prepared for their dinner that never happened. Azariah slipped from her clothing, specks of blood littered her leathers from her fight with Erik. She pulled on a tunic of Varmond’s and climbed into the bed with him and as she always did she lay her head upon his shoulder and she traced upon his chest. It was calming to her to lay with him in such a way, to listen to his heart beat within his chest, to listen to the steady rhythm of his breathing while he slept. A soft smile curved up her lips as she closed her eyes and eventually she slipped off into a slumber.
Azariah stood within a field that overlooked Whitlock from afar. Smoke rose into the skies from the chimneys of the homes of the people she knew that slumbered tucked away from Skadi’s cold chills. She held her shield in one hand her sword in the other. She glanced to her left and right to see warriors at her side, battle paint upon their cheeks. It was as if they were waiting for something to happen. She looked back forward just as a horn bellowed in the distance. Azariah heard herself let out a cry as she rushed forward. She ran through the snow and leaped over fallen trees and boulders, just as she had as a child in Whitlock. She knew the surrounding area like the back of her hand. She weaved quickly as arrows began to fly toward them. A man to her right fell quickly from an arrow to his chest. Then another. She held her shield up as she felt arrows pelt against it. Her heart pounded within her ears as she rushed toward the city. More horns bellowed from the attack. Clattering of weapons and shields sounded from ahead. War cries filled the air.
Azariah found herself in the midst of the battle. She sliced forward pushing toward the great hall. Her mission was to get to the king, to get to her brother. She was hell bent on getting there. Blood splattered across her face as she fought for her life. She felt the cuts of blades against her flesh but it didn’t slow her, if anything it propelled her forward. She rushed into the great hall to find her brother standing, seemingly waiting for her. A grin upon his lips, he clapped slowly as he chuckled. “Bravo, sister. What a traitor you’ve become.” He stepped forward. Azariah’s chest heaved as she made to move forward. Suddenly her arms were grasped. “You didn’t think I would just allow you to waltz in on mother and father. Did you?” He raised a brow. “I knew you’d come.” He stepped forward with a grin upon his lips. He carefully pulled her sword from her grasp. His eyes looked over the blade that had been specially made by the blacksmith. Azariah tried to stop time, to rewind. Anything. She could barely breathe. Otta looked to her and chuckled. “Oh, the Oracle gave me something of a protection spell.” He held a vial up that was filled with a crimson liquid. “Don’t worry, sister. I’ll make sure those from Skajadol suffer in their deaths for their acts against Whitlock. For stealing you away and turning you into a demon just as they are.” Suddenly he stabbed forward into her abdomen. “I’ll be a hero, Az. Truly.” He whispered into her ear as he twisted the blade. “The man to kill the gift of Odin the threatened Whitlock. A savior.” He ripped the blade from her body and blood splashed upon the floor. Azariah fell to her knees as Otta placed the blade upon her shoulder, the edge pressed against her neck. “To be killed by your own sword.” He clicked his tongue, “Such a sad warrior you’ve become, sister.” He sliced across her throat swiftly then.
Azariah sat up quickly in the bed as she gasped for air, her eyes were wide as her hands shot to her throat. She pat down her abdomen where she was stabbed as her chest heaved for air. She scrambled from the bed quickly and glanced around the room as if she’d expected Otta to be there, ready to do the deed. Her eyes fell upon Varmond and she let out a breath, though her body was still in a state of fight or flight, her muscles were still tense, her pulse still bounded. She stepped across the chilly floor to the hearth where she stoked the fire back to life. Azariah trembled slightly from the adrenaline as she began to cook breakfast, hearty oats with dried fruits and nuts added in. Something that would fuel them for the travel ahead.
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Post by Nyte on Jun 25, 2019 19:26:47 GMT -5
While Varmod slept his mind wandered through a void of blackness instead of the dreams of familiar faces and places he normally did. He turned and tossed in his sleep as he tried to find comfort in their bed and woke several times half expecting one of the gods who had been paying a visit to them to be looming over him in bed. He wasn't sure how long he had been attempting to sleep but when he opened his eyes he saw the light from their hearth dancing on the ceiling. When he moved his arm he felt that the bed next to him was empty which made him roll to his side to look for Azariah. It took him a moment but he spotted her as she cooked their morning meal and gave a sigh as he felt his anxiety start to settle.
He was tired and restless from the long night which didn't bode well for him on the trip to Whitlock for the battle. Granted it would take several days for them to reach the city. Hopefully he could rest while they traveled and he would be ready to fight when they got there. With a groan he sat up in the bed and brushed his long hair from his face while wiping the sleep from his eyes. "Good morning, Azariah." He told her as he pushed himself out of the bed and walked to stand next to her by the fire. He wore only his pants, having lost his shirt at some point in the night, and took a deep breath to smell the oats as they simmered in the pot.
When he glanced to his wife he saw the stress and exhaustion still played out on her features as well and sighed as he brushed a loose strand of her hair back behind her ear. "Seems neither of us slept well." He commented. "Are you alright?" His voice was full of concern as he spoke and his fingers trailed along her cheek to her chin to lift her gaze from the hearth to meet his own.
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Post by Blindside Tex on Jun 25, 2019 19:46:59 GMT -5
Azariah stirred the oats carefully as she added in a few spices of cinnamon and nutmeg. She glanced to Varmond as he rose from the bed, though the smile she gave was half hearted and showed how tired she truly was. When he touched her cheek she closed her eyes slightly to the light touch and she gazed up to him her eyes played over his muscles slightly before she met his eyes. “I didn’t sleep well at all.” She finally spoke after a moment. “Between the gods and Erik attacking me.” She shook her head slightly. “I suppose I am a nervous mess, aren’t I?” She moved and hugged herself to him. “I had a terrible dream Varmond.” She spoked as she looked up to him, she didn’t speak for a long moment as she replayed the horrific dream in her mind. The feeling of the blade across her neck. It was too real. “Otta killed me.” She spoke, her breath shook. “It was a dream, but it felt real...I...” She stepped back and placed her fingertips to her neck, she couldn’t get the feeling from her mind. “I’ve never felt something so real...not in a dream...not like that...”
Azariah quickly grasped the oats from the fire as they threatened to boil over. She blew upon the bubbles to settle the oats back into the pot before she stirred it. “I know it is a dream Varmond, but...” She glanced to him, “It’s just a dream...” She bit her lip. “Just my imagination...fooling me into thinking that Otta would be capable...” She sighed, “Everything was wrong in the dream. Whitlock knew we were coming. Otta was waiting for me with guards...I couldn’t move...I couldn’t get away...” She rambled on as she poured the oats into two wooden bowls. Her jaw tightened slightly as she thought of the smug grin upon her brother’s face. “He wanted to kill me, it was in his plans...he said he was a hero for killing me...” She trembled slightly as she remembered the feeling of the sword within her abdomen. “But...it won’t happen...it can’t...” She glanced to Varmond with almost sad eyes. “We can’t lose like that...” She breathed, her eyes were brimmed with tears as she looked up to her husband.
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Post by Nyte on Jun 26, 2019 16:47:31 GMT -5
Varmod frowned as he heard of her dream. To think that her weak and cowardly brother was capable of such a feat was unthinkable. Then again with how things had been going lately he supposed anything was possible at this point. Their lives had become immensely complicated and unpredictable. "I would never allow that coward to lay a finger on you." Varmod tried to reassure you when she was done recounting her dream. "He would have to kill me first and of that I'm sure is entirely impossible." He spoke with confidence and even offered her a small smile that pulled at the corners of his lips. "This war is as good as won, love. The King's people are starved and think that their gods have abandoned them. Their will to fight will not be there to allow them victory. Otta has ensured that."
He removed one of his hands from around her and held it out in front of them and ice started to swirl above his palm. "Then when we have removed the mad King and his son from power you will be able to ensure that your people are fed and taken care of once more." As he spoke the ice had started to form a shape and pieced together into that of a frozen crown. Simple yet elegant with the intricate fissures and swirls of the ice that made it. He grasped the piece and gently placed it on top of her head and chuckled. "Your titles will only continue to grow. Daughter of Odin, Wife to the Son of Skadi, and the Rightful Queen of Whitlock. Don't let Loki fill your mind with doubts for even he knows those events will not come to pass."
From outside their home Varmod caught the sound of horses and tack jingling together accompanied with several voices. It seemed others had come to collect them for the journey to Whitlock. "Come on, Azariah. We need to get ready. Still need to gather up my armor as well." He gently pulled away from her and went to collect a shirt and his jerkin to dress himself before retrieving his boots and cloak. By the time he had gotten dressed there was a knock on their door and a voice that stated the men were ready to depart.
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