Post by oorali on Jan 11, 2019 23:36:47 GMT 1
Rain continued to pour like a barmaid at a Dwarr festival. The storm that ran the boat aground had passed but dark clouds settled with the intention of soaking Agonias newest arrivals. Oorali woke to a soft shake and a familiar voice.
“We made it Oorali”, said Ragnar.
Oorali took stock of the Norsk’s words and scanned her surroundings. The landscape was like nothing she’d ever seen before, wild and forbidding to those who come from civility and yet at the same time strangely enchanting. She was sitting half way up a hill underneath an improvised shelter made from a torn sail and salvaged timber. Bodies dotted the beach, some looked alive; sails covered others. She caught sight of Asphodel sodden wet and tending to a casualty. Atop the hill a few hundred meters from the wreck people gathered and hunched over in a circle under another makeshift shelter. Faces looked familiar and she recognized a few. Kyri, Pirate, Askytos, Belouch and Koios were all part of the group. She could hear the voices but not what was said, only the serious tone by which they were speaking.
“Where is Crixus? And Achilles?” asked the Nuruk.
Ragnar replied, “Already hunting, you know those two they couldn’t wait to kill something.”
She smiled and stood up, “Which way did they go?”
Oorali took one step, stumbled, fell and rolled down the hill. Muddied and wet she attempted to stand and compose herself.
“You’ve still got sea legs girlie, come back under the shelter.” Ragnar shouted whilst suppressing laughter.
She began to crawl up the muddy hill back to the shelter. Sitting again she wiped her hands on her trousers. A flashback of the boat trip came to her in a dreamlike state. She tried to remember anything before the boat but couldn’t picture much from her life. She knew things instinctively like who Ragnar and the boys were, that they were the closest thing she had to a family, but not how they all came to be together and what they did in the years before the boat. A few lines from an old Nuruk poem trickled through her mind.
The cut-throat’s way is always best.
Leave the banners and drums behind.
Kill your enemies while they rest.
Leave no trace for others to find.
Ragnar managed to get a fire going. “They should be back soon and Jandal too, she was collecting herbs. She won’t be far away.”
“We made it Oorali”, said Ragnar.
Oorali took stock of the Norsk’s words and scanned her surroundings. The landscape was like nothing she’d ever seen before, wild and forbidding to those who come from civility and yet at the same time strangely enchanting. She was sitting half way up a hill underneath an improvised shelter made from a torn sail and salvaged timber. Bodies dotted the beach, some looked alive; sails covered others. She caught sight of Asphodel sodden wet and tending to a casualty. Atop the hill a few hundred meters from the wreck people gathered and hunched over in a circle under another makeshift shelter. Faces looked familiar and she recognized a few. Kyri, Pirate, Askytos, Belouch and Koios were all part of the group. She could hear the voices but not what was said, only the serious tone by which they were speaking.
“Where is Crixus? And Achilles?” asked the Nuruk.
Ragnar replied, “Already hunting, you know those two they couldn’t wait to kill something.”
She smiled and stood up, “Which way did they go?”
Oorali took one step, stumbled, fell and rolled down the hill. Muddied and wet she attempted to stand and compose herself.
“You’ve still got sea legs girlie, come back under the shelter.” Ragnar shouted whilst suppressing laughter.
She began to crawl up the muddy hill back to the shelter. Sitting again she wiped her hands on her trousers. A flashback of the boat trip came to her in a dreamlike state. She tried to remember anything before the boat but couldn’t picture much from her life. She knew things instinctively like who Ragnar and the boys were, that they were the closest thing she had to a family, but not how they all came to be together and what they did in the years before the boat. A few lines from an old Nuruk poem trickled through her mind.
The cut-throat’s way is always best.
Leave the banners and drums behind.
Kill your enemies while they rest.
Leave no trace for others to find.
Ragnar managed to get a fire going. “They should be back soon and Jandal too, she was collecting herbs. She won’t be far away.”