Cigarette smoke drifted lazily up into the air. Resso held a stub loosely between his lips as he read the bounty notice. Behind him, something shifted noisily with thuds, clangs and squelches. A large white arm with blue lines crisscrossing in intricate tattoos reached over his shoulder to tear the parchment off the corkboard. Resso turned around to object but stopped with his mouth open in a large ‘o’ shape. Eyes trailed up from the bare chest covered in blue tattoos to the braided beard and finally to the icy blue eyes. A small cough escaped his lips before he slithered away from the orc-like man towering in front of him.
Runt, for his part, hardly noticed. Foxes, treants and the great white stag. What a hunt! Though he did not know what a treant was the other two were familiar enough. But where were these wilds? A woman with slightly pointy ears wearing loose green and black clothing examined some of the remaining notices. She had something narrow and metallic slung over her shoulder. Perhaps another hunter. “HUN-VAN. WHERE BE WILDS?”
Almond eyes glanced side-long up at him, her voice lilting. “Past Battlef’eld Park. But I hear there be crimson ghosts chasin’ off what’ere fool goes out to hunt there.”
Runt patted one of his vest pockets at the mention of the crimson ghosts. They would not harm him.
OOC: If anyone is interested in RPing out meeting Runt in the wilds, either as a protector or fellow hunter just drop me a PM. If you want to vapor it, feel free to comment that you have seen the growing giant lumbering about.
Into the Wilds
Into the Wilds
Last edited by Runt on Sat Mar 30, 2019 12:13 pm, edited 1 time in total.
A Trophy for Clan Seemon
Runt shouted and smashed the base of his three-ax-headed mace into the ground. Matt Seemon was once again, victorious! With a wide grin, he shouted out "MATT SEEMON! I BRING YOU GIFT". He didn’t bother waiting for a reply, this was a grand moment and what better way to celebrate than with a grand gift! He pulled open the sack and gently, but awkwardly, removed a large set of great white stag antlers. He set it on the table Matt had been sitting at before his duel. "A TROPHY! FOR CLAN SEEMON!"
“What's that?”
Grinning with pride Runt’s memory returned to that moment when he slew the stag with a javelin and cut the antlers from its head. "FROM GREAT BEAST IN FOREST! I 'UNT IT AND KILL IT! DA MEAT WAS GUD! "DIS," he gestured proudly to the antlers, "IS CROWN OF BEAST."
“Great bea...oh.” Matt’s eyes widened as he recognized what was being presented. “Oh! Oh no. You took that bounty?!”
A warm, itchy feeling began to spread in Runts stomach as he detected the thinly veiled incredulity and disappointment in Matt’s voice. "IT WAS A 'UNT...." his feet began to shift as the itch started buzzing like an angry bee. "RUNT BE GOOD AT 'UNTING. DIS BE TROPHY FER CLAN SEEMON."
“Runt…” Matt sighed heavily. How could he explain this to a man who clearly loved hunting and fighting? “Not all hunts are equal. And that's not a trophy. Not one we want or should be at all proud of.”
Silence filled the space between them like an impassable chasm. Not proud? The beast had been perfect, beautiful and majestic. The hunt had taken days, and it wasn’t just tracking but defending against the crimson shadows which chased the hunters at night. The kill was clean with minimal waste. He had taken great care in skinning the beast, removing the antlers and drying the meat. It was one of Runts proudest moments.
"SO. MATT SEEMON... NO WANT DE CROWN OF BEAST." He continued to shift awkwardly from one foot to the other. He scratched his stomach where the itch was not just one bee but a dozen. "IS DER ODER 'UNTS DAT RUNT DO DAT ARE... BETTER?"
“Yes, there are..better. Hunts.”
With heavy resignation Runt nodded then puts the antlers back into the sack, tearing a few holes in the process. "YOU TELL RUNT OF 'UNTS. RUNT GO DO DEM." Perhaps it was not the prize his chief wanted. Maybe there was something grander and more majestic! Something more challenging than wyverns or stag.
“I think...Koy. You need to talk with Koy. She's much more an expert at such things. But promise me that you're not going to hunt any more of...those…” he pointed to the horns Runt was putting away. “And if you are interested in any of those Hunter Guild contracts, you talk to me first.”
Talk to Koy? This was even more confusing. Only the Jarl issued orders, especially regarding hunts. Was this a clan of a Hun-Jarl instead? A She-Chief? Runt frowned, mulling this over. Yes, Koy-luck preferred the fight more. Matt always left important decisions to Koy-luck and The Hunt was especially important. He would take his bounty to her. "YES MATT SEEMON." There was a pause as he thought about the guild contracts, best to be open with the mate of the Jarl. "RUNT DID ALL OF DEM. FOX. AND LIVING TREE.” The foxes were easy, just a couple of traps. He strung them up and skinned them well, and dried what little meat was one them. Most of the white fox fur was save for Koy-luck and the best of the two antlers he had brought for Matt. The treant was the best part. Fighting a living tree and winning… well, he had to have an extra sack to take all the bark to the Guild. "WAS MAAT SLAAG!"
“A...all?” Matt sighed again, bowing his head. “God.”
Noticing Matt’s increasing disappointment Runt backpedalled a bit. "RUNT GREAT 'UNTER! BUT RUNT ASK. NEXT TIME."
“Yes. Please ask.”
Then a brilliant idea formed in Runt’s head. During the hunt, the crimson shadows had chased him and the other hunters. At one point Runt decided to take a stand with his stone-rune for protection. It only took one good swing to vanquish the ghosts that harried them. Rumor had it the devil-woman in Battlefield Park summoned them. Perhaps he could hunt after all. "CAN RUNT 'UNT RED DEMON SHADOWS IN FOREST? ONE'S FROM DEVIL-WOMAN."
“Devil woman?”
Runt remembered talking with Matt before about the devil-woman and trixie-fae, but it seemed that one reason Koy-luck was hun-jarl was for her memory. "YES. HORNS. DEVIL ARTS. HUN-VAN. DEVIL WOMAN. ODER 'UNTERS SAY SHE SEND EVIL SHADOWS TO 'UNT DE 'UNTERS. IS ALLY WITH TRIXIE BLUE FAE. JOOL."
“Joo...Jool. Jewell?”
Runt growled at the memory of the trixie fae almost doing magic on him. "YES. TRIXIE FAE. DEVIL WOMAN WID TRIXIE FAE. DEVIL WOMAN SEND OUT RED SHADOWS. RUNT 'UNT SHADOWS? YES?"
“Let's hold off on the hunting until we have a sit-down with Koy.”
"OKAY. RUNT GO FIND KOY-LUCK NOW."
“Nono, she's home asleep. Tomorrow, or later in the week.”
Runt lifted up the large sack, a white antler poking through it now, and grabbed his mace. "TOMORROW. DEN RUNT 'UNT!" With the prospect of hunting the crimson shadows - and perhaps getting Koy-luck to approve other hunting, Runt grinned at Matt. "RUNT GO FIND RESTING PLACE NOW." In fact, he could think of a nice cold warehouse that was mostly empty. The docksiders didn’t seem to mind him camping out in there - at least, no one said anything.
Matt eyed the horns, clearly distracted as Runt began to leave “All right. Ok.”
It wasn’t until Runt was lumbering out of the Outback, singing some war chant or other, that Matt registered the giants' last comment. “Wait, what? Find a resting place?”
Cross-Posted from the Outback. Written from Live Play with Matt Simon
“What's that?”
Grinning with pride Runt’s memory returned to that moment when he slew the stag with a javelin and cut the antlers from its head. "FROM GREAT BEAST IN FOREST! I 'UNT IT AND KILL IT! DA MEAT WAS GUD! "DIS," he gestured proudly to the antlers, "IS CROWN OF BEAST."
“Great bea...oh.” Matt’s eyes widened as he recognized what was being presented. “Oh! Oh no. You took that bounty?!”
A warm, itchy feeling began to spread in Runts stomach as he detected the thinly veiled incredulity and disappointment in Matt’s voice. "IT WAS A 'UNT...." his feet began to shift as the itch started buzzing like an angry bee. "RUNT BE GOOD AT 'UNTING. DIS BE TROPHY FER CLAN SEEMON."
“Runt…” Matt sighed heavily. How could he explain this to a man who clearly loved hunting and fighting? “Not all hunts are equal. And that's not a trophy. Not one we want or should be at all proud of.”
Silence filled the space between them like an impassable chasm. Not proud? The beast had been perfect, beautiful and majestic. The hunt had taken days, and it wasn’t just tracking but defending against the crimson shadows which chased the hunters at night. The kill was clean with minimal waste. He had taken great care in skinning the beast, removing the antlers and drying the meat. It was one of Runts proudest moments.
"SO. MATT SEEMON... NO WANT DE CROWN OF BEAST." He continued to shift awkwardly from one foot to the other. He scratched his stomach where the itch was not just one bee but a dozen. "IS DER ODER 'UNTS DAT RUNT DO DAT ARE... BETTER?"
“Yes, there are..better. Hunts.”
With heavy resignation Runt nodded then puts the antlers back into the sack, tearing a few holes in the process. "YOU TELL RUNT OF 'UNTS. RUNT GO DO DEM." Perhaps it was not the prize his chief wanted. Maybe there was something grander and more majestic! Something more challenging than wyverns or stag.
“I think...Koy. You need to talk with Koy. She's much more an expert at such things. But promise me that you're not going to hunt any more of...those…” he pointed to the horns Runt was putting away. “And if you are interested in any of those Hunter Guild contracts, you talk to me first.”
Talk to Koy? This was even more confusing. Only the Jarl issued orders, especially regarding hunts. Was this a clan of a Hun-Jarl instead? A She-Chief? Runt frowned, mulling this over. Yes, Koy-luck preferred the fight more. Matt always left important decisions to Koy-luck and The Hunt was especially important. He would take his bounty to her. "YES MATT SEEMON." There was a pause as he thought about the guild contracts, best to be open with the mate of the Jarl. "RUNT DID ALL OF DEM. FOX. AND LIVING TREE.” The foxes were easy, just a couple of traps. He strung them up and skinned them well, and dried what little meat was one them. Most of the white fox fur was save for Koy-luck and the best of the two antlers he had brought for Matt. The treant was the best part. Fighting a living tree and winning… well, he had to have an extra sack to take all the bark to the Guild. "WAS MAAT SLAAG!"
“A...all?” Matt sighed again, bowing his head. “God.”
Noticing Matt’s increasing disappointment Runt backpedalled a bit. "RUNT GREAT 'UNTER! BUT RUNT ASK. NEXT TIME."
“Yes. Please ask.”
Then a brilliant idea formed in Runt’s head. During the hunt, the crimson shadows had chased him and the other hunters. At one point Runt decided to take a stand with his stone-rune for protection. It only took one good swing to vanquish the ghosts that harried them. Rumor had it the devil-woman in Battlefield Park summoned them. Perhaps he could hunt after all. "CAN RUNT 'UNT RED DEMON SHADOWS IN FOREST? ONE'S FROM DEVIL-WOMAN."
“Devil woman?”
Runt remembered talking with Matt before about the devil-woman and trixie-fae, but it seemed that one reason Koy-luck was hun-jarl was for her memory. "YES. HORNS. DEVIL ARTS. HUN-VAN. DEVIL WOMAN. ODER 'UNTERS SAY SHE SEND EVIL SHADOWS TO 'UNT DE 'UNTERS. IS ALLY WITH TRIXIE BLUE FAE. JOOL."
“Joo...Jool. Jewell?”
Runt growled at the memory of the trixie fae almost doing magic on him. "YES. TRIXIE FAE. DEVIL WOMAN WID TRIXIE FAE. DEVIL WOMAN SEND OUT RED SHADOWS. RUNT 'UNT SHADOWS? YES?"
“Let's hold off on the hunting until we have a sit-down with Koy.”
"OKAY. RUNT GO FIND KOY-LUCK NOW."
“Nono, she's home asleep. Tomorrow, or later in the week.”
Runt lifted up the large sack, a white antler poking through it now, and grabbed his mace. "TOMORROW. DEN RUNT 'UNT!" With the prospect of hunting the crimson shadows - and perhaps getting Koy-luck to approve other hunting, Runt grinned at Matt. "RUNT GO FIND RESTING PLACE NOW." In fact, he could think of a nice cold warehouse that was mostly empty. The docksiders didn’t seem to mind him camping out in there - at least, no one said anything.
Matt eyed the horns, clearly distracted as Runt began to leave “All right. Ok.”
It wasn’t until Runt was lumbering out of the Outback, singing some war chant or other, that Matt registered the giants' last comment. “Wait, what? Find a resting place?”
Cross-Posted from the Outback. Written from Live Play with Matt Simon
Last edited by Runt on Sat Mar 30, 2019 12:13 pm, edited 1 time in total.
Hun-Jarl
"KOY-LUCK. IS CLAN SEEMON OF SHE-JARL OR HE-JARL?"
“Heya, ta ye too, Runt.” Koy grinned up at the giant. She was getting better accustomed to his sudden rumblings. She tapped her fingers against FireStar, the opal running warm in the pocket of her dress. “Ye mean which one of us is in charge? I call Matt the Boss but I’ve got the worse of the temper ‘tween the two of us. I imagine he checks with me ‘cause I’m more likely ta have a strong reaction ta things.”
Runt carefully set down the very large sack near her chair. He watched the subtle ripples of Koy-lucks’ muscles as she set down her lemonade; remembering how formidable she had been the few times they trained together. If she was consulted on all decisions she must be the hun-jarl. "KOY-LUCK IS DE JARL. I BRING GIFT FOR CLAN SEEMON. MATT DID NOT LIKE GIFT. I GIVE TO KOY-LUCK." With great care, he pulled out the antlers of a great white stag and a smaller bag with the skins and fur of half-a-dozen white foxes. "CROWN OF GREAT WHITE BEAST FER DE CLAN. SKINS AND FURS FOR KOY-LUCK TO MAKE COVERINGS WID. MATT SEEMON SAY IT NOT BE MAAT. WHAT SAY KOY-LUCK?"
Growing up in Langenfirth served Koy well in the presence of several dead animal parts. She understood immediately why Matt did not like the gift. Koy tried to temper her words and not give away her sadness at seeing the stag anglers in particular. “Tell me somethin’ first, Runt. Wha is the use ta ye of killin’ all these animals? Were they the only things ‘round ta eat?”
Runt scratched his head a moment, remembering all the hunts with his huslyd and venns. Weeks away from the caverns hunting for food to feed the clan, learning how to throw a javelin or rock at a fireboar and making a necklace from the tusks of his first kill. "RUNT 'UNT. IS WHAT RUNT DO. RUNT NEED FOOD. RUNT 'UNT FER FOOD AND GET GOLD FER MORE FOOD AND DRINK. IT ALSO OLD CLAN WAY. 'UNT FER RANK, 'UNT FER CLAN, 'UNT FER FOOD. TROPHY SHOW CLAN BE GREAT!" There was a momentary pause. "ALSO. 'UNT FUN!”
Koy nodded. “I understand tha’. I used ta spend many days in the forest with my brother and we would hunt boar and the like. We hunted fer food and fer hides. But, Runt, iffn ye are so good at huntin’, wha poor creatures will be left iffn ye slay ‘em all? Ye can go too far and be wasteful. It’s somethin’ the Gods of my home would frown upon.”
The words of his oldest soster came to mind. “We use all of the fireboar Runt. Never waste a kill.” He hoped he had not been wasteful. He ate the heart fresh from the kill and seasoned the liver, kidneys and tongue for later. “RUNT NOT KILL LOT. JUST... SOME. MATT SAY TO ASK BEFORE NEXT 'UNT. RUNT WILL DO DIS."
Runt would be treated to a look that the rest of their “clan” found fearsome. She fixed him with those dark-green Aldamiras eyes. “Ye will ask and not be wasteful then, aye?”
"YES HUN-JARL.” Koy-luck understood the hunt and she was a sterk hun-jarl. This was going maat compared to his talk with Matt Seemon. Perhaps she would say yes to his idea. “CAN RUNT 'UNT DE RED SHADOWS SENT FROM DE DEVIL WOMAN? DE 'UNT DE 'UNTERS. RUNT 'UNT DEM INSTEAD? AND FER FOOD, WHAT CAN RUNT 'UNT?"
“Ye can hunt anythin’ tha is not rare. Animals tha are plentiful, ye can take wha ye need fer food and not be greedy. But wha are these red shadows?”
"DEY TRAVEL DE WILDS. AT NIGHT DE ATTACK 'UNTERS. SOME SAY DE BE SENT BY DEVIL WOMAN. RUNT 'AS KILLED DEM. WHEN DOD DEY DISAPPEAR. I 'UNT MORE?"
“They are demons causin’ harm? And ye’re not wary of ‘em? They have magic?”
"RUNT 'AS RUNE-STONE" He slowly patted one of his boars-hide pockets. "DEY NOT 'ARM RUNT"
Koy stopped herself from launching into her “beware foreign magic” speech. For one thing, Runt had heard it already. For another, she wouldn’t be able to explain why she could caution him while carrying FireStar around. “Wha do ye get from huntin’ em tha it’s worth a risk fer yer health?”
"DE GLORY O’ DE 'UNT," He said proudly. Adding quickly after "GLORY WID NO ... WASTE?"
“That’s good, ye’ve got it! No waste. I would still not advise puttin’ yerself in harm’s way with magic folks but iffn they are truly evil spirits, I won’t stop ye either.”
Runt nodded with a big grin and then pointed to the gifts he brought. "KOY-LUCK WANT GIFTS? OR RUNT TAKE TO 'UNTERS GELD?" If there was to be no waste, then she would accept his gifts for the Clan.
Instead, she sighed with a regretful look at the antlers. The furs were a little trickier to someone in the fashion industry. “I’ve got a different idea. These have been gotten under ill-advisement. Ye must find a way ta give ‘em back not as a trophy but find a way ta make ‘em useful ta those in need. Can ye do tha?”
His head swiveled between Koy and the bounty, what did she mean?. With a large finger, he pointed to the white fox fur first. "RUNT CAN MAKE SMALL 'IDE VEST FER KOY-LUCK'S KIDLING." Then he pointed at the antlers. "RUNT CAN MAKE CROWN FER KOY-LUCK? OR NECK-STRING? OR..." he then gestures to some buttons on her clothing "BOOTONS?" Then they would still be trophy’s the Clan could display.
She chuckled. “Tha’s sweet, Runt, but think wider. Our clan has so much. Those would still be adornments and luxury, not survival. Ye can think on it and tell me when ye’ve turned this inta somethin’ tha helps someone with less.”
He shifted awkwardly from one foot to the other. Perhaps he could make small coverings for the van who did not like the cold. The antlers could make good arrows, but he would need supplies. "BUT. WHERE RUNT KEEP IT?"
“Wha do ye mean? Where do ye keep any of yer things?”
The itch of the bees started to grow in his stomach again, but he just pointed a large sausage finger to the sack. "RUNT NEED ROOM FER ODER STUFF. SKINS GO BAD. ANTLERS BREAK."
She looked at the sack and then at Runt. “And where do ye call home, where ye could have a room fer those things and yer sack?”
Runt stuck his chin out a bit, shifting as the itch in his stomach grew. "RUNT SLEEP WHERE RUNT BE TIRED." He had learned, over time, that the van didn’t like you sleeping on their roads or streets. He tried to find abandoned homes, warehouses or a place outside of the city. Vagrant was a word he heard a lot, but he didn’t know what it meant, only the look of disgust on the faces who said it. He did not want to see that disgust in Koy-luck.
“Oh.” Koy covered up her frown. “Well, we can’t have tha, not fer Clan Simon! Would ye be open ta help findin’ somewhere ye could keep yer things and sleep at night? Do ye like bein’ outside?”
"RUNT LIKE DE COLD. RUNT FIND CAVES OR EMPTY 'UTS NEAR WATERS. SOMETIMES RUNT RESTING PLACE IS OOTBACK" He shifted a bit more before grabbing his sack, looking incredibly uncomfortable. He could sense the pity. He hated pity. "RUNT FIND RESTING PLACE NOW. KOY-LUCK KEEP GIFTS FER NOW. RUNT... WILL DECIDE LATER WHAT TO DO WID DEM."
Koy decided not to press further. “Be safe, Runt.” Once Runt’s back was turned Koy let the frown remain on her face. “Well I don’t think I make much of a hunjarl now, do I?” Pronouncing it as one word in her accent, the red opal responded.
“That is not an actual thing, is it?” There was a crackle to the stone’s voice, tempting without being defined.
“It is ta ‘em. And I think I’m failin’ at it. I don’t think he’ll be one fer takin’ wha might feel like charity.”
“You are not blind, elf. Do you not have proof in all the dead remnants he left you? He is well-equipped to take care of himself.” Koy could sense where FireStar’s unspoken thought was going next. It hadn’t taken long for Koy to understand their particular way of viewing people.
“Don’t.” Koy knew it was a feeble warning.
“Imagine what he could do with the right fuse lit.”
“‘Nough.” Koy had been telling Runt the truth when she said she had the worse temper out of the Simons. She had not yet gotten the hang of avoiding the bait. FireStar enjoyed her growing irritation.
“Now, now, what are you afraid of, Koyliak? You are acting like I am the big bad wolf.”
“Ye’re somethin’ big and bad.”
“Fair. I did not need to huff or puff when I burned your house down, now did I?”
They were referring of course to the time the opal helped burn the Outback down all those years ago. Koy found her hand reaching into her pocket, fingers wrapping around the warm stone as if she could strangle them. FireStar thrilled at the palpable emotions running through the elf. “Go on. It won’t do much but if it makes you feel better, squeeze away.” She could feel the heat growing but she couldn’t let the stone go. She knew she was giving them exactly what they wanted but could not think of an alternative. “Just imagine it. That giant’s hands cracking bones. He certainly won’t go hungry even if he can’t keep a roof over his head. How beautiful it would be.” FireStar took advantage of their grip over the elf’s vulnerable mind, projecting an image of Runt in the eerie red glow of the stone, covered in blood with a pile of pale corpses in his strong arms.
“I said. ‘NOUGH!” The skin on her fingers starting to burn where she gripped the stone, Koy violently threw the opal away from her. The red stone landed on one of the white fox furs left behind, singing the hide and leaving a dark circle in its wake. Koy shook out her fingers, rubbing the phantom burn and glaring at the opal. The already wasteful and now ruined fur was an added insult to injury. In her mind, Koy could hear what was meant to feel like fiery laughter at her expense, rippling through to the elf’s despair and the opal’s sheer delight.
Co-written with Koyliak, Cross-posted from the Outback
“Heya, ta ye too, Runt.” Koy grinned up at the giant. She was getting better accustomed to his sudden rumblings. She tapped her fingers against FireStar, the opal running warm in the pocket of her dress. “Ye mean which one of us is in charge? I call Matt the Boss but I’ve got the worse of the temper ‘tween the two of us. I imagine he checks with me ‘cause I’m more likely ta have a strong reaction ta things.”
Runt carefully set down the very large sack near her chair. He watched the subtle ripples of Koy-lucks’ muscles as she set down her lemonade; remembering how formidable she had been the few times they trained together. If she was consulted on all decisions she must be the hun-jarl. "KOY-LUCK IS DE JARL. I BRING GIFT FOR CLAN SEEMON. MATT DID NOT LIKE GIFT. I GIVE TO KOY-LUCK." With great care, he pulled out the antlers of a great white stag and a smaller bag with the skins and fur of half-a-dozen white foxes. "CROWN OF GREAT WHITE BEAST FER DE CLAN. SKINS AND FURS FOR KOY-LUCK TO MAKE COVERINGS WID. MATT SEEMON SAY IT NOT BE MAAT. WHAT SAY KOY-LUCK?"
Growing up in Langenfirth served Koy well in the presence of several dead animal parts. She understood immediately why Matt did not like the gift. Koy tried to temper her words and not give away her sadness at seeing the stag anglers in particular. “Tell me somethin’ first, Runt. Wha is the use ta ye of killin’ all these animals? Were they the only things ‘round ta eat?”
Runt scratched his head a moment, remembering all the hunts with his huslyd and venns. Weeks away from the caverns hunting for food to feed the clan, learning how to throw a javelin or rock at a fireboar and making a necklace from the tusks of his first kill. "RUNT 'UNT. IS WHAT RUNT DO. RUNT NEED FOOD. RUNT 'UNT FER FOOD AND GET GOLD FER MORE FOOD AND DRINK. IT ALSO OLD CLAN WAY. 'UNT FER RANK, 'UNT FER CLAN, 'UNT FER FOOD. TROPHY SHOW CLAN BE GREAT!" There was a momentary pause. "ALSO. 'UNT FUN!”
Koy nodded. “I understand tha’. I used ta spend many days in the forest with my brother and we would hunt boar and the like. We hunted fer food and fer hides. But, Runt, iffn ye are so good at huntin’, wha poor creatures will be left iffn ye slay ‘em all? Ye can go too far and be wasteful. It’s somethin’ the Gods of my home would frown upon.”
The words of his oldest soster came to mind. “We use all of the fireboar Runt. Never waste a kill.” He hoped he had not been wasteful. He ate the heart fresh from the kill and seasoned the liver, kidneys and tongue for later. “RUNT NOT KILL LOT. JUST... SOME. MATT SAY TO ASK BEFORE NEXT 'UNT. RUNT WILL DO DIS."
Runt would be treated to a look that the rest of their “clan” found fearsome. She fixed him with those dark-green Aldamiras eyes. “Ye will ask and not be wasteful then, aye?”
"YES HUN-JARL.” Koy-luck understood the hunt and she was a sterk hun-jarl. This was going maat compared to his talk with Matt Seemon. Perhaps she would say yes to his idea. “CAN RUNT 'UNT DE RED SHADOWS SENT FROM DE DEVIL WOMAN? DE 'UNT DE 'UNTERS. RUNT 'UNT DEM INSTEAD? AND FER FOOD, WHAT CAN RUNT 'UNT?"
“Ye can hunt anythin’ tha is not rare. Animals tha are plentiful, ye can take wha ye need fer food and not be greedy. But wha are these red shadows?”
"DEY TRAVEL DE WILDS. AT NIGHT DE ATTACK 'UNTERS. SOME SAY DE BE SENT BY DEVIL WOMAN. RUNT 'AS KILLED DEM. WHEN DOD DEY DISAPPEAR. I 'UNT MORE?"
“They are demons causin’ harm? And ye’re not wary of ‘em? They have magic?”
"RUNT 'AS RUNE-STONE" He slowly patted one of his boars-hide pockets. "DEY NOT 'ARM RUNT"
Koy stopped herself from launching into her “beware foreign magic” speech. For one thing, Runt had heard it already. For another, she wouldn’t be able to explain why she could caution him while carrying FireStar around. “Wha do ye get from huntin’ em tha it’s worth a risk fer yer health?”
"DE GLORY O’ DE 'UNT," He said proudly. Adding quickly after "GLORY WID NO ... WASTE?"
“That’s good, ye’ve got it! No waste. I would still not advise puttin’ yerself in harm’s way with magic folks but iffn they are truly evil spirits, I won’t stop ye either.”
Runt nodded with a big grin and then pointed to the gifts he brought. "KOY-LUCK WANT GIFTS? OR RUNT TAKE TO 'UNTERS GELD?" If there was to be no waste, then she would accept his gifts for the Clan.
Instead, she sighed with a regretful look at the antlers. The furs were a little trickier to someone in the fashion industry. “I’ve got a different idea. These have been gotten under ill-advisement. Ye must find a way ta give ‘em back not as a trophy but find a way ta make ‘em useful ta those in need. Can ye do tha?”
His head swiveled between Koy and the bounty, what did she mean?. With a large finger, he pointed to the white fox fur first. "RUNT CAN MAKE SMALL 'IDE VEST FER KOY-LUCK'S KIDLING." Then he pointed at the antlers. "RUNT CAN MAKE CROWN FER KOY-LUCK? OR NECK-STRING? OR..." he then gestures to some buttons on her clothing "BOOTONS?" Then they would still be trophy’s the Clan could display.
She chuckled. “Tha’s sweet, Runt, but think wider. Our clan has so much. Those would still be adornments and luxury, not survival. Ye can think on it and tell me when ye’ve turned this inta somethin’ tha helps someone with less.”
He shifted awkwardly from one foot to the other. Perhaps he could make small coverings for the van who did not like the cold. The antlers could make good arrows, but he would need supplies. "BUT. WHERE RUNT KEEP IT?"
“Wha do ye mean? Where do ye keep any of yer things?”
The itch of the bees started to grow in his stomach again, but he just pointed a large sausage finger to the sack. "RUNT NEED ROOM FER ODER STUFF. SKINS GO BAD. ANTLERS BREAK."
She looked at the sack and then at Runt. “And where do ye call home, where ye could have a room fer those things and yer sack?”
Runt stuck his chin out a bit, shifting as the itch in his stomach grew. "RUNT SLEEP WHERE RUNT BE TIRED." He had learned, over time, that the van didn’t like you sleeping on their roads or streets. He tried to find abandoned homes, warehouses or a place outside of the city. Vagrant was a word he heard a lot, but he didn’t know what it meant, only the look of disgust on the faces who said it. He did not want to see that disgust in Koy-luck.
“Oh.” Koy covered up her frown. “Well, we can’t have tha, not fer Clan Simon! Would ye be open ta help findin’ somewhere ye could keep yer things and sleep at night? Do ye like bein’ outside?”
"RUNT LIKE DE COLD. RUNT FIND CAVES OR EMPTY 'UTS NEAR WATERS. SOMETIMES RUNT RESTING PLACE IS OOTBACK" He shifted a bit more before grabbing his sack, looking incredibly uncomfortable. He could sense the pity. He hated pity. "RUNT FIND RESTING PLACE NOW. KOY-LUCK KEEP GIFTS FER NOW. RUNT... WILL DECIDE LATER WHAT TO DO WID DEM."
Koy decided not to press further. “Be safe, Runt.” Once Runt’s back was turned Koy let the frown remain on her face. “Well I don’t think I make much of a hunjarl now, do I?” Pronouncing it as one word in her accent, the red opal responded.
“That is not an actual thing, is it?” There was a crackle to the stone’s voice, tempting without being defined.
“It is ta ‘em. And I think I’m failin’ at it. I don’t think he’ll be one fer takin’ wha might feel like charity.”
“You are not blind, elf. Do you not have proof in all the dead remnants he left you? He is well-equipped to take care of himself.” Koy could sense where FireStar’s unspoken thought was going next. It hadn’t taken long for Koy to understand their particular way of viewing people.
“Don’t.” Koy knew it was a feeble warning.
“Imagine what he could do with the right fuse lit.”
“‘Nough.” Koy had been telling Runt the truth when she said she had the worse temper out of the Simons. She had not yet gotten the hang of avoiding the bait. FireStar enjoyed her growing irritation.
“Now, now, what are you afraid of, Koyliak? You are acting like I am the big bad wolf.”
“Ye’re somethin’ big and bad.”
“Fair. I did not need to huff or puff when I burned your house down, now did I?”
They were referring of course to the time the opal helped burn the Outback down all those years ago. Koy found her hand reaching into her pocket, fingers wrapping around the warm stone as if she could strangle them. FireStar thrilled at the palpable emotions running through the elf. “Go on. It won’t do much but if it makes you feel better, squeeze away.” She could feel the heat growing but she couldn’t let the stone go. She knew she was giving them exactly what they wanted but could not think of an alternative. “Just imagine it. That giant’s hands cracking bones. He certainly won’t go hungry even if he can’t keep a roof over his head. How beautiful it would be.” FireStar took advantage of their grip over the elf’s vulnerable mind, projecting an image of Runt in the eerie red glow of the stone, covered in blood with a pile of pale corpses in his strong arms.
“I said. ‘NOUGH!” The skin on her fingers starting to burn where she gripped the stone, Koy violently threw the opal away from her. The red stone landed on one of the white fox furs left behind, singing the hide and leaving a dark circle in its wake. Koy shook out her fingers, rubbing the phantom burn and glaring at the opal. The already wasteful and now ruined fur was an added insult to injury. In her mind, Koy could hear what was meant to feel like fiery laughter at her expense, rippling through to the elf’s despair and the opal’s sheer delight.
Co-written with Koyliak, Cross-posted from the Outback
Last edited by Runt on Sat Mar 30, 2019 12:13 pm, edited 1 time in total.
A Wild Night
Leaves and branches rustled slightly as Jonn and Runt stalked through the foliage. The faint twilight slipped past some of the trees to illuminate a small herd of deer. Jonn lifted up a crossbow, and Runt readied his javelin. To their right, the air shimmered red and a discordant howl started up. Dark pupils peered through the bushes on their left. An unearthly chorus of snarls, growls, and snaps crescendoed on both sides. The deer startled instantly, fleeing into the brush. Dropping bow and javelin Jonn and Runt withdrew their favoured weapons in one fluid motion, turning back-to-back to face the crimson hounds. Runt hefted the wavy Flammenschwert while Jonn gripped the two-handed broadsword he found in the manor. They fought as two brothers born in battle, working together to fight the shadows. As they fought the beasts, crimson riders emerged from the wilds and charged into the fray. “GGRROOOOAAARRRGGHHH!” yelled Runt as he turned to swing the wave-bladed sword through one of the spectres. Mere moments later wisps of red rose into the air like a hellish smoke indicating where each hound and rider was slain. Pride swelled within him, the rune-stone had protected not only him but Jonn as well. The fight was easy, almost too easy.
They spent the better half of the night in the wilds hunting, luring and slaying the crimson shadows of Battlefield Park. Eventually, Jonn suggested they turn to something with more bite and so they went hunting for wargs in the darker reaches of the forest. However, if they ever came upon the crimson spectres they were quickly dispatched. As night turned to day Jonn pointed out they should probably head back to New Haven and get some food. Stating that he had “clan business” to attend to, Runt declined the offer.
While Jonn stomped through the forest back to Rhy’din Runt continued his hunt in the wilds. He spent the morning tracking boars, looking for their footprints and sniffing the air for their distinctive scent. Eventually, he slew six, separating their heads into a large rough-hide sack (one of the two he brought) and skinning them for meat. In the way of his forefathers, he sliced the symbol of challenge into each boar-head. Though the spectres left no remains, the devil-woman would know what he had done.
Jonn's Character used with Player Permission. Cross-Posted from The Outback
They spent the better half of the night in the wilds hunting, luring and slaying the crimson shadows of Battlefield Park. Eventually, Jonn suggested they turn to something with more bite and so they went hunting for wargs in the darker reaches of the forest. However, if they ever came upon the crimson spectres they were quickly dispatched. As night turned to day Jonn pointed out they should probably head back to New Haven and get some food. Stating that he had “clan business” to attend to, Runt declined the offer.
While Jonn stomped through the forest back to Rhy’din Runt continued his hunt in the wilds. He spent the morning tracking boars, looking for their footprints and sniffing the air for their distinctive scent. Eventually, he slew six, separating their heads into a large rough-hide sack (one of the two he brought) and skinning them for meat. In the way of his forefathers, he sliced the symbol of challenge into each boar-head. Though the spectres left no remains, the devil-woman would know what he had done.
Jonn's Character used with Player Permission. Cross-Posted from The Outback
Last edited by Runt on Sat Mar 30, 2019 12:15 pm, edited 1 time in total.
Mad Bull
The doors to the arena burst open as Runt lumbered through. The usual bright orange shield was strapped to his back giving off an eerie glow. Instead of his three-axe-headed mace, he held Flammenschwert, the great sword Jonn had given him. Over one shoulder was a thick animal-hide sack which sagged with a bulging weight. His blue eyes scanned for the devil-woman - she sat close to the bar with a smug half-smile on her face. Her arms were folded, chin lifted up in the superior way of those who practice the devils-arts. She watching some fight; Runt glanced to the rings and scowled, the blue trixi-fae was in there. And she was winning. He would not cheer this fight. Three massive strides took him to the devil-woman. He dropped the sack at her feet, grinning with anticipation.
Mallory’s horns tipped down as she looked at the sack, then back up at Runt with her eyebrows raised. “Hi.”
"OPEN SACK."
Her faintly grape coloured lips pursed slightly. “If severed heads or something come tumbling out of that, we’re going to have words...” She toed the sack open. They were severed heads, but they belonged to — “Six boars. I bet the people who try to live off the Wilds will appreciate the shortfall...”
Runt could barely contain himself as the boars-heads with the challenge symbol engraved deep in their skin slipped out. "AS I SLAY DE BOARS I SLAY DE CRIMSON SHADOWS! DEY WILL ALL DIE LIKE DE BOARS! A GREAT 'UNT I 'AVE LAST NIGHT! DE CRIMSON SHADOWS WILL BE NO MORE!"
“Yeah, you’re kind of the reason I set them to scare off the hunting parties. Bunch of idiots practically razing the forest to the ground for a few bounties...” She curled her lip in disgust and shook her head.
"BOARS BE PLENTY. I NOT WASTE." Runt raised his voice is a bit louder, he obeyed his hun-jarl, he did not slay anything that was rare or would be a waste. "DE 'UNT FOR CRIMSON SHADOWS BETTER DAN FOXES. ALL DE CRIMSON SHADOWS WILL BE SLAIN!"
The devil-woman looked at Runt with a slow smile. “...I bet you’re right.” His pride began to deflate with her nonchalant response. “I bet you drive the last crimson spectre out of the Wilds at midnight on the 31st.”
Was this a challenge to his skill? Did she think it would take him that long? He would do better than that. Runt shook his head a snarl forming on his lips. "NO. I DRIVE DEM OUT TONIGHT!"
A familiar voice cut through the argument between him and the devil-woman. “Be careful, Runt, there are worse things than spectres roaming some parts of the land.” Turning his head slightly Runt grinned at Lord Ari-don. "RUNT IS GREAT 'UNTER." All of them would know how great a hunter he was!
The devil-woman crossed her arms, taunting him. “Really? I’d double check tomorrow night if I were you. Just to be sure.” She winked at him.
A cold growl rumbled deep in his stomach and erupted through his throat. "DO NOT MOCK ME DEVIL WOMAN. I SLAY DEM ALL TONIGHT."
“Yes, and I’m sure the bands of morons machine-gunning their way across the Wilds will thank you for your efforts.” She moved to the bar for a water bottle.
She still thought this was about the bounty, the other hunters and the beasts of the wild. This was about the challenge! He would show that he was more powerful than her devilish arts. He would show them all that the Great Runt could not be cowed by magic. He scowled as she dismissively moved away from him and bellowed at her back. "YOU WILL FEEL DEA'H OF ALL CRIMSON SHADOWS. YOU 'AVE NO REAL POWER DEVIL WOMAN. TONIGHT YOU WILL SEE!"
“Happy hunting, Runt!” The witch gave him a single wave over her shoulder, then tipped back her water bottle. He turned around a determined expression on his face. It would be a great hunt, and he would kill every last summons made from her devil arts. Jaw set he lumbered out the doors - leaving the sack of boars heads behind.
“God’s breath, of course, he left them...” Mallory grunted as she grabbed the sack and hefted them off somewhere. Lord Arithon shook his head, filled with concern as Runt walked out. “Poor boy, hopefully, he won't do anything foolish.”
Adapted from Live Play. Special thanks to Mallory.
Mallory’s horns tipped down as she looked at the sack, then back up at Runt with her eyebrows raised. “Hi.”
"OPEN SACK."
Her faintly grape coloured lips pursed slightly. “If severed heads or something come tumbling out of that, we’re going to have words...” She toed the sack open. They were severed heads, but they belonged to — “Six boars. I bet the people who try to live off the Wilds will appreciate the shortfall...”
Runt could barely contain himself as the boars-heads with the challenge symbol engraved deep in their skin slipped out. "AS I SLAY DE BOARS I SLAY DE CRIMSON SHADOWS! DEY WILL ALL DIE LIKE DE BOARS! A GREAT 'UNT I 'AVE LAST NIGHT! DE CRIMSON SHADOWS WILL BE NO MORE!"
“Yeah, you’re kind of the reason I set them to scare off the hunting parties. Bunch of idiots practically razing the forest to the ground for a few bounties...” She curled her lip in disgust and shook her head.
"BOARS BE PLENTY. I NOT WASTE." Runt raised his voice is a bit louder, he obeyed his hun-jarl, he did not slay anything that was rare or would be a waste. "DE 'UNT FOR CRIMSON SHADOWS BETTER DAN FOXES. ALL DE CRIMSON SHADOWS WILL BE SLAIN!"
The devil-woman looked at Runt with a slow smile. “...I bet you’re right.” His pride began to deflate with her nonchalant response. “I bet you drive the last crimson spectre out of the Wilds at midnight on the 31st.”
Was this a challenge to his skill? Did she think it would take him that long? He would do better than that. Runt shook his head a snarl forming on his lips. "NO. I DRIVE DEM OUT TONIGHT!"
A familiar voice cut through the argument between him and the devil-woman. “Be careful, Runt, there are worse things than spectres roaming some parts of the land.” Turning his head slightly Runt grinned at Lord Ari-don. "RUNT IS GREAT 'UNTER." All of them would know how great a hunter he was!
The devil-woman crossed her arms, taunting him. “Really? I’d double check tomorrow night if I were you. Just to be sure.” She winked at him.
A cold growl rumbled deep in his stomach and erupted through his throat. "DO NOT MOCK ME DEVIL WOMAN. I SLAY DEM ALL TONIGHT."
“Yes, and I’m sure the bands of morons machine-gunning their way across the Wilds will thank you for your efforts.” She moved to the bar for a water bottle.
She still thought this was about the bounty, the other hunters and the beasts of the wild. This was about the challenge! He would show that he was more powerful than her devilish arts. He would show them all that the Great Runt could not be cowed by magic. He scowled as she dismissively moved away from him and bellowed at her back. "YOU WILL FEEL DEA'H OF ALL CRIMSON SHADOWS. YOU 'AVE NO REAL POWER DEVIL WOMAN. TONIGHT YOU WILL SEE!"
“Happy hunting, Runt!” The witch gave him a single wave over her shoulder, then tipped back her water bottle. He turned around a determined expression on his face. It would be a great hunt, and he would kill every last summons made from her devil arts. Jaw set he lumbered out the doors - leaving the sack of boars heads behind.
“God’s breath, of course, he left them...” Mallory grunted as she grabbed the sack and hefted them off somewhere. Lord Arithon shook his head, filled with concern as Runt walked out. “Poor boy, hopefully, he won't do anything foolish.”
-------------------------------
Ooh, see the fire is sweepin'
Our very street today
Burns like a red coal carpet
Mad bull lost its way
- The Rolling Stones
-------------------------------
Ooh, see the fire is sweepin'
Our very street today
Burns like a red coal carpet
Mad bull lost its way
- The Rolling Stones
-------------------------------
Adapted from Live Play. Special thanks to Mallory.
Crossing Lines
Runt's hunt continued for days. With Jonn, he hunted the crimson shadows in the wilds through the end of March and into the beginning of April. Things were quiet towards the end, but on one last check of the wilds Runt saw flashes of red towards the manor in Battlefield Park
Runt crouched at the base of a large tree, feeling the damp earth beneath his feet and a stiff breeze on his face. The armory was just visible in a small clearing down the slope. His eyes searched for flickers of red in the foliage. As he scanned the terrain Runt whispered to Jonn “WE ‘UNT DE LAST OF DEM. KILL ALL ‘ER CRIMSON SHADOWS.” Branches broke beneath his weight as he stood up and began to scramble down the hillside towards the armory, looking for flashes of red and listening for the tell-tale growls of her hounds. On occasion, he spotted evidence of old campfires or a tossed bottle of beer. Markings of the first hunters who had tried to cross Battlefield Park. As he and Jonn approached more closely the boughs of the old oaks creaked, offering a feeble warning to the over-determined giant. There were hints of light flickering in the old armory, shadows of people suggesting life inside. Runt paused for a moment - maybe there were people inside? No, the devil-woman would not host a company. It was just more devils-arts designed to trick them and keep him away. He would not be fooled.
The pair came upon a crumbling stone wall, overgrown with ivy and long-reaching roots breaking through. Beyond the wall, the orchard continued, with ancient gnarly trees scattered amongst the younger generation. Runt paused before stepping over a break in the wall looking for any signs of the crimson shadows. A cold-fire started in his heart, pumping the spirit of his ancestors through his body and fueling his desire to finish the hunt.
Gripping the smooth shaft of the moon-bladed axe he had uncovered in the basement of New Haven’s manor, Jonn allowed his mind to slip into a loosely held battle consciousness. It had served him well over years of struggles in the muck and mire of more blood fights than were worth naming. Slowly letting his consciousness expand beyond the signals from eyes and ears into a blended model of the world around him that was somehow more than the sum of its parts. After a minute or two, he looked at Runt who was crouched if such a word could be applied to the giant, next to him.
“What d’you want to do if there’s people in there? Kill em or drive em off?”
His even tone indicated that he had no strong opinion either way. The way he and Runt had fought and hunted together had been almost a miracle in the speed with which their tactics and thoughts aligned. Jonn had no doubt that the pair were more than equal to any challenge they were likely to encounter within. And if not, well, today was no different than tomorrow when it came to killing or dying.
Before Runt could answer, the smell of sulfur filled the air and without warning the two hunters came under fierce attack, crimson shapes on spectral steeds crashing in from every direction, the howling of the hounds rising in their wake. Attempting to leap to the other side of the stone wall Jonn was struck from the back and flung to the side, the rider’s bulk separating Jonn from his companion and leaving him to face a small pack of hounds with only bared steel in hand.
Instincts driving his limbs without thought, Jonn sprung to his feet and brought the axe around in a tight circle to sever the head of the leading hound from its body, only to have the crescent of steel pass through without resistance. Stumbling forward from the momentum, Jonn realized that without Runt’s rune-stone, he was defenseless against the vengeful spectres and with the other hounds hard upon him, he straightened, vowing in his mind to die like a man and not a beast.
In the heartbeat before impact, the ghoulish howling was drowned out by a roar so loud and so close as to stupefy the senses, and Jonn was struck glancingly by the heads of both the onrushing hounds. Before he could blink his disbelieving eyes, the enormous form of Runt stood in front him, the wavy bladed sword gifted to him by Jonn himself in his hands, roaring a battle cry. Within moments the ambush was dispersed and Jonn stood dripping with sweat. He looked at Runt and met the bigger man’s eyes with a nod.
Rather than demean both of them by talking of a life saved, a debt owed, Jonn merely said “What took you so long?
Co-written with Jonn Revelator and Mallory
Runt crouched at the base of a large tree, feeling the damp earth beneath his feet and a stiff breeze on his face. The armory was just visible in a small clearing down the slope. His eyes searched for flickers of red in the foliage. As he scanned the terrain Runt whispered to Jonn “WE ‘UNT DE LAST OF DEM. KILL ALL ‘ER CRIMSON SHADOWS.” Branches broke beneath his weight as he stood up and began to scramble down the hillside towards the armory, looking for flashes of red and listening for the tell-tale growls of her hounds. On occasion, he spotted evidence of old campfires or a tossed bottle of beer. Markings of the first hunters who had tried to cross Battlefield Park. As he and Jonn approached more closely the boughs of the old oaks creaked, offering a feeble warning to the over-determined giant. There were hints of light flickering in the old armory, shadows of people suggesting life inside. Runt paused for a moment - maybe there were people inside? No, the devil-woman would not host a company. It was just more devils-arts designed to trick them and keep him away. He would not be fooled.
The pair came upon a crumbling stone wall, overgrown with ivy and long-reaching roots breaking through. Beyond the wall, the orchard continued, with ancient gnarly trees scattered amongst the younger generation. Runt paused before stepping over a break in the wall looking for any signs of the crimson shadows. A cold-fire started in his heart, pumping the spirit of his ancestors through his body and fueling his desire to finish the hunt.
Gripping the smooth shaft of the moon-bladed axe he had uncovered in the basement of New Haven’s manor, Jonn allowed his mind to slip into a loosely held battle consciousness. It had served him well over years of struggles in the muck and mire of more blood fights than were worth naming. Slowly letting his consciousness expand beyond the signals from eyes and ears into a blended model of the world around him that was somehow more than the sum of its parts. After a minute or two, he looked at Runt who was crouched if such a word could be applied to the giant, next to him.
“What d’you want to do if there’s people in there? Kill em or drive em off?”
His even tone indicated that he had no strong opinion either way. The way he and Runt had fought and hunted together had been almost a miracle in the speed with which their tactics and thoughts aligned. Jonn had no doubt that the pair were more than equal to any challenge they were likely to encounter within. And if not, well, today was no different than tomorrow when it came to killing or dying.
Before Runt could answer, the smell of sulfur filled the air and without warning the two hunters came under fierce attack, crimson shapes on spectral steeds crashing in from every direction, the howling of the hounds rising in their wake. Attempting to leap to the other side of the stone wall Jonn was struck from the back and flung to the side, the rider’s bulk separating Jonn from his companion and leaving him to face a small pack of hounds with only bared steel in hand.
Instincts driving his limbs without thought, Jonn sprung to his feet and brought the axe around in a tight circle to sever the head of the leading hound from its body, only to have the crescent of steel pass through without resistance. Stumbling forward from the momentum, Jonn realized that without Runt’s rune-stone, he was defenseless against the vengeful spectres and with the other hounds hard upon him, he straightened, vowing in his mind to die like a man and not a beast.
In the heartbeat before impact, the ghoulish howling was drowned out by a roar so loud and so close as to stupefy the senses, and Jonn was struck glancingly by the heads of both the onrushing hounds. Before he could blink his disbelieving eyes, the enormous form of Runt stood in front him, the wavy bladed sword gifted to him by Jonn himself in his hands, roaring a battle cry. Within moments the ambush was dispersed and Jonn stood dripping with sweat. He looked at Runt and met the bigger man’s eyes with a nod.
Rather than demean both of them by talking of a life saved, a debt owed, Jonn merely said “What took you so long?
Co-written with Jonn Revelator and Mallory
Crimson Waves
As the last of the crimson mist and unearthly shadows roiled away from the dispersed summons, the manor house and its outbuildings were silent. The illusory lights in the windows had gone dark during their battle, but there were no distant howls nor thundering hooves to announce their trespass onto the manor grounds. But the wind stirred and the trees moved with it; ancient trunks groaning as branches rattled together like bones in a graveyard.
The noise helped give some cover to the roots of the old trees that the current Baroness had plunged an elemental blade into the heart of, bidding them to protect the manor from trespass and harm. Over the course of the battle, they wound their way through the soil until they were beneath the trespassers, and as Jonn’s words echoed in the air, they broke the earth from below. They sought to grasp the men's legs and arms, to bind them into place, and thorns grew as they lengthened, ringed at the base with telltale purple flowers.
Rashes began to form immediately around the men’s arms and legs where the thorns bit into their skin. The cold fire of battle broiled within Runt but was soon accompanied by the uncomfortable feeling of fear. His grip around Flammenschwert tightened as he tried to lift his arm up to strike at the tree, roots - anything. Disbelief tore through his rage; the rune-stone was supposed to protect him from such devils-arts. He grunted and growled as he tried to break free, a bellow bursting from his chest.
It was only in this moment that the darker summons Mallory had bound to this place, and the spirits of the manor she had convinced to serve her, chose to reveal themselves. Four pale green phantasms in tattered uniforms advanced from two outbuildings near the wall, their ghastly glow partially concealing twice as many figures spilling out of the manor house; they held spears and sabres, old infantry weapons, and flitted quickly through the air as they closed in on the pair.
And from the walls themselves? Two crimson spectres with fiery green eyes, more opaque and far more substantial than their woodland cousins, each bearing a shadowy blade with deadly intent as they moved to flank Jonn and Runt. These did not appear to be alone, either: bright crimson flashes flared across the grounds, signalling the arrival of more from along the walls and elsewhere.
The roots broke beneath steel no more or less easily than if the wood were mundane, slowed in places by rubbery parts of the wood, or the earth spilling around it. But Mallory’s spectres and the spirits of the manor weren’t waiting. They moved in for the kill.
In the face of such dire circumstances, most would immediately succumb to fear. Instead, the fear and disbelief were swallowed up in the ice-cold rage of not just Runt but the generations before him. Something powerful radiated out from where he lay and the ground nearby started to shimmer. Thorns, roots, and grass - they all stiffened like a deep winter wind had blown through the area. A frost was quickly forming around him as he heaved with all his might, bursting the tree root which restrained the hand gripping Flammenschwert. His wrath erupted in the form of a menacing bellow directed at the spectres, arms raised defensively as they swooped in to attack.
After the second of shock at seeing the vegetation itself turn into furies out of a nightmare, Jonn recovered his wits and did his best to stay alive. He fought with all the strength and virulent rage of his muscled frame and cancerous spirit but no amount of struggling could do more than keep his sword arm mostly free of roots, and the bite of thorns poured trickles of blood into his eyes. Half blind and with his heart pounding in his chest, Jonn saw with relief that at least some of the attacks were being blunted by a weird and untimely frost that seemed to emanate from Runt.
The spirits and spectres divided their attention between the two men, two of the uniformed figures flying for Runt, one in front and the other behind. The leading spirit stopped abruptly, letting the one behind her burst through, lashing his heavy sabre across the goliath’s torso at close range; he stayed low, giving her ample room to thrust the spear over his shoulder and into Runt’s bicep. His arm dropped lowering his guard as the weight of Flammenschwert pulled it down. The crimson spectre burst in as the spirits’ blows fell, sweeping its shadowy blade at Runt’s legs from behind him, atop the wall. It shrieked in rage as blood soaked the earth and stone, and eight more shrieks erupted from around the grounds in an unearthly chorus. Reinforcements were on their way.
Shifting so that Jonn was at his back Runt began to swing the sword up at the pale green spirits. His teeth gritted as the muscles in his arm protested but Flammenschwert was swung clean through the one right in front of him, its’ heavy sabre dropping to the ground. Ducking the incoming spear from the other spirit the wavy sword, now coated in a blue frost, came up slicing through one arm of the phantasm and then back down through the other.
Maybe it was Jonn’s experience in battles or maybe just his experience of life that kept him unsurprised, but just how quickly plans broke down and things went to hell left him untroubled. As Runt backed toward him, Jonn instinctively did the same, setting himself to guard the giant’s unprotected side as best he could. This was not going to be fun, he thought, but he’d try to spill some blood on the way out. There wasn’t time for thinking or regrets, but he seldom indulged in the latter in any case. With a flash of unaccustomed clarity that bothered him by its difference, he had a clear but ungraspable thought of a shimmer of golden hair before the rougher parts of his mind stomped the image ruthlessly dead.
Grabbing a cruelly serrated knife from his belt, Jonn gripped the axe with both hands, using the knife to give him striking ability on either end. As a pair of tattered spirits came at him with sharp steel and bad intentions Jonn lashed out at the one on the left with the blade of the axe and stabbed the knife blade at the other on the backswing. Expecting a gutted foe, Jonn was instead met with a badly wounded but very angry one as his axe failed to do as much damage as he had thought. His neatly arranged plan to engage the attacking spectre after disposing of the spirits now fell to shreds, and Jonn was forced to keep his axe between the still advancing spirits and himself. A second flurry of blows dealt with them, but Jonn’s turn back toward the spectre was a beat too slow and its blade snaked over his guard, barely missing his face, and lashed across Runt’s unprotected back.
The fireboar vest was cleaved in two and only the thick giant hide prevented a paralyzing wound. He swung around lifting the two-handed sword once more, he could feel the tendons snapping as he thrust it forward into the center of the crimson ghost. The spectre skewered on the end of Runt’s blade did not die easily, either. It snapped its teeth and lashed out with its claws, then a final twist of the sword seemed to break its form apart. The red mist burst into searing green flame and as its flames touched the remaining spectre, it too burst apart into a fountain of boiling black blood, burning and splitting skin where it touched.
Co-written with Mallory and Jonn Revelator
The noise helped give some cover to the roots of the old trees that the current Baroness had plunged an elemental blade into the heart of, bidding them to protect the manor from trespass and harm. Over the course of the battle, they wound their way through the soil until they were beneath the trespassers, and as Jonn’s words echoed in the air, they broke the earth from below. They sought to grasp the men's legs and arms, to bind them into place, and thorns grew as they lengthened, ringed at the base with telltale purple flowers.
Rashes began to form immediately around the men’s arms and legs where the thorns bit into their skin. The cold fire of battle broiled within Runt but was soon accompanied by the uncomfortable feeling of fear. His grip around Flammenschwert tightened as he tried to lift his arm up to strike at the tree, roots - anything. Disbelief tore through his rage; the rune-stone was supposed to protect him from such devils-arts. He grunted and growled as he tried to break free, a bellow bursting from his chest.
It was only in this moment that the darker summons Mallory had bound to this place, and the spirits of the manor she had convinced to serve her, chose to reveal themselves. Four pale green phantasms in tattered uniforms advanced from two outbuildings near the wall, their ghastly glow partially concealing twice as many figures spilling out of the manor house; they held spears and sabres, old infantry weapons, and flitted quickly through the air as they closed in on the pair.
And from the walls themselves? Two crimson spectres with fiery green eyes, more opaque and far more substantial than their woodland cousins, each bearing a shadowy blade with deadly intent as they moved to flank Jonn and Runt. These did not appear to be alone, either: bright crimson flashes flared across the grounds, signalling the arrival of more from along the walls and elsewhere.
The roots broke beneath steel no more or less easily than if the wood were mundane, slowed in places by rubbery parts of the wood, or the earth spilling around it. But Mallory’s spectres and the spirits of the manor weren’t waiting. They moved in for the kill.
In the face of such dire circumstances, most would immediately succumb to fear. Instead, the fear and disbelief were swallowed up in the ice-cold rage of not just Runt but the generations before him. Something powerful radiated out from where he lay and the ground nearby started to shimmer. Thorns, roots, and grass - they all stiffened like a deep winter wind had blown through the area. A frost was quickly forming around him as he heaved with all his might, bursting the tree root which restrained the hand gripping Flammenschwert. His wrath erupted in the form of a menacing bellow directed at the spectres, arms raised defensively as they swooped in to attack.
After the second of shock at seeing the vegetation itself turn into furies out of a nightmare, Jonn recovered his wits and did his best to stay alive. He fought with all the strength and virulent rage of his muscled frame and cancerous spirit but no amount of struggling could do more than keep his sword arm mostly free of roots, and the bite of thorns poured trickles of blood into his eyes. Half blind and with his heart pounding in his chest, Jonn saw with relief that at least some of the attacks were being blunted by a weird and untimely frost that seemed to emanate from Runt.
The spirits and spectres divided their attention between the two men, two of the uniformed figures flying for Runt, one in front and the other behind. The leading spirit stopped abruptly, letting the one behind her burst through, lashing his heavy sabre across the goliath’s torso at close range; he stayed low, giving her ample room to thrust the spear over his shoulder and into Runt’s bicep. His arm dropped lowering his guard as the weight of Flammenschwert pulled it down. The crimson spectre burst in as the spirits’ blows fell, sweeping its shadowy blade at Runt’s legs from behind him, atop the wall. It shrieked in rage as blood soaked the earth and stone, and eight more shrieks erupted from around the grounds in an unearthly chorus. Reinforcements were on their way.
Shifting so that Jonn was at his back Runt began to swing the sword up at the pale green spirits. His teeth gritted as the muscles in his arm protested but Flammenschwert was swung clean through the one right in front of him, its’ heavy sabre dropping to the ground. Ducking the incoming spear from the other spirit the wavy sword, now coated in a blue frost, came up slicing through one arm of the phantasm and then back down through the other.
Maybe it was Jonn’s experience in battles or maybe just his experience of life that kept him unsurprised, but just how quickly plans broke down and things went to hell left him untroubled. As Runt backed toward him, Jonn instinctively did the same, setting himself to guard the giant’s unprotected side as best he could. This was not going to be fun, he thought, but he’d try to spill some blood on the way out. There wasn’t time for thinking or regrets, but he seldom indulged in the latter in any case. With a flash of unaccustomed clarity that bothered him by its difference, he had a clear but ungraspable thought of a shimmer of golden hair before the rougher parts of his mind stomped the image ruthlessly dead.
Grabbing a cruelly serrated knife from his belt, Jonn gripped the axe with both hands, using the knife to give him striking ability on either end. As a pair of tattered spirits came at him with sharp steel and bad intentions Jonn lashed out at the one on the left with the blade of the axe and stabbed the knife blade at the other on the backswing. Expecting a gutted foe, Jonn was instead met with a badly wounded but very angry one as his axe failed to do as much damage as he had thought. His neatly arranged plan to engage the attacking spectre after disposing of the spirits now fell to shreds, and Jonn was forced to keep his axe between the still advancing spirits and himself. A second flurry of blows dealt with them, but Jonn’s turn back toward the spectre was a beat too slow and its blade snaked over his guard, barely missing his face, and lashed across Runt’s unprotected back.
The fireboar vest was cleaved in two and only the thick giant hide prevented a paralyzing wound. He swung around lifting the two-handed sword once more, he could feel the tendons snapping as he thrust it forward into the center of the crimson ghost. The spectre skewered on the end of Runt’s blade did not die easily, either. It snapped its teeth and lashed out with its claws, then a final twist of the sword seemed to break its form apart. The red mist burst into searing green flame and as its flames touched the remaining spectre, it too burst apart into a fountain of boiling black blood, burning and splitting skin where it touched.
Co-written with Mallory and Jonn Revelator
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Mallory
- RoH Admin
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By the Horns
Jonn seemed more affected by the poisonous thorns that made his heart race and spilled a steady trickle of blood over his eyes than any attacks from the manor’s guardians. His clothes were singed and bloodied, but most of the cuts on his arms and legs seemed superficial. But where Jonn had been lucky, Runt had fared far worse. His right hand barely held onto Flammenschwert and his exposed skin swelled with a combination of vicious rashes and black boils. An angry green welt quickly grew where the spectre had slashed across his back, blood flowing out of the wound and dripping down his back.
As the smoke cleared, the rest of the manor’s defenders came into view: eight crimson specters and sixteen spirits, armed with shadowy blades and the armory’s weapons which Mallory found either too simple or too cruel to give away. The earth churned around their feet, hook-ended roots encircling them and spilling over the wall behind them like poisonous brambles, aiming to hem them in while Battlefield Park’s remaining guardians renewed the fight.
“Παύση.” The sharp word cut through the chilly air, and the guardians stopped. Spears and swords and axes remained held at the ready, pointed at the trespassers but frozen perfectly in the air as the witch approached them. Her left hand was dripping with blood, which blossomed into toxic belladonna flowers wherever it touched the earth, and in her left she clutched Drachenbane. No effort was made to douse its flames, which crackled and roared off the strange silver metal, and echoed Jonn’s own words in an implacable hiss:
“What d’you want to do if there’s people in there? Kill ‘em or drive ‘em off?”
Mallory tilted her horned head, considering them carefully, though her fiery green eyes burned with a fury she struggled to restrain. She did not allow herself to speak. Not yet.
The battle frenzy fueling Runt was not quick to settle down. Despite his injuries he planted his feet, crouching as if to attack. His ears buzzed with the battle cries of his ancestors. “ANFEL. ANFEL. ANFEL VAN MAAT. ANFEL. ANFEL. ANFEL VAN MAAT. BREKEN DER BONES. SPILL DER BLOD. ANFEL. ANFEL. ANFEL VAN MAAT.” As the chants raised in tempo his blood quickened and he felt the icy winds of the fjells churn within his chest. His jaw tensed and his eyes narrowed - not on Mallory - but on the many spectres he had come to fight and kill. The battle oath raged through his veins - “RUNT ‘‘UNT ALL DE SHADOWS.” Without another thought he lunged forward, raising Flammenschwert waist high and charged at the nearest apparition with a roar.
The spirits moved to encircle Jonn, cutting him off from his ally, and the specters were faster than Runt now. They held their shadowy blades high at the ready, ready to converge on his target and slash him to ribbons as soon as he bounded within reach -- but Mallory would neither let her conjurelings kill the goliath, nor let him dispose of her defenses, not when she felt sure now that these two men had planned to murder in her cold blood. Her left hand twisted painfully, fingers prised apart by thorny vines emerging from her jacket sleeve, and as blood spilled from her palm she let out a long, unearthly shriek.
The trees groaned and the stones rattled and the nearest windows shattered, as the ghastly sound crashed over the area with the strength of a tidal wave, bowling Runt over and dazing his senses. She didn’t wait for him to get up, striding forward with an impatient flourish of her fiery blade, and pointed at the wavy sword that had slipped from his grasp: “That blade was a gift from my armory, that I spilled my blood to renew, and you two repay my hospitality by turning it against me! Using my invitation,” she gestured with disgust at Jonn, “to learn the lay of my manor so you could murder me in cold blood! You dishonorable fucking cowards!”
A great silence filled the air following Mallory’s condemnation. Jonn merely shrugged in reply - this was, after all, Runt’s hunt. As for Runt, the cold fury which had kept him moving and fighting had suddenly ceased. The ancestral voices were silent and the blue frost on Flammenschwert started to fade in the heat of Mallory’s wrath. He blinked rapidly, clearing his vision and for the first time truly saw Mallory before him. In a ragged voice he repeated his battle oath: “RUNT ‘ERE TO ‘UNT CRIMSON SHADOWS.”
“In my home,” the witch hissed back, pointing a blood-dripping finger at him. “You stepped into my fucking hall, and asked yourselves whether you’d like to kill all the people inside, or drive us out. You’re not even invaders. You’re marauders.”
Barely sitting up the goliath sized Runt looked deeply into Mallory’s eyes. An itchy warm feeling was starting in his stomach as he saw the wrath and hatred seething out of her. A look he had seen many, many times before. A sudden understanding fell upon his face. The warmth spread from his stomach and up his throat, gripping his tongue. With great effort he stood up, lightly and painfully holding Flammenschwert. With head held high he turned the sword around, offering it to her hilt-first. Then he knelt on the ground before her, head bowed in submission.
The fire in Mallory’s eyes, and around her blade, seemed to lessen as she closed her hand around the hilt. She barely had time to draw the weapon away when she heard a derisive snort from Jonn, still loosely encircled by the weapon-wielding spirits of the armory.
“I welcomed you into my house,” she said, lifting her chin to regard the man, “and offered you a gift and a lesson: that sadism can be subtle. It didn’t take.” She lifted the wavy blade to point it at him: “With the return of the gift, we complete the circle.” The glow of a circle between Mallory and Jonn was subtle, easily lost against the flames leaping off the blade, and the eerie aura radiating from the spirits around him. “May you learn a new lesson -- that the pain you put into the world will always come back to you.”
Nothing else seemed to happen, and as Mallory lowered the point of the Flammenschwert, the spirits and specters lowered their weapons and drew back. After a long moment, Jonn made another indifferent noise and, as it seemed unlikely the witch would dispose of the goliath, he turned and left the grounds of manor with his axe in hand.
Mallory did not watch him go, satisfied with her choice for him. She sheathed Drachenbane on her back, which let out a final infernal protest as its bloodlust went largely unsated, and turned back to Runt. “Are you dying?” The goliath was silent, so the witch stepped forward to have a better look at him. Blood continued to flow from the wound across his back, which stubbornly refused to clot. It was only a matter of time until it caused him to pass out. “Tch... You’re lucky you gave this thing back to me. Wait here.”
And to his credit, he did.
* * * * *
Stitching and binding his wounds took time, perhaps a little longer given how he stubbornly remained in a submissive pose. There were soft grunts from him at the more painful parts, but no words spoken, and Mallory remained silent until she was done.
“Whatever your hunt, violating my manor was... very dishonorable, Runt... but surrendering the Flammenschwert was very honorable. Bring this message to Matt,” she added, holding a rolled and sealed parchment out to him. “You’re free to go.”
Without a word Runt stood up, locking eyes with Mallory. A moment of understanding passed between them before he turned around heading back into the wilds.
* * * * *
Matt,
Soon after the March Hunt started, one of the many reckless hunting parties in the Wilds shot a close friend of mine. In response, I unleashed illusory ghosts into the forest to scare them off, capable of no real harm but more than enough to send a camp of inexperienced hunters running for the hills.
I understand Runt has taken it upon himself to hunt down my creations. I did not mind this. However, tonight he and the Baron of New Haven crossed a line.
They passed through the walls of the Battlefield Park manor, Runt armed with a greatsword and Jonn with an axe, and through the beings I have conjured there I heard Jonn say the words, “What do you want to do if there’s people in there? Kill them or drive them off?” I immediately went to the manor to intervene.
The magical defenses I had placed there were able to contain them, but I worry what would have happened if they had not. What if they had overcome them? I feel confident about my own abilities to remove myself from danger, but what if they had come upon my squire, or one of my friends? Runt later stated, simply, that he was “here to hunt crimson shadows,” so it is possible he meant no harm.
To Runt’s credit, when his rage faded, he submitted himself to me and surrendered the greatsword he wielded, an item I had originally gifted to Jonn from the Battlefield Park armory. I bandaged Runt’s wounds as well as I could (he should still see a physician if you can convince him) and sent both men on their way.
We should discuss this in person. The sooner, the better.
- Mal
((Co-written with Jonn Revelator and Runt, with thanks!))
As the smoke cleared, the rest of the manor’s defenders came into view: eight crimson specters and sixteen spirits, armed with shadowy blades and the armory’s weapons which Mallory found either too simple or too cruel to give away. The earth churned around their feet, hook-ended roots encircling them and spilling over the wall behind them like poisonous brambles, aiming to hem them in while Battlefield Park’s remaining guardians renewed the fight.
“Παύση.” The sharp word cut through the chilly air, and the guardians stopped. Spears and swords and axes remained held at the ready, pointed at the trespassers but frozen perfectly in the air as the witch approached them. Her left hand was dripping with blood, which blossomed into toxic belladonna flowers wherever it touched the earth, and in her left she clutched Drachenbane. No effort was made to douse its flames, which crackled and roared off the strange silver metal, and echoed Jonn’s own words in an implacable hiss:
“What d’you want to do if there’s people in there? Kill ‘em or drive ‘em off?”
Mallory tilted her horned head, considering them carefully, though her fiery green eyes burned with a fury she struggled to restrain. She did not allow herself to speak. Not yet.
The battle frenzy fueling Runt was not quick to settle down. Despite his injuries he planted his feet, crouching as if to attack. His ears buzzed with the battle cries of his ancestors. “ANFEL. ANFEL. ANFEL VAN MAAT. ANFEL. ANFEL. ANFEL VAN MAAT. BREKEN DER BONES. SPILL DER BLOD. ANFEL. ANFEL. ANFEL VAN MAAT.” As the chants raised in tempo his blood quickened and he felt the icy winds of the fjells churn within his chest. His jaw tensed and his eyes narrowed - not on Mallory - but on the many spectres he had come to fight and kill. The battle oath raged through his veins - “RUNT ‘‘UNT ALL DE SHADOWS.” Without another thought he lunged forward, raising Flammenschwert waist high and charged at the nearest apparition with a roar.
The spirits moved to encircle Jonn, cutting him off from his ally, and the specters were faster than Runt now. They held their shadowy blades high at the ready, ready to converge on his target and slash him to ribbons as soon as he bounded within reach -- but Mallory would neither let her conjurelings kill the goliath, nor let him dispose of her defenses, not when she felt sure now that these two men had planned to murder in her cold blood. Her left hand twisted painfully, fingers prised apart by thorny vines emerging from her jacket sleeve, and as blood spilled from her palm she let out a long, unearthly shriek.
The trees groaned and the stones rattled and the nearest windows shattered, as the ghastly sound crashed over the area with the strength of a tidal wave, bowling Runt over and dazing his senses. She didn’t wait for him to get up, striding forward with an impatient flourish of her fiery blade, and pointed at the wavy sword that had slipped from his grasp: “That blade was a gift from my armory, that I spilled my blood to renew, and you two repay my hospitality by turning it against me! Using my invitation,” she gestured with disgust at Jonn, “to learn the lay of my manor so you could murder me in cold blood! You dishonorable fucking cowards!”
A great silence filled the air following Mallory’s condemnation. Jonn merely shrugged in reply - this was, after all, Runt’s hunt. As for Runt, the cold fury which had kept him moving and fighting had suddenly ceased. The ancestral voices were silent and the blue frost on Flammenschwert started to fade in the heat of Mallory’s wrath. He blinked rapidly, clearing his vision and for the first time truly saw Mallory before him. In a ragged voice he repeated his battle oath: “RUNT ‘ERE TO ‘UNT CRIMSON SHADOWS.”
“In my home,” the witch hissed back, pointing a blood-dripping finger at him. “You stepped into my fucking hall, and asked yourselves whether you’d like to kill all the people inside, or drive us out. You’re not even invaders. You’re marauders.”
Barely sitting up the goliath sized Runt looked deeply into Mallory’s eyes. An itchy warm feeling was starting in his stomach as he saw the wrath and hatred seething out of her. A look he had seen many, many times before. A sudden understanding fell upon his face. The warmth spread from his stomach and up his throat, gripping his tongue. With great effort he stood up, lightly and painfully holding Flammenschwert. With head held high he turned the sword around, offering it to her hilt-first. Then he knelt on the ground before her, head bowed in submission.
The fire in Mallory’s eyes, and around her blade, seemed to lessen as she closed her hand around the hilt. She barely had time to draw the weapon away when she heard a derisive snort from Jonn, still loosely encircled by the weapon-wielding spirits of the armory.
“I welcomed you into my house,” she said, lifting her chin to regard the man, “and offered you a gift and a lesson: that sadism can be subtle. It didn’t take.” She lifted the wavy blade to point it at him: “With the return of the gift, we complete the circle.” The glow of a circle between Mallory and Jonn was subtle, easily lost against the flames leaping off the blade, and the eerie aura radiating from the spirits around him. “May you learn a new lesson -- that the pain you put into the world will always come back to you.”
Nothing else seemed to happen, and as Mallory lowered the point of the Flammenschwert, the spirits and specters lowered their weapons and drew back. After a long moment, Jonn made another indifferent noise and, as it seemed unlikely the witch would dispose of the goliath, he turned and left the grounds of manor with his axe in hand.
Mallory did not watch him go, satisfied with her choice for him. She sheathed Drachenbane on her back, which let out a final infernal protest as its bloodlust went largely unsated, and turned back to Runt. “Are you dying?” The goliath was silent, so the witch stepped forward to have a better look at him. Blood continued to flow from the wound across his back, which stubbornly refused to clot. It was only a matter of time until it caused him to pass out. “Tch... You’re lucky you gave this thing back to me. Wait here.”
And to his credit, he did.
* * * * *
Stitching and binding his wounds took time, perhaps a little longer given how he stubbornly remained in a submissive pose. There were soft grunts from him at the more painful parts, but no words spoken, and Mallory remained silent until she was done.
“Whatever your hunt, violating my manor was... very dishonorable, Runt... but surrendering the Flammenschwert was very honorable. Bring this message to Matt,” she added, holding a rolled and sealed parchment out to him. “You’re free to go.”
Without a word Runt stood up, locking eyes with Mallory. A moment of understanding passed between them before he turned around heading back into the wilds.
* * * * *
Matt,
Soon after the March Hunt started, one of the many reckless hunting parties in the Wilds shot a close friend of mine. In response, I unleashed illusory ghosts into the forest to scare them off, capable of no real harm but more than enough to send a camp of inexperienced hunters running for the hills.
I understand Runt has taken it upon himself to hunt down my creations. I did not mind this. However, tonight he and the Baron of New Haven crossed a line.
They passed through the walls of the Battlefield Park manor, Runt armed with a greatsword and Jonn with an axe, and through the beings I have conjured there I heard Jonn say the words, “What do you want to do if there’s people in there? Kill them or drive them off?” I immediately went to the manor to intervene.
The magical defenses I had placed there were able to contain them, but I worry what would have happened if they had not. What if they had overcome them? I feel confident about my own abilities to remove myself from danger, but what if they had come upon my squire, or one of my friends? Runt later stated, simply, that he was “here to hunt crimson shadows,” so it is possible he meant no harm.
To Runt’s credit, when his rage faded, he submitted himself to me and surrendered the greatsword he wielded, an item I had originally gifted to Jonn from the Battlefield Park armory. I bandaged Runt’s wounds as well as I could (he should still see a physician if you can convince him) and sent both men on their way.
We should discuss this in person. The sooner, the better.
- Mal
((Co-written with Jonn Revelator and Runt, with thanks!))
Prodigal Son
A canopy of trees blocked out what little moonlight was present as Runt wound his way through the wilds. It was a long and circuitous route back to New Haven district. His legs cramped and there were times he had to pause waiting for a painful spasm to subside. It wasn’t nearly as painful as the wound in his arm, or the gash across his back. How did those happen? He tried to remember but the battle he fought was a blur - flashes of green and red, the thrill of defeating an opponent, a growing itch on his skin and then - just a deep feeling of cold that raged from his heart.
Most people hated the cold, they talk about fear as a stone cold grip. It was not that way for him. The cold was invigorating, a sense of power and connection to something strong and familial. When the icy rage of battle gripped his heart all other senses bent to some other will. He remembered his motions becoming more fluid and focused. And a chant. A battle cry. It was as if he was hearing his Clan, not Clan Seemon but Clan Boarsbane urging him on in the fight. To attack the humans and purge the world of devils arts. His soul felt bound by an oath to kill all the crimson shadows and nothing else would deter him from that purpose. When an array of spectres and spirits appeared before him he didn’t feel fear, just the ice cold thrill of battle and the voices of isejotunen urging him forward.
Even now as he lumbered through the forest the physical memory of that feeling swelled within him. It was like nothing he had ever experienced. The next thing he remembered was seeing a demon before him. Her ram horns aimed towards him and shouting accusations. Trespasser. Murderer. Dishonorable. It wasn’t her words that struck him but the feeling of warmth and isolation. The isejotuni voices were gone and with it the comforting cold fury of the fight. Even his battle oath felt torn and ragged as he tried to speak.
No. That was not him. Not anymore. Clan Seemon was honorable, and he had dishonored his hun-jarl and her mate. He had betrayed Matt. Giving himself up for death was the only way to atone for the crime he had committed. What puzzled him still was that she didn’t slay him where he knelt. The execution would have been just. Instead, she bandaged his wounds - without devils arts - and sent him with a message to Clan Seemon. Was it a declaration of war?
He stood up from the wall and continued to lumber into the city. Although his sack and mace were still at Jonn’s barony in New Haven he did not turn down that road. Instead, he slowly proceeded towards the Seemon home. He did not know how the hun-jarl Koy-luck would treat his dishonor, but he hoped it would be a swift judgement. A hint of sunlight kissed the top of their roof as he approached the gates. Using the key he had been given Runt made his way to the front door and sat at the base of the steps. Matt was an early riser so it didn’t take long for the door to open. He was dressed in the uniform, one Runt had come to expect when he went on a sortie or hunt. Matt’s eyes widened at the state of Runt - patched up wounds, boils and rashes all over his skin and a distinct lack of weaponry. Before he could speak Runt knelt before him and offered up the letter from the Devil Woman.
Most people hated the cold, they talk about fear as a stone cold grip. It was not that way for him. The cold was invigorating, a sense of power and connection to something strong and familial. When the icy rage of battle gripped his heart all other senses bent to some other will. He remembered his motions becoming more fluid and focused. And a chant. A battle cry. It was as if he was hearing his Clan, not Clan Seemon but Clan Boarsbane urging him on in the fight. To attack the humans and purge the world of devils arts. His soul felt bound by an oath to kill all the crimson shadows and nothing else would deter him from that purpose. When an array of spectres and spirits appeared before him he didn’t feel fear, just the ice cold thrill of battle and the voices of isejotunen urging him forward.
Even now as he lumbered through the forest the physical memory of that feeling swelled within him. It was like nothing he had ever experienced. The next thing he remembered was seeing a demon before him. Her ram horns aimed towards him and shouting accusations. Trespasser. Murderer. Dishonorable. It wasn’t her words that struck him but the feeling of warmth and isolation. The isejotuni voices were gone and with it the comforting cold fury of the fight. Even his battle oath felt torn and ragged as he tried to speak.
Marauders. Leaning against the gate marking the entrance to Rhy’din Runts memory took a sharp turn, the same turn it had taken when he heard the Devil Woman speak. The hundreds of raids, killing men and stealing their wealth. The other mercenaries who slapped him on the back as they divided the spoils, giving him gold so he could buy food another day. And the children. Crying, screaming children and the womenfolk who tried to hide them. Looks of fear and hatred as they raped and pillaged towns and villages. Watchmen crying from their towers in vain as they rode in on horseback… Marauders.“In my home,” the witch hissed back, pointing a blood-dripping finger at him. “You stepped into my fucking hall, and asked yourselves whether you’d like to kill all the people inside, or drive us out. You’re not even invaders. You’re marauders."
No. That was not him. Not anymore. Clan Seemon was honorable, and he had dishonored his hun-jarl and her mate. He had betrayed Matt. Giving himself up for death was the only way to atone for the crime he had committed. What puzzled him still was that she didn’t slay him where he knelt. The execution would have been just. Instead, she bandaged his wounds - without devils arts - and sent him with a message to Clan Seemon. Was it a declaration of war?
He stood up from the wall and continued to lumber into the city. Although his sack and mace were still at Jonn’s barony in New Haven he did not turn down that road. Instead, he slowly proceeded towards the Seemon home. He did not know how the hun-jarl Koy-luck would treat his dishonor, but he hoped it would be a swift judgement. A hint of sunlight kissed the top of their roof as he approached the gates. Using the key he had been given Runt made his way to the front door and sat at the base of the steps. Matt was an early riser so it didn’t take long for the door to open. He was dressed in the uniform, one Runt had come to expect when he went on a sortie or hunt. Matt’s eyes widened at the state of Runt - patched up wounds, boils and rashes all over his skin and a distinct lack of weaponry. Before he could speak Runt knelt before him and offered up the letter from the Devil Woman.
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Mallory
- RoH Admin
- Posts: 921
- Joined: Sun Jan 15, 2017 9:25 pm
- Location: The Lyceum or Kabuki Street, most of the time
Re: Into the Wilds
Mallory walked up the stairs into the Arena, snagging a table that looked comparatively out of the way. She dropped her things into a chair and sat down in another, and watched Matt follow. She waited while he settled in across from her before she said to him, "You get my letter?"
"Yeah," Matt replied. "Runt showed up bleeding on my doorstep with it in hand."
The witch made a face, not unsympathetic to his wounds. "I patched him up as much as I could... He was lucky."
"I still don't quite understand what these crimson shadows are, or why he was after them," Matt went on as he shifted in his seat.
"Illusions, mostly," Mallory explained. "Some of these Hunters Guild bounties have attracted a whole lot of idiots with big weapons and not much sense. One of them shot my friend, and they generally spent the last month making a mess out of the woods right by the manor. So I conjured some scary-looking things to chase them, instill fear when they touched, go bursting into their camps and scare them off."
Matt frowned. "That damn Hunter's Guild. It's causing nothing but problems."
"I'm sure plenty of the hunters show restraint, but there's been a lot of chaos," she agreed. "So I sent them after the noise. And I think... once Runt identified me as Devil-Woman, and saw me being chummy with Jewell as a fae... he decided to hunt them. That's how this all started."
"Runt is very...instinctive. Sometimes there's not a lot of thought. But if he was after these things of yours, why attack the manor itself?"
Mallory shrugged slowly at Matt. "Maybe he was trying to find the source. He was taunting me about his hunts, not long before this happened. Dumped six boar's heads at my feet in... I think either the Arena or the Annex, as some kind of insult."
"He's brought me a few, ah, gifts like that. Some of them of things he shouldn't have been hunting. Koy's trying to teach him what is and isn't appropriate on that front."
Mallory nodded. "Like I said in my letter, I didn't really mind him hunting the specters. But crossing the wall was a big, big mistake. So was bringing Jonn with him... he's the one who said this once they crossed my wall, within earshot of my summons..." Opening her left hand, and red sparks hissed as they replicated his voice: "What d'you want to do if there's people in there? Kill 'em or drive 'em off?"
Matt watched the magical display, then leaned forward. "Now see, that's what I don't understand. I don't see Runt attacking people for no reason. Did Jonn influence him, do you think, to come at the manor?"
"Jonn's been acting like he was just following Runt... but I trust him about as far as I can throw him, and you've seen how tall he is. And for what it's worth... I don't know whether or not Runt saw it as attacking my manor. He insisted he was only there to hunt the shadows, and I believe him."
"Do you think we can change his perception of you as the Devil lady?"
Mallory huffed a laugh at that. "Something like that... would take time and a lot of exposure." She hesitated. "...I'm worried about the safety of my manor... and he's a very strong fighter... and I am without a squire now." Looking Matt in the eye.
Well, I don't think he's going to be able to breach the manor itself, not on his own," Matt said with a headshake. "And I will encourage him to stay away."
"I don't think you're following me." Mallory tapped her fingers on the table. "What I mean is... what if Runt was using all that strength to defend the manor? as my squire?"
"Well, that'd certainly be one way to get that time and exposure. But what would you want him defending it from, the other hunters? Because I'm afraid he might kill someone if that was the idea."
"No killing. If he sees someone, shout for someone... I have people there, now. But maybe he can help patrol, learn about all the weapons we have in our armory, and train with me until..." Mallory's shoulders lifted slowly. "...He trusts you. A lot. Maybe if you set a goal for him, before he could consider himself finished with helping me around Battlefield Park and, if someone poaches it from me, around Kabuki Street."
"Mm. I think maybe the fairest thing is this," Matt countered. "He's your squire for a set period of time, say a month or two, as a condition of making up for what he did. If, after that, he wants to continue of his own volition, fine. If not, then you release him."
Mallory folded her hands beneath her chin. Narrowing her eyes a little. "What if he leaves the same way I've lost my last two squires? Warlord... but in the old way. Ask him. I think he'd like the challenge."
"Huh. That's an idea." Matt thought about it for a few moments. "Warlord, or you lose the barony? Which I suspect will happen long after I'm not Overlord any more."
Mallory shook her head. "I'd say Warlord, regardless of my status... but I might be more flexible after we talk about the other hunter I dealt with."
"Jonn?"
Mallory nodded.
"To be honest, I don't know him well at all."
Mallory spread her hands as she laid it out: "Jonn stands loyal, and he's under challenge. I get the impression Rachael doesn't have any qualms about standing beside him, but..." She shook her head. "That's irrelevant. It's not her attitude towards him that concerns me. But I am having a hard time with the idea of someone taking it upon themselves to fight him because of his willingness to murder whoever was in my manor... and me standing in the same place as him. That's difficult for me."
"Was murder on the table, though?" Matt pressed.
Mallory raised her eyebrows. "You tell me. If you heard a man on your doorstep with an axe in his hand speaking those words to his sword-wielding friend, what would you make of it?"
He made a thoughtful sound, then said, "I'd probably attack first and ask questions later."
She nodded. "I like to think that could have come out much worse for them, and I didn't let it. But if Jonn had been hunting with someone who'd given him the go-ahead, or if they hadn't been distracted and Runt didn't answer clearly, or let him be flexible... he was clearly willing. That's my takeaway, from what he said. He was willing to kill."
"And Jonn has no reason to have attacked you otherwise? No past history between the two of you?"
MalloryToday at 10:55 PM
"The last time he came to the manor, weeks ago, I gave him the sword Runt later wielded as a gift." Mallory sighed, then counted on her fingers. "I faced him... once in the rings, I'm pretty sure... and he came by the Perch when I'd put up an ad asking patrons for spell components. I paid him for dove's blood, and when I showed no interest in a vial of virgin's blood... he tossed it in the fire and ordered another drink. Those are the only other interactions I can think of."
"It doesn't make sense how he'd jump from that to being willing to kill you... I'll talk to him, see what he has to say."
Mallory nodded. "I understand. Just... understand that I may feel compelled to stand beside Michelle, as more than her second. Especially if there's a test."
"I understand," Matt said with a nod.
"I appreciate you being willing to talk to me... and I'll do my best to be a good mentor to Runt, and teach him the things that will help him the most. I'd still like his help in some fashion if I lose the Barony -- if I'm out in a week or two and his lessons end then, I don't think there's anything that'll be gained from that."
"Agreed," he nodded again, "but he needs fairly constant supervision. And a place to sleep... that's not outside wherever he can find shelter."
"Then that's my responsibility. Sometimes the price cuts both ways," she conceded. "We're already fixing the accommodations at the manor. If I end up in a position where I can't give him that any longer, I'll provide other accommodations on Kabuki Street or nearby."
"All right. Good. And no... devil-artsing him." Matt gave a half grin when he said it, but there was a seriousness behind it.
Mallory put up a hand in surrender as she mirrored his half-grin. "No bedeviling of any kind. I promise."
"All right. We should probably meet regularly to discuss progress and any changes that might be needed."
"Agreed... and if for whatever reason we can't meet in person, we'll correspond. Fair?"
"I'd prefer in person. Too much can be lost otherwise. I'll make the time for it, or Koy, if push comes to shove."
She nodded, conceding that. "Thanks again for talking to me... and taking it seriously," she said as she stood and collected her things.
"Of course."
"Have a good night, Matt."
"You too," Matt replied, and watched her exit. After a long moment, he sighed, pushed away from the table, and walked back downstairs.
((Adapted from live play in the Arena with Matt, with thanks!))
"Yeah," Matt replied. "Runt showed up bleeding on my doorstep with it in hand."
The witch made a face, not unsympathetic to his wounds. "I patched him up as much as I could... He was lucky."
"I still don't quite understand what these crimson shadows are, or why he was after them," Matt went on as he shifted in his seat.
"Illusions, mostly," Mallory explained. "Some of these Hunters Guild bounties have attracted a whole lot of idiots with big weapons and not much sense. One of them shot my friend, and they generally spent the last month making a mess out of the woods right by the manor. So I conjured some scary-looking things to chase them, instill fear when they touched, go bursting into their camps and scare them off."
Matt frowned. "That damn Hunter's Guild. It's causing nothing but problems."
"I'm sure plenty of the hunters show restraint, but there's been a lot of chaos," she agreed. "So I sent them after the noise. And I think... once Runt identified me as Devil-Woman, and saw me being chummy with Jewell as a fae... he decided to hunt them. That's how this all started."
"Runt is very...instinctive. Sometimes there's not a lot of thought. But if he was after these things of yours, why attack the manor itself?"
Mallory shrugged slowly at Matt. "Maybe he was trying to find the source. He was taunting me about his hunts, not long before this happened. Dumped six boar's heads at my feet in... I think either the Arena or the Annex, as some kind of insult."
"He's brought me a few, ah, gifts like that. Some of them of things he shouldn't have been hunting. Koy's trying to teach him what is and isn't appropriate on that front."
Mallory nodded. "Like I said in my letter, I didn't really mind him hunting the specters. But crossing the wall was a big, big mistake. So was bringing Jonn with him... he's the one who said this once they crossed my wall, within earshot of my summons..." Opening her left hand, and red sparks hissed as they replicated his voice: "What d'you want to do if there's people in there? Kill 'em or drive 'em off?"
Matt watched the magical display, then leaned forward. "Now see, that's what I don't understand. I don't see Runt attacking people for no reason. Did Jonn influence him, do you think, to come at the manor?"
"Jonn's been acting like he was just following Runt... but I trust him about as far as I can throw him, and you've seen how tall he is. And for what it's worth... I don't know whether or not Runt saw it as attacking my manor. He insisted he was only there to hunt the shadows, and I believe him."
"Do you think we can change his perception of you as the Devil lady?"
Mallory huffed a laugh at that. "Something like that... would take time and a lot of exposure." She hesitated. "...I'm worried about the safety of my manor... and he's a very strong fighter... and I am without a squire now." Looking Matt in the eye.
Well, I don't think he's going to be able to breach the manor itself, not on his own," Matt said with a headshake. "And I will encourage him to stay away."
"I don't think you're following me." Mallory tapped her fingers on the table. "What I mean is... what if Runt was using all that strength to defend the manor? as my squire?"
"Well, that'd certainly be one way to get that time and exposure. But what would you want him defending it from, the other hunters? Because I'm afraid he might kill someone if that was the idea."
"No killing. If he sees someone, shout for someone... I have people there, now. But maybe he can help patrol, learn about all the weapons we have in our armory, and train with me until..." Mallory's shoulders lifted slowly. "...He trusts you. A lot. Maybe if you set a goal for him, before he could consider himself finished with helping me around Battlefield Park and, if someone poaches it from me, around Kabuki Street."
"Mm. I think maybe the fairest thing is this," Matt countered. "He's your squire for a set period of time, say a month or two, as a condition of making up for what he did. If, after that, he wants to continue of his own volition, fine. If not, then you release him."
Mallory folded her hands beneath her chin. Narrowing her eyes a little. "What if he leaves the same way I've lost my last two squires? Warlord... but in the old way. Ask him. I think he'd like the challenge."
"Huh. That's an idea." Matt thought about it for a few moments. "Warlord, or you lose the barony? Which I suspect will happen long after I'm not Overlord any more."
Mallory shook her head. "I'd say Warlord, regardless of my status... but I might be more flexible after we talk about the other hunter I dealt with."
"Jonn?"
Mallory nodded.
"To be honest, I don't know him well at all."
Mallory spread her hands as she laid it out: "Jonn stands loyal, and he's under challenge. I get the impression Rachael doesn't have any qualms about standing beside him, but..." She shook her head. "That's irrelevant. It's not her attitude towards him that concerns me. But I am having a hard time with the idea of someone taking it upon themselves to fight him because of his willingness to murder whoever was in my manor... and me standing in the same place as him. That's difficult for me."
"Was murder on the table, though?" Matt pressed.
Mallory raised her eyebrows. "You tell me. If you heard a man on your doorstep with an axe in his hand speaking those words to his sword-wielding friend, what would you make of it?"
He made a thoughtful sound, then said, "I'd probably attack first and ask questions later."
She nodded. "I like to think that could have come out much worse for them, and I didn't let it. But if Jonn had been hunting with someone who'd given him the go-ahead, or if they hadn't been distracted and Runt didn't answer clearly, or let him be flexible... he was clearly willing. That's my takeaway, from what he said. He was willing to kill."
"And Jonn has no reason to have attacked you otherwise? No past history between the two of you?"
MalloryToday at 10:55 PM
"The last time he came to the manor, weeks ago, I gave him the sword Runt later wielded as a gift." Mallory sighed, then counted on her fingers. "I faced him... once in the rings, I'm pretty sure... and he came by the Perch when I'd put up an ad asking patrons for spell components. I paid him for dove's blood, and when I showed no interest in a vial of virgin's blood... he tossed it in the fire and ordered another drink. Those are the only other interactions I can think of."
"It doesn't make sense how he'd jump from that to being willing to kill you... I'll talk to him, see what he has to say."
Mallory nodded. "I understand. Just... understand that I may feel compelled to stand beside Michelle, as more than her second. Especially if there's a test."
"I understand," Matt said with a nod.
"I appreciate you being willing to talk to me... and I'll do my best to be a good mentor to Runt, and teach him the things that will help him the most. I'd still like his help in some fashion if I lose the Barony -- if I'm out in a week or two and his lessons end then, I don't think there's anything that'll be gained from that."
"Agreed," he nodded again, "but he needs fairly constant supervision. And a place to sleep... that's not outside wherever he can find shelter."
"Then that's my responsibility. Sometimes the price cuts both ways," she conceded. "We're already fixing the accommodations at the manor. If I end up in a position where I can't give him that any longer, I'll provide other accommodations on Kabuki Street or nearby."
"All right. Good. And no... devil-artsing him." Matt gave a half grin when he said it, but there was a seriousness behind it.
Mallory put up a hand in surrender as she mirrored his half-grin. "No bedeviling of any kind. I promise."
"All right. We should probably meet regularly to discuss progress and any changes that might be needed."
"Agreed... and if for whatever reason we can't meet in person, we'll correspond. Fair?"
"I'd prefer in person. Too much can be lost otherwise. I'll make the time for it, or Koy, if push comes to shove."
She nodded, conceding that. "Thanks again for talking to me... and taking it seriously," she said as she stood and collected her things.
"Of course."
"Have a good night, Matt."
"You too," Matt replied, and watched her exit. After a long moment, he sighed, pushed away from the table, and walked back downstairs.
((Adapted from live play in the Arena with Matt, with thanks!))
Aftermath I
Over the past few days, Runt had loitered, meandered and wandered. Matt had taken the letter on his way out and called Koy down to help Runt clean up. When Koy asked what happened Runt simply said. “‘UNT GO MAUG. DEVIL-WOMAN GIVE LETTER O’ WAR TO MATT.” It brought up more questions than answers but Runt wasn’t in the best state to clarify. Koy made him scrub clean - something he hadn’t done for months - and gave Runt some food to eat. Instead of pressing for details she thought it best to sit tight till she and Matt had a chance to talk. FireStar, as usual, felt otherwise.
So Runt was left to his own devices, and he gave the Seemon home a wide berth during the day only sneaking back in at night to rest somewhere on their grass. He never knew if the Seemon’s noticed; he arrived when the lights were down and left before Matt was up. Although Runt had retrieved his mace and sack from the New Haven Barony he had not seen his friend Jonn. The blisters and scars grew thick purple welts as they healed and he took the time to patch up his Fire Boars-hide Vest. His shoulder still felt stiff but after a day or two, he could hold the mace well enough.
Feeling the urge to hunt never went away, but he avoided the section near Battlefield Park and the areas frequented by other hunters. This left him the dark areas dense with underbrush and cantankerous thorns. The wargs that wandered nearby provided him with food and entertainment.
Ever since that night at Battlefield Park the war chants continued to whisper in his mind. He would never call them voices, more like a feeling that sang to him. War chants of the Isejotunen, commanding him to hunt the van, eat their kind and steal their food. Runt wasn’t sure if it was devils arts or something … different. It was for this reason he avoided Rhy’din except at night. After a few days he stopped returning to the Seemon home, electing to sleep in the woods.
So Runt was left to his own devices, and he gave the Seemon home a wide berth during the day only sneaking back in at night to rest somewhere on their grass. He never knew if the Seemon’s noticed; he arrived when the lights were down and left before Matt was up. Although Runt had retrieved his mace and sack from the New Haven Barony he had not seen his friend Jonn. The blisters and scars grew thick purple welts as they healed and he took the time to patch up his Fire Boars-hide Vest. His shoulder still felt stiff but after a day or two, he could hold the mace well enough.
Feeling the urge to hunt never went away, but he avoided the section near Battlefield Park and the areas frequented by other hunters. This left him the dark areas dense with underbrush and cantankerous thorns. The wargs that wandered nearby provided him with food and entertainment.
Ever since that night at Battlefield Park the war chants continued to whisper in his mind. He would never call them voices, more like a feeling that sang to him. War chants of the Isejotunen, commanding him to hunt the van, eat their kind and steal their food. Runt wasn’t sure if it was devils arts or something … different. It was for this reason he avoided Rhy’din except at night. After a few days he stopped returning to the Seemon home, electing to sleep in the woods.
Last edited by Runt on Tue Apr 09, 2019 9:20 pm, edited 1 time in total.
Brother, Where Art Thou?
Jonn stood chest to chest, or at least chest to stomach, with Runt while they traded stabs. He flew back from the force of the blow but not before he got his sword into Runt. The baron tumbled right out of the ring, ending up on his back, still grinning up at the giant. The fight had been swift and vigorous, the kind of duel Jonn expected from his friend. He looked at his scimitar, still in hand; it had actually bent from the impact with Runt.
Still standing in the ring Runt clenched his stomach, grimacing. As the pain coursed through him, awakening old wounds, the ice fire which had started earlier began to crescendo.
He didn’t even hear Jonn congratulating him as a brother, instead, a snarl tore form his lips and a blue film seemed to cover his eyes. Before him was not his brother, but an enemy. Someone to attack, crush, and break. Runt let loose a fierce bellow. "GRROOOOAAARRRRRGGHHHH!" and started loping towards Jonn, the mace held tightly in his hands.
Friend or not, Jonn slid back several steps and brought the bent scimitar up, his eyes flat and dark. Smoothly, and without apparent concern he responded to the giants bellow “That how it is? We dancing for real now?” He moved backwards in a controlled way, not wanting to let Runt up close. Small amounts of frost started to form on the mace Runt gripped, his eyes darkening to a deep icy blue. A chorus of battle cries echoed in his mind. A small part of him fought against the rage, but the inner giant overpowered him - seeking to find thrill in the death of his opponent. Momentum carried Runt right up into Jonn's personal space with snarls ripping through his lips. By only a thread did the part of Runt known as ‘brother’ hold back from attacking his friend.
Purely in survival mode Jonn flung himself sideways behind a weapons rack, grabbing a long spear which he handled like a javelin, using its reach to keep Runt from unchecked movement toward him. “Dumb place for either of us to die, Runt. ” Runt twisted back towards Jonn looking for a way past the spear. The dark icy look in his eyes hid a battle of wills between brother and giant which broiled under the surface.
Taneth, at first a casual observer, called out in her small but piercing shout. "Runt!" At the sound of her voice, the brother forced the giant to drop the mace. The rage filled frost disappeared from the weapon and Runt blinked rapidly; the giant did not go down easily, keeping those blue eyes locked on Jonn who returned the stare. Slowly his eyes started to clear. Taneth moved over to reach out and press a hand to Runt. "Runter?"
Runt trembled visibly from the effort of containing the insatiable rage. As Taneth touched him a snarl escaped. Rather than attack, he quickly withdrew far away from her. His lungs heaved visibly from the adrenaline he was fighting down.
Jonn clenched his teeth, trying not to sound hostile. “No blood spilled yet big man. We can still let it go.” Suspecting foul play he cast a quick glance at the Battlefield Park skybox.
"Runt." Taneth softly tried to cajole him into relaxing. Runt blinked again, relaxing a bit more as he turned to look at her. With Runts’ attention diverted, Jonn slowly withdrew until he felt enough distance between them to back into the locker area. Taneth, for her part, kept those deep pools of blue in her eyes fixated on Runt. "Come here, Runt. I need you."
Feeling the chill still running through his veins Runt stared at Taneth. Conflicting desires of eating her or embracing her kept him at bay. "NO. RUNT... NOT SAFE." Then, just as abruptly as it all began he lumbered out of the annex ducking awkwardly underneath the doorframe leaving his three axe-headed mace and sack lying on the floor.
((Adapted from Live Play in the Annex with Jonn and Taneth, with thanks.))
Still standing in the ring Runt clenched his stomach, grimacing. As the pain coursed through him, awakening old wounds, the ice fire which had started earlier began to crescendo.
VAN IS TASTY. VAN IS GUD. BREAK VAN BONES AND DRINK DER BLOD! anfel… ANFEL… ANFEL HAN-VAN!! TOTEN HAN-VAN!!
He didn’t even hear Jonn congratulating him as a brother, instead, a snarl tore form his lips and a blue film seemed to cover his eyes. Before him was not his brother, but an enemy. Someone to attack, crush, and break. Runt let loose a fierce bellow. "GRROOOOAAARRRRRGGHHHH!" and started loping towards Jonn, the mace held tightly in his hands.
Friend or not, Jonn slid back several steps and brought the bent scimitar up, his eyes flat and dark. Smoothly, and without apparent concern he responded to the giants bellow “That how it is? We dancing for real now?” He moved backwards in a controlled way, not wanting to let Runt up close. Small amounts of frost started to form on the mace Runt gripped, his eyes darkening to a deep icy blue. A chorus of battle cries echoed in his mind. A small part of him fought against the rage, but the inner giant overpowered him - seeking to find thrill in the death of his opponent. Momentum carried Runt right up into Jonn's personal space with snarls ripping through his lips. By only a thread did the part of Runt known as ‘brother’ hold back from attacking his friend.
Purely in survival mode Jonn flung himself sideways behind a weapons rack, grabbing a long spear which he handled like a javelin, using its reach to keep Runt from unchecked movement toward him. “Dumb place for either of us to die, Runt. ” Runt twisted back towards Jonn looking for a way past the spear. The dark icy look in his eyes hid a battle of wills between brother and giant which broiled under the surface.
Taneth, at first a casual observer, called out in her small but piercing shout. "Runt!" At the sound of her voice, the brother forced the giant to drop the mace. The rage filled frost disappeared from the weapon and Runt blinked rapidly; the giant did not go down easily, keeping those blue eyes locked on Jonn who returned the stare. Slowly his eyes started to clear. Taneth moved over to reach out and press a hand to Runt. "Runter?"
Runt trembled visibly from the effort of containing the insatiable rage. As Taneth touched him a snarl escaped. Rather than attack, he quickly withdrew far away from her. His lungs heaved visibly from the adrenaline he was fighting down.
Jonn clenched his teeth, trying not to sound hostile. “No blood spilled yet big man. We can still let it go.” Suspecting foul play he cast a quick glance at the Battlefield Park skybox.
"Runt." Taneth softly tried to cajole him into relaxing. Runt blinked again, relaxing a bit more as he turned to look at her. With Runts’ attention diverted, Jonn slowly withdrew until he felt enough distance between them to back into the locker area. Taneth, for her part, kept those deep pools of blue in her eyes fixated on Runt. "Come here, Runt. I need you."
Feeling the chill still running through his veins Runt stared at Taneth. Conflicting desires of eating her or embracing her kept him at bay. "NO. RUNT... NOT SAFE." Then, just as abruptly as it all began he lumbered out of the annex ducking awkwardly underneath the doorframe leaving his three axe-headed mace and sack lying on the floor.
((Adapted from Live Play in the Annex with Jonn and Taneth, with thanks.))
The 'onor of Clan Sih-mon
Monday, April 8th: The Outback
Runt lumbered into the outback from the underground tunnels, without mace or sack - a clear look of frustration on his face. Despite the raised purple welts from his healing blisters he headed straight for a punching bag. "GGRRROOOAAARRGGHH"
The giants roar reached Matt’s office and he didn't need the cameras to tell him who it was, though he looked anyway. The cameras displayed Runt’s wide fist pummeling a punching bag. Maybe it was a trick of the camera but Runt looked taller - he was growing like the stubborn weeds in Koy’s garden. The leather bag swung dangerously. Matt watched as Runts’ hands grabbed the bag and he pushed it in a large arc, punching with brutality as it passed by him. Sighing, he stood up and left the office, heading for the practice area. “Runt!” he called. The hulking mass before him froze, but refused to face him. “Runt!” he called again.
Slowly, the giant turned around, ice blue eyes locking on Matt. His breath was labored as if he had been in a great battle. "MATT." He paused again, taking two deep breaths. "SEEMON."
“Where've you been? We need to discuss things. Are you all right?” Questions came out rapid-fire, perhaps not in the order of importance.
Runts fists clenched, his eyes darted down and around while he growled something under his breath before looking back up at Matt. "RUNT NOT SAFE." He could still feel chants, the spirits, the … whatever it was raging in his blood. "RUNT ALMOST 'URT JONN. RUNT 'EAR DE CHANT. DEVILS ARTS." The words came out rapidly like boulders smashing down a ravine.
“Wait, what? You attacked Jonn, now?”
It was at this moment that Koy entered the Outback, having planned to meet up with her husband after a late meeting so they could relieve the babysitter together. The sleeves of her multi-colored stripe silk collared shirt were rolled up, the fabric tucked into her slim-fitted white slacks. Despite carrying FireStar with her she still did not match to the Opal’s color, opting for orange stilettos instead. As the doors opened Runt quickly spun around a snarl on his lips until he saw it was the hun-jarl. Sweat began form on his face, whether from the punching bags or something else it was hard to tell.
“Easy, Runt, easy.” She wasn’t sure what she had walked into but she could read the giant’s body language loud and clear.
He shuffled back a bit, eyes darting between Koy and Matt, an almost fearful look in those icy eyes. Not of them, but of himself and what was coursing through his veins. "RUNT... ATTACK JONN. ALMOST 'URT JONN. BUT JONN RUNTS FRIEND. RUNT NOT WANT TO 'URT MATT OR KOY-LUCK. BUT... RUNT.. NOT SAFE."
“First of all, I don't think Jonn is your friend.”
A crestfallen look crossed Runts face as he thought about how close he had come to hurting his friend. "NO. NOT...NOW"
“Second....Koy and I can take care of ourselves, but I don't think you want to hurt us. “ That being said, Matt still didn't sit. Like Koy, he kept himself at the ready, without trying to look threatening.
The Opal heated up, delighted and flooding Koy’s mind with their dark imaginings of what Runt could do. Knowing how sensitive Runt could be to her reactions Koy paused for almost too long before she spoke. “Ye don’t need ta worry ‘bout hurtin’ us. ‘Side from us knowin’ ye wouldn’t want ta, ye know we are fighters too, aye?”
Runt felt the urge to attack flow through him, causing his jaw to tense and his eyes to dart towards the large double doors then back at Koy and Matt. He took a deep breath, trying to settle the rage within him. In the ways of the humans he nodded but his muscles were still taught, read to fire at a moments notice.
Matt caught Runts eyes, in the same authoritative but kind way he would use with his rookies. “Sit down, Runt. We're not going to hurt you. And you're not going to hurt us. But I have some things to tell you.” His used his gentlest 'Colonel addressing rookie pilots' voice, hoping Runt would respond well to it.
Koy, gauging that Runt could bolt at any minute, sat down to set the right example. Following his hun-jarl’s lead Runt slowly, very very slowly, removed the orange shield on his back and sat cross-legged on the ground. "IS ... IS RUNT BEING BANISHED." "IT WOULD BE... FAIR." He was looking at his hun-jarl now. "RUNT BETRAY CLAN. DANGER TO CLAN. CLAN MUST BE SAFE."
Slightly surprised Matt quickly reassured Runt. “Banishing? No. Nobody's being banished. But I had to make some deals, and that involves some changes. Your attack on the Battlefield Park Manor was...ill advised. Hunting the spectres was one thing, but when you and Jonn chose to go after the Manor itself, that crossed a line. I've done my best to make that right.” Runt bowed his head shamefully, unable to look at Matt or Koy any longer. The chants of the isejotunen had faded to the dull burbling of a stream and it felt a wave of exhaustion come over him.
“Ye’re not bein’ banished,” Koy repeated. “We are givin’ ye a test.” She tried to catch Matt’s eye quickly.
“Ta make wha ye’ve done right and restore honor ta our clan. Isn’t that right, Matt?”
Matt gestured to Koy. “Exactly. Understand that there are consequences for your actions. But Koy and I are trying to help you...trying to protect you. And yes, challenging you as an opportunity for redemption. In fact, I think you might even look forward to that challenge.”
Koy wasn’t even fully sure of all the details but she was winging this hun-jarl role. Runt needed leadership and guidance, so she and Matt were going to provide it.
“Everyone makes mistakes, even Koy and I at times. And when we do, we have to make restitution...we have to make it right.”
Even though Runt didn’t fully understand what they were saying, he felt reassured by their voices. They were not banishing him, as had been the case in the past. There was a small, imperceptible nod from the giant of a man that was close to submissiveness. His voice was slightly hoarse and raw "RUNT NOT WANT TO LEAVE CLAN SEEMON. RUNT MAKE RIGHT AND BRING 'ONOR".
“Good, that's good. And I think we have a way to help you do that, a way that I've discussed with Mallory and she's agreed to.”
The once calm gurgling stream in his blood started to roil like the rapids of a winding river. His head snapped up at the mention of Mallory, a snarl escaping his lips. "DEVIL WOMAN. SHE CURSE RUNT."
“No, she didn't. If she had, you'd know it. And you probably wouldn't be here right now. And remember, she helped staunch your wounds after you attacked the Manor.”
"SHE MAKE RUNT ATTACK JONN. SHE MAKE RUNT... NOT SAFE. TRIXIE DEVIL WOMAN. LIKE TRIXIE FAE." He growled, his entire body tensing. "SHE 'EAL RUNT BODY BUT WOUND RUNT MIND."
Koy shifted FireStar from her pocket to the table. Her movement was subtle as she folded her hands back in her lap, masking how hot the stone burned. They were singing bloodlust songs to her. They yearned for Runt’s anger over Mallory.
Matt knew this next bit of information wasn't going to go over well. “We're not asking you to adore magic, or devil-arts...and let me be clear that not all magic is devil-arts. So you do need to get that straight.”
Sharing some of Runts mistrust Koy refrained from defending magic. It was a complicated topic for the elf. “Tha’s why we call this a test. Iffn if were easy it would not be worthy. Do ye know wha they say ‘bout enemies where I am from?”
As the conversation turned to magic and devil-arts panic started to spread up Runts chest like a hot itch. His eyes darted between them like a cornered animal.
Koy waited, looking evenly at Runt to make sure he wasn’t about to bolt. “Good. As I was sayin’. Where I’m from it is taught tha ye can’t defeat an enemy ye don’t know. It is only when ye can love an enemy and imagine wha they feel tha ye take their power over ye ‘way.”
Feelin the hot itchy climb from his stomach and up his throat Runt clenched his fists, jaw tensing as a growl came out. "BUT. NO. DEVIL WOMAN.. SHE.. DEY. DE CHANTS. DE CHANTS ARE STRONG. DE WAR CHANTS OF ISEJOTUNEN. 'OW SHE MAKE DEM SO STRONG? I NO LOVE DEVIL WOM-” He snapped his jaw shut as Koy's raised her hand at his outburst and he tried, desperately, to focus on Matt’s next words.
“We're not asking you to love her. But you're going to need to learn to respect her. And not attack her. Or be coerced into attacking her. Because if someone came to our house and attacked it, you wouldn't like that, would you?”
All of Matt and Koy-lucks talking was starting to overwhelm him. His eyes narrowed, eyes tight in concentration as he tried very hard to figure out the most important parts. "RUNT NOT ATTACK DEVIL WOMAN. DIS I PROMISE."
“This is yer test. She wounded yer mind. Ye can’t take her power ‘way by force. Ye can only take it by bein’ honorable and workin’ hard. Ye must find somethin’ ye can learn from her. Only then will ye come out stronger. She can’t have power over ye iffn ye know all there is ta know ‘bout her.”
“And you're going to have plenty of opportunity to learn.”
"WHAT... WHAT ‘UN-JARL SAYING?"
To be fair, Koy didn’t have time to think through any implications of what she was asking. All she could do was struggle through FireStar’s vengeful cloud and give Runt something to focus on. “Ye are not banished. Ye must fulfill a quest fer us. Learn wha ye can from the Devil Woman. Find somethin’ she does tha will make our clan even better. All creatures and folk have somethin’ ta offer. Ye must find it and not bring harm ta her as ye go.”
Runt looked helplessly at Koy, complete confusion on his face. "'OW? RUNT.. NOT KNOW WAY OF .. OF DEVILS ARTS. OF READEN'S AND LEARNEN'S."
“Look beyond her magic. There is no one I know brave ‘nough as Runt ta be so close ta the Devil woman and push on in order to learn. Ye will know it when ye see it. It will take time.”
Matt chimed back in “You don't have to learn devil-arts. But you need to learn how to deal with them, and to give them the respect they are due. So the next time you do have to fight them, you are better equipped.”
Runt turned to look at Matt, then back at Koy, then back at Matt. Koy nodded in agreement with Matt as he proceeded to outline the agreement.
“So. Toward that end, here's the deal… I'm going to be releasing you as the Overlord's Squire. Chances are I'm not going to have the title much longer anyhow. And Mallory will accept you as the Squire of Battlefield Park. You will work with her and learn about her, even if she loses the Barony and you're not technically a squire any longer. But you are part of this clan, not hers. We are not abandoning you and we are not discarding you. The hun-jarl and I expect you to work hard and do your best and to tell us what you learn. And...this is the part I think you'll perhaps enjoy: Your service to her is over when you earn the rank of Warlord.”
Puzzlement crossed over Runts face as he tried to process the information. In something that one could only equate to a whisper Runt responded with something close to pleading. "Runt Not Want To Be Slave To Van Who Use Devils Arts. Not Again."
“You will not be a slave. To her or anyone else. You will be a student. To her and still to me.”
His hands finally relaxed as he made eye contact with Matt. "RUNT STILL BE O’ CLAN SEEMON. RUNT... SERVE CLAN DEVIL-WOMAN FER 'ONOR TILL RUNT PROVED IN BATTLE."
“There's more. As part of this, Mallory has agreed not to turn Renegade and to remain Loyal to me as Overlord. But your...friend...Jonn, has asked me to intercede on his upcoming challenge. Mallory has made it clear that if I do so, she will turn Renegade. And given what I know of Jonn, and after I spoke to him, I don't think I want to intercede for him. But I know that will cost me in other ways.”
"BUT... RUNT ASK JONN TO BE LOYAL TO CLAN SEEMON. JONN IS ... WAS.. IS FRIEND OF RUNT."
“I want you to stay away from him. Jonn is loyal to Jonn's best interests. Not yours, not mine. He gave me half truths about what happened, at best.”
"JONN AND RUNT... WE 'UNT TOGET'ER" Runt turned to Koy, a questioning look on his face.
“Not anymore. You keep away from him.”
"'E... 'E RUNTS VENN."
“Fer now, Runt. Ye must focus on yer challenge.” Koy didn’t know if she fully agreed with Matt’s declaration but there was no way to ask him right now. “We can talk ‘bout it ‘gain when ye’ve become a Warlord.”
With a rumbling sigh Runt nodded. He would focus on finding out the Devil Woman’s secrets and he would not attack her. But if he saw Jonn he would not fight him, and he would not run away.
“It requires great sacrifice ta find great strength.”
The fire and fear that was previously in Runt seemed to have burned out completely, but the giant looked more subdued than ever.
“On the plus side, you will no longer have to find a place to sleep every night. Mallory has agreed to provide shelter for you.”
And the panicked look settled back into his eyes and he shook his head violently. "NO. I NOT SLEEP IN DEVIL WOMANS 'OME. NOT IN DE PARK. RUNT... RUNT CANNOT DO DIS. MATT SEEMON. RUNT WILL SERVE DE DEVIL WOMAN FER 'ONOR OF CLAN SEEMON. RUNT EVEN STOP 'UNTS WID JONN. BUT DO NOT ASK DIS OF RUNT. IF RUNT BE NOT SLAVE RUNT NOT SLEEP DER."
As the words rumbled out like an avalanche there was a brief pause before he added a most unusual term on his lips. "PLEASE."
“Fine.” More for Runt’s benefit Koy played up giving both of them a stern look. “But ye must let us then find somewhere fer ye ta sleep. We cannot risk ye bein’ harmed. Do not push me on this.”
“The hun-jarl has spoken. I agree with her.”
He frowned and then looked between them. "RUNT... ALWAYS SLEEP OUTSIDE. RUNT TOLD DAT RESTING PLACE BE WHERE RUNT IS TIRED."
“Runt needs to be tired in safer locations. Like here.”
“Ye can still sleep outside. But we will make at least one place where Clan Simon can know our Seeker of Strength is safe.”
His eyes looked at her quizzically. "RUNT BE... SEEKER O' STRENG'?”
She nodded once. “Aye, have ye not been listenin’? We are puttin’ great faith in our Seeker.”
“RUNT SLEEP 'ERE. IN OOTBACK DEN."
“Good. It is settled then.”
With a resigned understanding Runt took the great orange shield that was sitting beside him and pushed it towards Matt. "MATT SEEMON. RUNT STILL BE SQUIRE IN 'EART. RUNT STILL O' CLAN SEEMON."
“Yes. Still of Clan Simon.”
Runt tilted his head a bit, realizing the way Matt said the Clan name was… different. "SIGH-MEN?"
“Sih. Ih. Sihmon. Simon.”
"SIH-MON"
“Better”.
Then he grinned. "RUNT OF CLAN SIH-MON. RUNT... SLEEP 'ERE" He gestured to a place underneath the large frond. "DANKS MATT SIH-MON. AND HUN-JARL."
“Oh yes, thank you, hun-jarl.” FireStar echoed so only Koy could hear. Koy long ago mastered the art of covering up her reactions to the opals occupying her mind. She managed to wince as she picked FireStar up and put them back in her pocket. The stone was good at making her skin feel seared with no scar left behind. It was unnerving. “Ye’re welcome, Runt. Bring glory ta our clan.” She was standing, ready to leave and put the stone out of her sight for a little while at home.
Without care for the significance of what had just happened tonight his stomach rumbled very, very loudly. He grinned a bit more. "RUNT 'UNT FIRST. FER FOOD."
“Tha’s the way, Seeker.”
He stood up and, noticed again that his mace and sack were still not with him. He slapped Matt on the back and bowed to Koy before lumbering towards the doors.
“Be safe, Runt.” After Runt went through the double doors, Matt lay his head down on the table, forehead first, and sighed. “I've gotta go across the street and release him as Squire. Then we can go home” his voice was muffled as he talked into the table.
“Aye, tha’s bout right. Will it be as hard when Thia is a full teenager, ye think? Was the bannin’ ‘em from seein’ his friend a bit much?”
“That guy's no friend.” His wife was moving to pull his arm and get him to stand. “If it costs me the Overlord because he takes it from me, so be it.”
“Still, mebbe tha’s a lesson better learned than forced.”
“Maybe. But not in this case.”
“We’ll see iffn it’s heeded. Let’s go ‘cross the street. This rock is the real devil.”
“Is it?”
“They’re showin’ me more than I want ta see.”
((Adapted from Live-Play with Matt Simon and Koyliak, with thanks!))
Runt lumbered into the outback from the underground tunnels, without mace or sack - a clear look of frustration on his face. Despite the raised purple welts from his healing blisters he headed straight for a punching bag. "GGRRROOOAAARRGGHH"
The giants roar reached Matt’s office and he didn't need the cameras to tell him who it was, though he looked anyway. The cameras displayed Runt’s wide fist pummeling a punching bag. Maybe it was a trick of the camera but Runt looked taller - he was growing like the stubborn weeds in Koy’s garden. The leather bag swung dangerously. Matt watched as Runts’ hands grabbed the bag and he pushed it in a large arc, punching with brutality as it passed by him. Sighing, he stood up and left the office, heading for the practice area. “Runt!” he called. The hulking mass before him froze, but refused to face him. “Runt!” he called again.
Slowly, the giant turned around, ice blue eyes locking on Matt. His breath was labored as if he had been in a great battle. "MATT." He paused again, taking two deep breaths. "SEEMON."
“Where've you been? We need to discuss things. Are you all right?” Questions came out rapid-fire, perhaps not in the order of importance.
Runts fists clenched, his eyes darted down and around while he growled something under his breath before looking back up at Matt. "RUNT NOT SAFE." He could still feel chants, the spirits, the … whatever it was raging in his blood. "RUNT ALMOST 'URT JONN. RUNT 'EAR DE CHANT. DEVILS ARTS." The words came out rapidly like boulders smashing down a ravine.
“Wait, what? You attacked Jonn, now?”
It was at this moment that Koy entered the Outback, having planned to meet up with her husband after a late meeting so they could relieve the babysitter together. The sleeves of her multi-colored stripe silk collared shirt were rolled up, the fabric tucked into her slim-fitted white slacks. Despite carrying FireStar with her she still did not match to the Opal’s color, opting for orange stilettos instead. As the doors opened Runt quickly spun around a snarl on his lips until he saw it was the hun-jarl. Sweat began form on his face, whether from the punching bags or something else it was hard to tell.
“Easy, Runt, easy.” She wasn’t sure what she had walked into but she could read the giant’s body language loud and clear.
He shuffled back a bit, eyes darting between Koy and Matt, an almost fearful look in those icy eyes. Not of them, but of himself and what was coursing through his veins. "RUNT... ATTACK JONN. ALMOST 'URT JONN. BUT JONN RUNTS FRIEND. RUNT NOT WANT TO 'URT MATT OR KOY-LUCK. BUT... RUNT.. NOT SAFE."
“First of all, I don't think Jonn is your friend.”
A crestfallen look crossed Runts face as he thought about how close he had come to hurting his friend. "NO. NOT...NOW"
“Second....Koy and I can take care of ourselves, but I don't think you want to hurt us. “ That being said, Matt still didn't sit. Like Koy, he kept himself at the ready, without trying to look threatening.
The Opal heated up, delighted and flooding Koy’s mind with their dark imaginings of what Runt could do. Knowing how sensitive Runt could be to her reactions Koy paused for almost too long before she spoke. “Ye don’t need ta worry ‘bout hurtin’ us. ‘Side from us knowin’ ye wouldn’t want ta, ye know we are fighters too, aye?”
Runt felt the urge to attack flow through him, causing his jaw to tense and his eyes to dart towards the large double doors then back at Koy and Matt. He took a deep breath, trying to settle the rage within him. In the ways of the humans he nodded but his muscles were still taught, read to fire at a moments notice.
Matt caught Runts eyes, in the same authoritative but kind way he would use with his rookies. “Sit down, Runt. We're not going to hurt you. And you're not going to hurt us. But I have some things to tell you.” His used his gentlest 'Colonel addressing rookie pilots' voice, hoping Runt would respond well to it.
Koy, gauging that Runt could bolt at any minute, sat down to set the right example. Following his hun-jarl’s lead Runt slowly, very very slowly, removed the orange shield on his back and sat cross-legged on the ground. "IS ... IS RUNT BEING BANISHED." "IT WOULD BE... FAIR." He was looking at his hun-jarl now. "RUNT BETRAY CLAN. DANGER TO CLAN. CLAN MUST BE SAFE."
Slightly surprised Matt quickly reassured Runt. “Banishing? No. Nobody's being banished. But I had to make some deals, and that involves some changes. Your attack on the Battlefield Park Manor was...ill advised. Hunting the spectres was one thing, but when you and Jonn chose to go after the Manor itself, that crossed a line. I've done my best to make that right.” Runt bowed his head shamefully, unable to look at Matt or Koy any longer. The chants of the isejotunen had faded to the dull burbling of a stream and it felt a wave of exhaustion come over him.
“Ye’re not bein’ banished,” Koy repeated. “We are givin’ ye a test.” She tried to catch Matt’s eye quickly.
“Ta make wha ye’ve done right and restore honor ta our clan. Isn’t that right, Matt?”
Matt gestured to Koy. “Exactly. Understand that there are consequences for your actions. But Koy and I are trying to help you...trying to protect you. And yes, challenging you as an opportunity for redemption. In fact, I think you might even look forward to that challenge.”
Koy wasn’t even fully sure of all the details but she was winging this hun-jarl role. Runt needed leadership and guidance, so she and Matt were going to provide it.
“Everyone makes mistakes, even Koy and I at times. And when we do, we have to make restitution...we have to make it right.”
Even though Runt didn’t fully understand what they were saying, he felt reassured by their voices. They were not banishing him, as had been the case in the past. There was a small, imperceptible nod from the giant of a man that was close to submissiveness. His voice was slightly hoarse and raw "RUNT NOT WANT TO LEAVE CLAN SEEMON. RUNT MAKE RIGHT AND BRING 'ONOR".
“Good, that's good. And I think we have a way to help you do that, a way that I've discussed with Mallory and she's agreed to.”
The once calm gurgling stream in his blood started to roil like the rapids of a winding river. His head snapped up at the mention of Mallory, a snarl escaping his lips. "DEVIL WOMAN. SHE CURSE RUNT."
“No, she didn't. If she had, you'd know it. And you probably wouldn't be here right now. And remember, she helped staunch your wounds after you attacked the Manor.”
"SHE MAKE RUNT ATTACK JONN. SHE MAKE RUNT... NOT SAFE. TRIXIE DEVIL WOMAN. LIKE TRIXIE FAE." He growled, his entire body tensing. "SHE 'EAL RUNT BODY BUT WOUND RUNT MIND."
Koy shifted FireStar from her pocket to the table. Her movement was subtle as she folded her hands back in her lap, masking how hot the stone burned. They were singing bloodlust songs to her. They yearned for Runt’s anger over Mallory.
Matt knew this next bit of information wasn't going to go over well. “We're not asking you to adore magic, or devil-arts...and let me be clear that not all magic is devil-arts. So you do need to get that straight.”
Sharing some of Runts mistrust Koy refrained from defending magic. It was a complicated topic for the elf. “Tha’s why we call this a test. Iffn if were easy it would not be worthy. Do ye know wha they say ‘bout enemies where I am from?”
As the conversation turned to magic and devil-arts panic started to spread up Runts chest like a hot itch. His eyes darted between them like a cornered animal.
Koy waited, looking evenly at Runt to make sure he wasn’t about to bolt. “Good. As I was sayin’. Where I’m from it is taught tha ye can’t defeat an enemy ye don’t know. It is only when ye can love an enemy and imagine wha they feel tha ye take their power over ye ‘way.”
Feelin the hot itchy climb from his stomach and up his throat Runt clenched his fists, jaw tensing as a growl came out. "BUT. NO. DEVIL WOMAN.. SHE.. DEY. DE CHANTS. DE CHANTS ARE STRONG. DE WAR CHANTS OF ISEJOTUNEN. 'OW SHE MAKE DEM SO STRONG? I NO LOVE DEVIL WOM-” He snapped his jaw shut as Koy's raised her hand at his outburst and he tried, desperately, to focus on Matt’s next words.
“We're not asking you to love her. But you're going to need to learn to respect her. And not attack her. Or be coerced into attacking her. Because if someone came to our house and attacked it, you wouldn't like that, would you?”
All of Matt and Koy-lucks talking was starting to overwhelm him. His eyes narrowed, eyes tight in concentration as he tried very hard to figure out the most important parts. "RUNT NOT ATTACK DEVIL WOMAN. DIS I PROMISE."
“This is yer test. She wounded yer mind. Ye can’t take her power ‘way by force. Ye can only take it by bein’ honorable and workin’ hard. Ye must find somethin’ ye can learn from her. Only then will ye come out stronger. She can’t have power over ye iffn ye know all there is ta know ‘bout her.”
“And you're going to have plenty of opportunity to learn.”
"WHAT... WHAT ‘UN-JARL SAYING?"
To be fair, Koy didn’t have time to think through any implications of what she was asking. All she could do was struggle through FireStar’s vengeful cloud and give Runt something to focus on. “Ye are not banished. Ye must fulfill a quest fer us. Learn wha ye can from the Devil Woman. Find somethin’ she does tha will make our clan even better. All creatures and folk have somethin’ ta offer. Ye must find it and not bring harm ta her as ye go.”
Runt looked helplessly at Koy, complete confusion on his face. "'OW? RUNT.. NOT KNOW WAY OF .. OF DEVILS ARTS. OF READEN'S AND LEARNEN'S."
“Look beyond her magic. There is no one I know brave ‘nough as Runt ta be so close ta the Devil woman and push on in order to learn. Ye will know it when ye see it. It will take time.”
Matt chimed back in “You don't have to learn devil-arts. But you need to learn how to deal with them, and to give them the respect they are due. So the next time you do have to fight them, you are better equipped.”
Runt turned to look at Matt, then back at Koy, then back at Matt. Koy nodded in agreement with Matt as he proceeded to outline the agreement.
“So. Toward that end, here's the deal… I'm going to be releasing you as the Overlord's Squire. Chances are I'm not going to have the title much longer anyhow. And Mallory will accept you as the Squire of Battlefield Park. You will work with her and learn about her, even if she loses the Barony and you're not technically a squire any longer. But you are part of this clan, not hers. We are not abandoning you and we are not discarding you. The hun-jarl and I expect you to work hard and do your best and to tell us what you learn. And...this is the part I think you'll perhaps enjoy: Your service to her is over when you earn the rank of Warlord.”
Puzzlement crossed over Runts face as he tried to process the information. In something that one could only equate to a whisper Runt responded with something close to pleading. "Runt Not Want To Be Slave To Van Who Use Devils Arts. Not Again."
“You will not be a slave. To her or anyone else. You will be a student. To her and still to me.”
His hands finally relaxed as he made eye contact with Matt. "RUNT STILL BE O’ CLAN SEEMON. RUNT... SERVE CLAN DEVIL-WOMAN FER 'ONOR TILL RUNT PROVED IN BATTLE."
“There's more. As part of this, Mallory has agreed not to turn Renegade and to remain Loyal to me as Overlord. But your...friend...Jonn, has asked me to intercede on his upcoming challenge. Mallory has made it clear that if I do so, she will turn Renegade. And given what I know of Jonn, and after I spoke to him, I don't think I want to intercede for him. But I know that will cost me in other ways.”
"BUT... RUNT ASK JONN TO BE LOYAL TO CLAN SEEMON. JONN IS ... WAS.. IS FRIEND OF RUNT."
“I want you to stay away from him. Jonn is loyal to Jonn's best interests. Not yours, not mine. He gave me half truths about what happened, at best.”
"JONN AND RUNT... WE 'UNT TOGET'ER" Runt turned to Koy, a questioning look on his face.
“Not anymore. You keep away from him.”
"'E... 'E RUNTS VENN."
“Fer now, Runt. Ye must focus on yer challenge.” Koy didn’t know if she fully agreed with Matt’s declaration but there was no way to ask him right now. “We can talk ‘bout it ‘gain when ye’ve become a Warlord.”
With a rumbling sigh Runt nodded. He would focus on finding out the Devil Woman’s secrets and he would not attack her. But if he saw Jonn he would not fight him, and he would not run away.
“It requires great sacrifice ta find great strength.”
The fire and fear that was previously in Runt seemed to have burned out completely, but the giant looked more subdued than ever.
“On the plus side, you will no longer have to find a place to sleep every night. Mallory has agreed to provide shelter for you.”
And the panicked look settled back into his eyes and he shook his head violently. "NO. I NOT SLEEP IN DEVIL WOMANS 'OME. NOT IN DE PARK. RUNT... RUNT CANNOT DO DIS. MATT SEEMON. RUNT WILL SERVE DE DEVIL WOMAN FER 'ONOR OF CLAN SEEMON. RUNT EVEN STOP 'UNTS WID JONN. BUT DO NOT ASK DIS OF RUNT. IF RUNT BE NOT SLAVE RUNT NOT SLEEP DER."
As the words rumbled out like an avalanche there was a brief pause before he added a most unusual term on his lips. "PLEASE."
“Fine.” More for Runt’s benefit Koy played up giving both of them a stern look. “But ye must let us then find somewhere fer ye ta sleep. We cannot risk ye bein’ harmed. Do not push me on this.”
“The hun-jarl has spoken. I agree with her.”
He frowned and then looked between them. "RUNT... ALWAYS SLEEP OUTSIDE. RUNT TOLD DAT RESTING PLACE BE WHERE RUNT IS TIRED."
“Runt needs to be tired in safer locations. Like here.”
“Ye can still sleep outside. But we will make at least one place where Clan Simon can know our Seeker of Strength is safe.”
His eyes looked at her quizzically. "RUNT BE... SEEKER O' STRENG'?”
She nodded once. “Aye, have ye not been listenin’? We are puttin’ great faith in our Seeker.”
“RUNT SLEEP 'ERE. IN OOTBACK DEN."
“Good. It is settled then.”
With a resigned understanding Runt took the great orange shield that was sitting beside him and pushed it towards Matt. "MATT SEEMON. RUNT STILL BE SQUIRE IN 'EART. RUNT STILL O' CLAN SEEMON."
“Yes. Still of Clan Simon.”
Runt tilted his head a bit, realizing the way Matt said the Clan name was… different. "SIGH-MEN?"
“Sih. Ih. Sihmon. Simon.”
"SIH-MON"
“Better”.
Then he grinned. "RUNT OF CLAN SIH-MON. RUNT... SLEEP 'ERE" He gestured to a place underneath the large frond. "DANKS MATT SIH-MON. AND HUN-JARL."
“Oh yes, thank you, hun-jarl.” FireStar echoed so only Koy could hear. Koy long ago mastered the art of covering up her reactions to the opals occupying her mind. She managed to wince as she picked FireStar up and put them back in her pocket. The stone was good at making her skin feel seared with no scar left behind. It was unnerving. “Ye’re welcome, Runt. Bring glory ta our clan.” She was standing, ready to leave and put the stone out of her sight for a little while at home.
Without care for the significance of what had just happened tonight his stomach rumbled very, very loudly. He grinned a bit more. "RUNT 'UNT FIRST. FER FOOD."
“Tha’s the way, Seeker.”
He stood up and, noticed again that his mace and sack were still not with him. He slapped Matt on the back and bowed to Koy before lumbering towards the doors.
“Be safe, Runt.” After Runt went through the double doors, Matt lay his head down on the table, forehead first, and sighed. “I've gotta go across the street and release him as Squire. Then we can go home” his voice was muffled as he talked into the table.
“Aye, tha’s bout right. Will it be as hard when Thia is a full teenager, ye think? Was the bannin’ ‘em from seein’ his friend a bit much?”
“That guy's no friend.” His wife was moving to pull his arm and get him to stand. “If it costs me the Overlord because he takes it from me, so be it.”
“Still, mebbe tha’s a lesson better learned than forced.”
“Maybe. But not in this case.”
“We’ll see iffn it’s heeded. Let’s go ‘cross the street. This rock is the real devil.”
“Is it?”
“They’re showin’ me more than I want ta see.”
((Adapted from Live-Play with Matt Simon and Koyliak, with thanks!))
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