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Post by Lord Ainvar Hrothgarsson on Jul 4, 2014 2:23:09 GMT
The Grove was quiet, moonlight flooded the open ceiling, and spilled onto the earth. It was a bit cooler, the air drier than usual for this time of year. Sweet smells of vegetation and sounds of curious nocturnal creatures were everywhere. From between two oaks, a cloaked figure emerged into the light of a fire that one of the druids had been instructed to build. Dressed in a crimson tunic trimmed in gold, his father's torc rested around his neck, black rus pants, boots, a thick, black leather bracer, studded, snuggly situated on his right forearm.
No weapons, this place was holy, the ways of war forbidden. Ainvar stood in front of the blaze, removing his cloak and tunic, tossing them behind him, and withdrew a small bronze blade, a ceremonial dagger. The man extended his hands over the fire, and slowly slid the blade across his left palm, allowing blood to dribble into the flames, licking hungrily at his flesh. Sheathing the little dagger, Ainvar knelt, inhaling deep the air and smells the Gods blessed him with, he closed his eyes, drifting into the Otherworld as he waited for someone.
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Post by Lady Freya Mercades on Jul 4, 2014 3:03:54 GMT
A real bath and a full belly was not something that came often enough, Freya thought to herself as she wandered into the Grove.
After so long of traveling, this luxery had put her in a rare state of mind. Her robes had been replaced with a royal blue sari wrapped tightly to her, trimmed in gold with a sprawling script of ancient desert language unfamiliar to most people of the world.The usual layer of dirt and sand specks normally found on her face had vanished, and what was left was purely sun-kissed skin on high cheekbones, full lips, and well-rested bright eyes peering over her new surroundings. With her face wrappings completely gone, her ears point skyward, the tips of them darker than the rest of her coming down to meet her stark white hair, cropped close to her head,reflecting the light of the moon.
A wave of calm washed over her as she watched her feet, bare and tawny, stepping forward through the moonlit dirt. It almost felt like being home again. Always walking. Always at night. Always waiting.
Her gaze switches from her path to the flickering on fire light in the near distance. She steps carefully closer knowing full well not to startle a man tending a fire.
Upon approach, delicate steps lead her to standing feet away from Ainvar kneeling. She watched him briefly.
Humans, she thought, what beautifully foreign creatures.
Drinking in the energy he is emitting so deep in thought. Watching the firelight flicker to illuminate the silver line of scar running the length of his face.
How badly she didn't want to disturb him.
How badly she wanted to wait and just sit by the fire and enjoy the comfort of the moon.
But there were more pressing matters.
She stepped back and gave a gentle clearing of her throat to catch his attention.
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Post by Lord Ainvar Hrothgarsson on Jul 4, 2014 3:30:19 GMT
Ainvar exhaled deep, his breath shown mist, as if it were the depths of Winter. His eyes opened, slowly, and peered into the fire, "whispers..whispers in the night. They don't know what to make of you, m'lady. It is not often that an elf is permitted in the Grove. The spirits whisper".
Adjusting himself to sit cross legged, Ainvar reached behind him
for his cloak, pulled it over his shoulders, and grabbed his water skin, popping the cork and drinking deeply, it's contents.
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Post by Lady Freya Mercades on Jul 4, 2014 4:04:02 GMT
Freya exhaled slowly; relief a tangible presence in the air escaping her lips.
The last thing needed was to be unarmed around a startled norseman.
The words from Ainvars' mouth surprised her. Though they were not the whispers of her gods, Freya had known the wisdom of the old gods from the tales told by her fathers scribes. Beautiful tales of men who tamed lighting and women whose swords wept blood into fires. Cold forged steel older than the stories told about them.
What grand premonitions and whispers would they have for someone they considered of tainted blood?
...Would they tell the same tale that the high preistess back in Myrth had told her...
The elven woman stepped forward towards the fire, kneeling gently, pressing her knees into the cool dirt. She stayed quite for a moment, closing her eyes and listening to the wind. Feeling the chill of the night air against the bareness of her shoulders. Lapping up the warmth of the fire against her face.
Her voice is stern and gentle as she speaks.
"And what have your spirits to say about me, na sha da? I have never heard a good story in my peoples regards with your gods.."
She looks to Ainvar, a curious intensity about her face.
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Post by Lord Ainvar Hrothgarsson on Jul 4, 2014 4:41:14 GMT
"They are curious of you, why you're here, where you're going". Ainvar glanced to the woman, and smirked, "They tell me to be careful of you". A slight grin escaped, before he gazed back into the fire. "Alas, you've come to lands far from your own, to sit by a fire with, what did you say.. yes, a mead stained, crusty bearded 'Norseman', as you call us". Ainvar lightly chuckled as he pulled out his wooden pipe, and pinched a wad of pipeweed from his pouch, stuffing it gently into it's chamber. He then picked a stick from the fire, igniting the contents of his pipe into a soft, orange ember, puffing softly as trails of smoke linger into the air. "You say you found that map en route to this place, which tells me that informing me of this plot was not your conviction. What brings you here?.."
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Post by Lady Freya Mercades on Jul 4, 2014 5:23:23 GMT
As he speaks, Freya bows her head to hide her simpering smile.
She would sooner drive a dagger through her own foot that admit openly that his spirits are more correct than he can imagine.
"You must forgive my abrasive manner at our first meet. My people do not often speak well with humans. But...we have a saying amongst our tribe...'Examine what is said, not the speaker'. Perhaps this rings very true in this case."
She looks towards Ainvar, a sincerity in her face.
"You may be a human, and a nord, but you shared of your cup with me, and shared of your keep and hospitality with my tribe. For this, I cannot hold you responsible for the actions of your cultures ancestors. I can only hope to repay you by sharing an alliance on the field of battle."
From one of the folds of her sari, she pulls out the map.
Her eyes dart towards the fire and an air of vehemence overcomes her.
"They are coming whether we rally together or not. But I will be damned to the blazing fires of Jahannam before I let my people be overrun again. We are the free folk. We bend to no man. Not again."
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Post by Lord Ainvar Hrothgarsson on Jul 4, 2014 6:00:33 GMT
An eyebrow jumped, "My ancestors? The Cumbria have had no dealings with desert folk, m'lady. We too are a free people. Our only foe, those who wish to enslave us, take our customs, and our land. We are a people of peace, a people who sing, who give proper sacrifice to the Gods". Ainvar draws deep on his pipe, looking down at the map, and exhaled a cloud of smoke. "Who exactly are they? You've caught a Drow scout, yet they are littered through out the fringes of these lands. It seems your black skinned cousins have made a home of the region. What comes from the west?"
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Post by Lady Freya Mercades on Jul 4, 2014 6:21:35 GMT
As Ainvar mutters theword "cousins", Freyas entire body stiffens. Not just her eyes, but her entire demeanor shoots daggers into Ainvar. She speaks in a low, pointed growl.
"THOSE...THINGS...ARE NO FAMILY OF MINE, MAMLUK."
She stands quickly and walks to where Ainvar sits in front of the fire. She stands but a foot in front of him, gazing down at the warrior with fury written on her face.
Her voice is lowered now, but has not lost its intensity.
"I bring you news of an invasion. I offer my people to stand at arms with your own to help defend YOUR city and all I ask in return is that you help us fight so that we, too, may stay free folk. Obviously I have either brought this news to the wrong place, or you are too stubborn and prideful to listen to words of peace. I imagine that it is both in this case. Perhaps it is always just easier to judge the speaker after all."
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Post by Lord Ainvar Hrothgarsson on Jul 4, 2014 6:34:12 GMT
Ainvar always thought it curious, the race of Man was said to be the prideful bunch.
He slowly stood, now looking down upon the woman, his voice stern, and deep. "This is a place of peace, elf. If you took offense in a word that meant none, I cannot help that. If I was not interested in your words, your company, or your peace, I would not have opened my hospitality, or given my time". The soft sound of distant thunder rolls in the distance, a gentle wind blew through the trees. "Though I enjoy the fire in your soul, control it, and sit. We still have matters at hand". He stood towering over her, in a non-threatening way, hoping the elven woman would reprise her seat by the fire.
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Post by Adoven Leoros Bloodwynd on Jul 4, 2014 6:55:17 GMT
"M'lady, I'd aquiest to our dear leader's wishes." came a voice from the dark, in a singsong but taciturn tone. "Besides the obvious banter, and... Pleasantries" he added humorously "We all stand on hallowed ground. I'd rather be of Ainvar's mind and be peaceful."
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Post by Lady Freya Mercades on Jul 4, 2014 6:58:53 GMT
Freya's stance is unwavering. She stares upwards at him.
As he speaks, she grabs the scroll from his hands while continuing to meet his gaze.
She slowly turns and returns to her place near the fire and mutters in a strange language.
The map tumbles out of her hands and unrolls on the dirt in front of her.
"You can expect the numbers of at least four armies to come crashing in as one giant wave. The ink of this is fresh and unwashed, so it has been made recently. They are moving in at the same time. But...The West. It is where the rogues come from--mercenaries. They have been contracted out by surrounding clans to aid in the invasion. A slew of warriors from every walk of life the Gods could create. "
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Post by Lord Ainvar Hrothgarsson on Jul 4, 2014 7:08:41 GMT
Ainvar retains his place next to her, picking up the scroll, "Do you have their motive? We've had no war here since the Got tribes invaded our surrounding villages. We have no known enemies here". He picked up a stick, and threw it into the fire, then began clearing out his pipe. "Apologies if I offended, I've dealt with my share of elven folk, but I must admit", Ainvar looked over at the elf, "I've not met one from the desert before, I tend to lose the fact, though you all have pointed ears, you seldom act alike. So, what exactly does the serpent require of the wolf?.."
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Post by Lady Freya Mercades on Jul 4, 2014 7:28:55 GMT
Her ears twitch at the sound of an unfamiliar voice in the dark. A speech inflection that Freya had heard many times before in her travels.
"...if he is your leader, he shall speak on his own behalf, shadow walker. And I don't abide being spied upon by quel'dorei...."
She turns her attention back to Ainvar, ears at attention listening for the rustling of footsteps. Her voice is lowered as to not catch too much attention from prying ears.
"The motives aren't clear. The information that Ive given to you was overheard by a group of my scouts on patrol during our travels seven suns ago."
She shifts to better see him.
"We are nomads. We have no great city anymore. No keep. No castle. We see it fit that our job be to keep the lands clear that we might have a straight path to roam. Right now, our path is strewn with hired killers, seafolk, and romans...and you are the ones caught in the middle with us. No hardships. No enemies directly. Do you understand what I am saying?"
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Post by Adoven Leoros Bloodwynd on Jul 4, 2014 7:36:05 GMT
"Indeed, though your sharp beauty would be the fall of many." replied the same voice with playful indifference towards her. "Though it is quite rare that I meet one who can place my heritage, let alone give me such a position as a lowly spy." He added, with an amused growl.
"I can confirm what the Lady says to be true Ainvar". He continued. "I heard rumors around the taverns in the Barony of Rhye while I was passing through, though I didn't think twice of it."
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Post by Lord Ainvar Hrothgarsson on Jul 4, 2014 7:42:26 GMT
Ainvar dismisses the voice, lost in thought.
Silence fell on the Grove, finally, he spoke softly, "how many men can you field?". Ainvar looked past the fire, to Adoven, giving a nod.
The Cimbrian gazed up into the stars, mumbling something in Gaulish. He then looked back at the map, studied it for a moment, then again locked eyes with the woman. "What was the Drow wearing, when your men found him?.."
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