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version nine: preview
IP: 82.19.140.112
Posted on July 29, 2012 at 00:34:27 AM by Merlin

Version IX: Preview I 892 A.D., North Coast of Denmark. “What do you want, Zed?” Rhaegar growled, hovering in the doorway, illuminated by the orange glow of the fire that crackled behind him, “this conversation is going to be extremely tiresome, isn’t it?” The door swung shut at the Dane’s back with a dull thud, causing the flames of the candles within the room to quiver and dance. He carried with him the sharp scent of wood smoke, combined with the tang of alcohol and the sickly metallic stench of blood. The deity’s face was largely obscured by the front of his helmet, a metal, mask-like guard revealing little but the rich purple of his iris, whilst the nose guard disguised the centre of his face almost completely. “Whatever it is,” Gar continued, his voice gruff and unfriendly as he collected his drinking horn from the mantle of the hearth, “I will have nothing to do with it.” --- He slipped into consciousness amongst the furs and raised his hand towards his head, pushing his blonde hair back out of his face. The Dane released a small groan as he moved up the bed, propping himself up against the bolster which ran behind his head. Gar felt the heat of the woman’s hand as she laid it upon the bare skin of his chest, and his muscles tensed slightly in their surprise. “Morning,” the girl purred craning her neck upwards in order to place a gentle kiss upon the line of his jaw. The deity made no reply. Closing his hand around her wrist in a strong grip, Rhaegar pushed her fingers away and threw back the top layer of covers, swinging his legs out into the cold. “Oh, fine,” the woman said, the corners of her lips rising in a teasing smile, “it’s one of those mornings, is it?” Gar stood as he began to lace the fastenings on his breeches, “I have other concerns today,” he informed her, coolly as he bent down to pick his shirt up from the floor. Flopping back down on the bed energetically, the girl released a dramatic sigh, “yes,” she muttered to herself, “it’s definitely one of those mornings.” --- “I confess,” Rhaegar pressed on giving a lazy flick of his wrist so that a chair appeared on the other side of the table. It was notably more grand, and more luxurious that than the rather plain affair in which Zed was sitting, “I had hoped you had forgotten where to find me.” He filled his drinking horn from the jug on the table and raised it towards his rather sensual mouth. “It appears I have grown foolish since my last council meeting. I should have known better.” Shaking his head as he removed his helm, his long blonde hair falling about his pointed face, Rhaegar gave a dry humourless chuckle, “whatever it is,” he insisted, “I’m not interested. Civilisation is collapsing, the world is falling apart, the council is being murdered, whatever it is, you can deal with it without me...” The Dane paused, raising the drinking horn in a mock-toast as he smiled bitterly, “especially that last one.” Gar’s fingers twitched against the smooth surface of the object in his hands, his smallest finger catching upon one of the gems set into the bone. “You can find the door.” --- The storm clouds gathered in the sky, dark and oppressive as they leered down on the settlement below. The inhabitants stood silently in the centre of the village, regarding each other with tense looks, each face as strained as the next. They were coming. The stories said that whenever The Thorhrafn hit the coastline they always brought a storm with them, rain to wash away the blood they left behind, and sails had been spotted on the horizon hours ago. They were almost upon them. The village had only two warriors to speak of, but they were both well over fifty, retired, the rest were farmers, fishermen or craftsmen. They did not have the tools to defend themselves from raiders, and they knew it. On the deck of one his ship, Rhaegar stood proudly at the prow, his feet planted firmly apart and his eyes fixed upon the approaching land. He held his helmet underneath his right arm, a wolf-fur cloak buckled in place over his chain mail shirt, his system flooded with a sense of anticipation. His axe hand itched. As if the very thought had summoned it, the deity’s weapon melted out of the air, hardening into a solid shape within the strong grip of his fingers. It was almost time. His fellows bellowed behind him, beating their blades against their shields with increasing ferocity. He did not need to summon the thunder, the voices were enough. --- Zed did not move, and a tense silence lingered in the air. “Did you get our messages?” Zed enquired in a mild-mannered tone. “Which ones?” Rhaegar replied taking another swig of ale from the horn, “there have been so many.” “Any of them,” Zed pressed , his voice acquiring a subtly firmer tone. “They get here, if that is what you are asking. If you are wondering if I read them, the answer is, not always, and if you mean do I remember what they say, the answer is definitely no. I do not care what you all do around your prissy little council table, Zed. I think I made that quite clear.” Zed shook his head and Rhaegar felt a surge of irritation that he struggled to contain. If it had been any of the men, or indeed women, in his borrowed world, then he probably would have lashed out in that instant. His arm gave an involuntary spasm as it moved to punch, before it was restrained, a fraction of a second later, and whilst the Dane made no further movement, his fists remained clenched. “We have a responsibility,” Zed began before Rhaegar cut him off, sending the ale jug flying across the table spilling its contents out across the wooden surface before clattering to the floor, “sorþinn sem,” Gar spat at the other original. “Get out." --- The water was cold, and the salt from the sea water founds its way onto his mouth and made his eyes sting. Gar pushed the waves back with magic once his feet were firmly planted in the sand, creating for himself a little dry oasis through which he could walk, untroubled. He did not bother to extend the same courtesy to his fellows. Each man made his own way, that was the unspoken code, it always had been. When his boots touched the sand, Rhaegar paused, waiting for the chief to catch up with him. The large black-bearded man placed his hand upon the God’s shoulder and then nodded as the remaining raiders lined up behind them. In a blink of an eye every man who did not require two hands to wield his weapon, or hold a shield, clutched in their free hand a burning torch. Satisfied, the chief smiled, and urged the raiding party on up the path that would lead them to the village, Rhaegar striding along on his right hand side. A bolt of lightning spit the sky in half as they crested the hill, and as Rhaegar and the chief came to a halt, the men who had walked at their backs surged forwards, a great river of warriors flooding past their two rock-like leaders to visit devastation upon the village beyond. “You always did have a flair for the dramatic,” the chief said with a wry smile, “even when I was a boy.” Gar smiled back, cruelty weaved into the curve of his lips, “simple men are superstitious creatures,” he replied, leaning his weight upon his great axe, “my dramatics either make them stupid, or makes them think. Either way, I give your men better sport.” The chief pulled his sword from the scabbard at his hip slowly, “and for you?” he asked, inspecting the smoothness of the blade. “Oh,” Gar said, standing tall and pulling the handle of his axe out of the mud as if it weighed no more than a feather, “for me especially.” --- “Are you swearing at me because I said the wrong thing, or because you know that the only way I leave here, is if you agree to come with me?” Zed asked blandly, completely unperturbed by Rhaegar’s outburst. The blonde-haired God gave a furious growl as he threw himself back into his chair, folding his arms across his chest and glowering lividly at his companion. “I refuse,” he hissed from between clenched teeth, “I am staying here and minding my own sorþinn business, and you are going to go back to the council and tell them that no matter how much time passes, my business and their business will not overlap, ever again.” “Now you are the one who is being tiresome,” Zed said, with a deep sigh, “Tsi has commanded it. You have no choice. He has been good to you, by rights, you should have had a visit from Mallos, not from me.” “He has not been good to me,” Gar replied grimly, “he simply realised that Ormstunga would be no good to him if I sent him back in a very small box.” “Quite,” Zed smiled, his eyes gaining an amused twinkle, though there was a tone to his voice that made Gar grind his teeth, feeling patronised. “I think you will find,” Zed pressed on, taking advantage of the silence, “that if I return to the council without you, we may feel it necessary to take a new-found interest in your activities here.” “Are you threatening me?” Gar demanded, seething, “Do I need to?” Zed asked in reply. --- The fire crackled and spat, consuming the straw thatch of the roof as Rhaegar moved towards the front door. He raised his hand, resting his palm against the surface of the wood. The timbre began to warp as magic was channelled into it, jamming it closed. The inhabitants of the house began to bang desperately on the other side. The God smiled grimly, switching his axe back to his preferred hand, before turning and walking casually away. “My wife!” a voice bellowed. A man raced past the deity, knocking against the Dane’s chain-mailed shoulder as he threw himself against the twisted door. Gar ignored him, his attention focusing in upon a large dark-haired man holding a spear, “maggot,” the man hissed, stepping forwards boldly. Rhaegar grinned, his shoulders rising and falling in a casual shrug. The dark-haired man charged, and Gar deftly sidestepped his spear thrust, bringing his own axe up in an arch as he went and hooking the weapon free of his opponent’s hands with the curve of the blade. The spear fell into the mud at the God’s feet with a dull thud of defeat. Gar looked down at the spear, and then up at the man again with another small, mocking smile as a loud high-pitched screaming sliced through the air around them, followed, shortly afterwards, by a low-pitched moaning like a wounded bear. The man drew his dagger as Gar watched him lazily, his own long fingers adjusting their grip upon his axe-handle. The man made to stab him, but Gar grabbed hold of his arm at the wrist, giving it an aggressive twist he forced his attacker forwards,stretching his neck out. Sharpened by magic, the axe curved through the air, separating head from body in a single fluid motion, showering blood in all directions. Rhaegar felt the warmth of it dripping down his cheek as he kicked the headless corpse over with his right foot, the bone buttons of the man’s jerkin pointing up towards the silver face of the moon. Entranced, the God watched as the grass was steadily coated in a thick layer of blood, saw it soaked into the clothes, life draining away amongst the mud and the worms... “Gar..?” a familiar voice drew Rhaegar from his trance, and he shook his head as he turned to face the thick-set man who had approached him, a member of his own raiding party. “There’s a man...a strange man asking to see you.” Gar closed his eyes in a silent groan, “I know,” he replied grimly, “I know.”

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