Carlos
Arvid Erwynson
Rural Northwind

Arvid had no response to her horror, spilled across her face with her tears, only a flat, steady stare. He looked to the door once more before stepping towards the girl - an awkward, loping prowl - his sword scraping the wood. His demeanor was rigid, alien, like he could not formulate an emotional response. 

"Don't cry," He comforted, "I won't hurt you. Don't be silly. I just want to know where the gold is. I don't want anything with you." Yet, as those words cleared his lips, he knew they were a farce.

Arvid reckoned that the girl would fit nicely upon a horse's rump, so long as she was properly secured. Unlike that ill-fated sheep, she could be preserved indefinitely, fattened, and... Well, Arvid supposed, the rest need not be considered. He could rob the shepherdess of her girl or her livestock; Arvid could not carry both. He extended a hand.

"You can show me where it is, if that's easier."
Frankie
Amaryllis Sweetford
Rural Northwind

Rosalee cowered away from Arvid's outstretched hand, sniffling and sobbing softly as she shook her head. There wasn't any gold! They weren't rich! If Amary kept any, it wasn't anywhere she knew! She couldn't help the bad man. Yet the very fact that she couldn't, nor could she tell him as much, filled her with that much more dread and fear. He was going to hurt her! He was going to hurt her because she didn't know where the gold was!

That thought sent a fresh bolt of adrenaline through her and the child lunged for the door again, leaping to her little bare feet and desperately making a beeline for it. Yet once more she was thwarted, this time by Arvid simply grabbing her by the back of her nightshirt as one might grab the back of the neck of an errant kitten. 

Outside, Amary was still struggling to breathe, but pushed herself up off the earth in desperation to help Rosalee. She had never seen the child come out of the cabin, and there had been enough ruckus inside that she was almost certain that the child had been found. Slowly, she crawled through the rail fence and walked towards the cabin, still gasping for air and clutching her injured side.
Carlos
Arvid Erwynson
Rural Northwind

Arvid lifted the girl by her scruff, and the corner of his lip twitched irately. His sword slammed into the wood, and its polite, rhythmic taps became history. This was not a playful click, but a deliberate and terrifying stab to the floor. 

"Fucking bitch," He hissed in her face - and their proximity gave way to a heavy metallic odor, replacing an earthy musk, "Crying won't help you. *Nothing* Will help you. All of *This*," He shook her, apparently referring to her panicked state, "Isn't good enough." 

Wielding his sword in his left hand and a child in his right, Arvid heaved Rosalee over his shoulder. Her weight was unsurprisingly minimal, his strength unexpectedly robust. A firm grip fixed her to him; agitated, he started towards the door.
Carol
Arin Cragton
Northwind 

The sound of the horse making its way along the wooded path was the only thing breaking the silence between the pair. Arin nibbled on a piece of jerky, trying to keep his mind off of the events that had transpired that day. He had not spoken to Marsila since they left the camp, and he glanced up at the sky. 

*About four hours.* That's how long Arin assumed had passed since they had left the corpse-ridden camp. Arin took a deep breath, rubbing the mare's muscular neck before adjusting the straps holding the saddle in place. 

"Are you feeling ok?" His voice sounded strange, invading its way into the quiet forest. He had asked the question almost instinctively, having pondered that very thought for almost an hour. He had heard her screams as her body had morphed, but had kept silent throughout the entire ride. 

He listened to her response as he rode, watching as a deer crept its way through the dense brush. He smiled softly as a small fawn bounced up behind its mother. He watched the pair for a moment, before they disappeared from his view. 

Arin watched the path ahead for a moment, disappearing deep into the recesses of his mind. His childhood was a blur to him, but in this moment he could remember one memory.

*A young man, resembling Arin but his features were changed.. Not quite his own. Arin watched as the man smiled and waved at him. Arin smiled and waved back.*

A memory began to form as Arin sat, blood dripping off of his twitching fingers. He took slow breaths, barely awake as he struggled to maintain consciousness. He closed his eyes again, succumbing to the darkness. 

*"Arin!" A booming voice shook him awake. Arin was resting against the railing of the ship. He stood up slowly, wiping the sea spray off of his face. He frowned, and glanced up, the sun hiding the face of the man talking to him. 

"Come on! I was almost asleep." Arin said, shielding his eyes and grinning. 

"No time for sleep, brother. Maith's men have been prowling the edges of our territory. What good would you be if they killed you in your sleep, eh? The least you can do is die standing." The other man said, walking towards Arin and placing a hand on his shoulder as he walked past. 

"I'm joking, little brother. Don't be so serious." The other man said, as Arin frowned. 

"I'm as old as you are-" Arin started, before being interrupted.

"But I was born first, therefore I'm the older brother." The other man said, walking out of Arin's vision. The world around Arin blurred as things began happening quickly. Men began scurrying about, tightening sails, brushing rails, and doing other various tasks they were assigned.*

*"SHIPS! ATTACK!" Words began to interrupt everyone's calm. Arin dropped the brush he was holding, glancing around frantically. His eyes noticed five ships, all bearing the mark of Bradai Maíth. Arin's eyes widened as he turned and ran towards the small corner room he called home. He grabbed his sword and ran back outside. Men yelled, ordering each other around. The captain of the ship had already jumped ship, afraid to die. 

"Together men! We can hold but we must turn and run. No use dying here and now!" Arin jumped up to grab the wheel of the ship, spinning it to turn the ship away from the oncoming ships. 

"Why should any of us listen to you?" Another man spoke up, looking up at Arin. 

"Because I'm the only man here who has any sort of self-preservation... Obviously. Now get to the sails and open them fully. NOW!" Arin yelled, as his brother emerged from below deck. 

"Glad to see we have such a brave captain leading us" Herin said, looking at their former captain, swimming towards shore. "You heard the man! Get those sails up!" Herin yelled to the men, before turning to his brother. "I hope you know what you're doing, because if I die here, I'm haunting you for eternity."

"Of course I don't. But remember, our mother always told us our father's blood ran through our veins. Let's hope it gives us a bit of luck today." Arin said as the wind began to fill the sails, giving the ship a bit of speed as Arin held tightly to the wheel.*

*A single arrow pierced the biggest sail, and Arin swore loudly. They weren't fast enough. Arin knew they wouldn't be able to outrun Bradai's men, but he was hoping he would have been able to make it farther than they were. 

"Ready your weapons men! We ain't leaving here without a fight!" Arin said as the ship's began catching up. A rope with a large hook attached to it caught on to their ship, then another and another. Arin quickly scrambled to try to unhook them, but an arrow embedded itself into the floor between his feet. He glanced up, and the eyes of a demon met him.*

As Arin slowly came back to reality, he was looking at Marsila, and he sighed softly, the memory fading from his mind. He could no longer recall what it was, only that he was missing something he could never remember having. 

"I am sorry. What were you saying?"
Frankie
Amaryllis Sweetford
Rural Northwind

The breath was knocked out of Rosalee for a moment as Arvid tossed her over his shoulder, smacking her stomach against it, but it wasn't like she could have screamed even if she had had the air to do so. She gasped like a fish out of water for a few seconds, but all at once the air came rushing back into her lungs and she began to battle like she had never before. She didn't really know what he intended to do with her. All she knew was that he seemed to be taking her away from here, and she couldn't let that happen! If she left here...

She was driven by blind panic, kicking and beating on his back with her tiny fists, flailing and contorting her body in any way she could come up with to try to get him to let her go, even if it meant dropping her. She kicked, she clawed, she bit. It was like he had just grabbed a little wild animal. 

Amaryllis, outside, retrieved the axe from the cutting block outside and stood outside the door, waiting and listening. Her side still ached, but she sucked it up enough to grip the axe with both hands and heave it over her shoulder, prepared to drive it downwards in one fell swoop and blast it through the robber's skull the moment he stepped outside.
Carlos
Arvid Erwynson
Rural Northwind

Rosalee squirmed and writhed against him, yet Arvid remained slate-faced, dull to the child's thrashing. Her fists were walnut-sized, horrifically useless as they squarely struck his shoulder blade. Hit, hit, hit - it was as though Arvid could not sense her at all. Like she was a diminutive sack of potatoes to be hauled. When she threatened to upset her balance upon him, his hand would bite her scruff and reposition her. Her teeth sunk into his forearm. Arvid, unflinching, forced his arm further into her maw, eventually prying it open; unless the girl fancied suffocating in his grasps, she would release him. 

He passed through the threshold of the door. Rosalee was stationed on his shoulder - the one facing Amaryllis and her waiting axe. Arvid turned to see where the shepherdess had scurried off to.
Frankie
Amaryllis Sweetford
Rural Northwind

The child winced as he drove his arm further into her mouth, forcing it open enough that she could no longer bite down and making it hard to breathe. As he had intended, Rosalee stopped biting down and yanked her head to the side to get his arm out of her mouth. Yet that was not to say that all the fight went out of her, as she continued to smack at him and kick and claw.

Amaryllis' heart fell to her stomach as the two of them came out the front door, horror gripping her. He had Rosalee! He was going to take her! Yet she had no clear aim to strike him with the axe, since Rosalee was in the way! She pressed herself against the wall, hoping he would not notice her and would pass by enough that she could get a strike at him from behind.
Carlos
Arvid Erwynson
Rural Northwind

Arvid paused as he saw the pen to be empty, lacking its shepherdess. Her conviction had been so strong, she was bound to that house and its flock, even if it meant her own life. No, those things *Were* Her life - one such thing was squirming on his shoulder. To lose them would be to lose everything, to be a vagrant in the hungry winter. Bemusement gave way to suspicion; Arvid raised his sword. Rosalee thrashed. Arvid lifted his shoulder before dropping it. He turned his head to chastise the girl.

"Quit fucking -" His eyes met Amaryllis', and his pupils shrunk to pinholes, "*Ah.*" In a flash, he lifted his sword across his body, predicting a swing of the woman's axe.
Frankie
Amaryllis Sweetford
Rural Northwind

*Dammit.* She held the axe up and swung bodily at the sword, her abdomen screaming protests at this sudden, forceful movement after such a recent injury. If she could only use the axe to knock the blade from his hand, it would put them on a more even playing field. And, perhaps with a madwoman swinging at him with an axe, he would drop Rosalee and she could escape.

She aimed for the lower portion of the blade, just above the hilt that protected his hand, hoping the concentrated force would knock if loose. As the two connected, she drove forward, the adrenaline coursing through her veins providing the strength she needed to overcome her own pain to protect her home and, most importantly, Rosalee. 

Rosalee, meanwhile, took the opportunity to reach back with the hand closest to him and grapple at his face, doing her best to drive her little fingers into his eyeballs, or at least make it harder for him to see what he was doing!
Carlos
Arvid Erwynson
Rural Northwind

Arvid recognized the folly of contesting an axe's mighty swing with his slender sword's edge. When the axe struck, his knuckles were bleached with his grip's stubborn force; he allowed his arm to fall, leaving his blade low and his body unguarded. He surrendered his territory by just one step, reeling backwards. Still, Amaryllis was vulnerable. She had committed herself, her momentum, to the force of her strike. Now, at its resolution - an axe head stuck in hard-packed earth - Amaryllis was forced to grapple with its weight. Arvid was ready for another blow. He raised his foot to manage a glancing kick to her side. Its force was diverted as little fingers crawled into Arvid's sights. The intrusion was unexpected - it served to fuel a slowly boiling agitation. 

Grunting with frustration, Arvid threw his head to the side, away from those reaching paws. He blindly swung his sword in Amaryllis' direction, swooping where he though her abdomen to be. Meanwhile, he occupied himself with Rosalee. He raised his jaw. Then, his teeth clamped down on her dainty hand. Young bones bowed beneath a vice of a bite. With the girl's hand as his bridle, Arvid readied his sword and gazed down at the shepherdess.
Frankie
Amaryllis Sweetford 
Rural Northwind

She managed to avoid getting struck by the blade of Arvid's sword, but it was a close call. The blade had swung close enough that she could hear the wind whistle by! Yet, as close as it had been, it was not enough to deter her—not when Rosalee's very life might be on the line. With a great heave, she plucked the head of the axe from the earth just as she plucked it from the chopping block, then held it across her body to use as a modicum of defense, and also a battering ram. She rushed at him, arms slightly with one hand at the end of the axe handle and the other at the base of the head, aiming for his diaphragm, but also prepared to attempt to catch his blade in the thick wood of the handle. With any luck, it would stick!

Rosalee, meanwhile, howled in agony. Or, rather, her face and mouth contorted into a howl and breath rushed over her vocal chords, but no sound came. She writhed and screamed, pain radiating like fire through her little hand, and contorted herself so that she was now sideways on his shoulder, facing him, so that she could use her right hand to claw at his face and attempt to pry his jaws from her hand.
Carlos
Arvid Erwynson
Rural Northwind

Arvid, preoccupied with the wily child and her furious mother, could not evade the axe's ramming. It crashed into his flank - he turned enough to guard his ribcage - with a bruising force. Yet, he did not stumble in the throes of agony. His heels carved gouges into the dirt as he merely withstood the staggering strike. The agony one would expect of such a blow never came; unyielding, he stared at Amaryllis over the back of her orphan. He twisted his body to face the shepherd, unbothered by the iron grinding into his anatomy.

Two actions occurred in tandem. His right hand clamped down on Rosalee's face, fingers pressing pits into her skull, threatening to crush her cranium. Her nose was crumpled against his palm, her mouth forced against its heel. His left hand swung its blade haphazardly, slicing the arm Amaryllis had used to stabilize the axe's head. He cleaved once and withdrew, though his blade was thirsty yet - a twin blow followed his first cut, seeking to deepen it.
Frankie
Amaryllis Sweetford
Rural Northwind

Something about the way those cold eyes gazed at her over top of the writhing, clawing child sent a chill through Amaryllis. There was something so evil, and yet so unfeeling. The eyes of a man that was unphased by even the most powerful blows she could muster. She had little time to dwell on the feeling, however, before the blade sliced through the hem of her robe and nightgown, a thin line of blood staining the pale fabric of the gown almost immediately. 

She winced and recoiled, but not fast enough, as the sword swept forward once more and sliced deeper this time, separating flesh from bone. She screamed, stumbling backwards as her left hand released its grip on the axe to pull backwards and tuck itself away towards the safety of the rest of her body. Her right hand, however, still managed to keep its grip, some primal part of her keenly aware of the fact that letting go would be a death sentence. 

"Let her go!" She shrieked, swinging the axe up over her head with her good arm. It was more unwieldy and less effective with just the one arm, but she could still manage to swing the axe and put up a fight. And she would put up a fight until her dying breath, to save Rosalee!
Carlos
Arvid Erwynson
Rural Northwind

As soon as Amaryllis' arm shrunk away from his blade, a decision was placed before him. He could slay that common woman, leave her to be found by the next sorry passerby. Arvid could sift through the exciting and foreign landscape of her home. Arvid could escape then, could leave the shepherdess to her flock and its deceased. He could mark his presence in her mind, or split it in two. The notion of a continued control - the anguish of a child stolen, the fear of every passing shadow - excited him more. Where Amaryllis was electrified with adrenaline, a genuine fear of losing her life, Arvid was slipping through a routine. He glanced up. He knew her surviving arm would quiver as she lifted the axe, and it did. He knew she would swing it down on his head. He knew her heart was beating a frenzy behind her ribs, shaking those bones as if it meant to escape. He knew she acted in outright terror.

"Swing, then." Arvid commanded.

Lifting Rosalee by her face, Arvid presented the girl as a hunter would a hare. With the writhing bundle as his shield, he stepped forward. His sword swiped downward at her exposed leg, aimed like he meant to divorce her calf from her thigh. Just as Rosalee's thrashing became too much to bear, he retreated from the range of her axe. She was returned to his shoulder. Rosalee morphed into a shield before returning to a burden, mere deadweight upon Arvid.
Frankie
Amaryllis Sweetford
Rural Northwind

The child wriggled and squirmed like a worm that had painfully been skewered on a hook as he held her out to Amaryllis, who of course, could not take the bait without risking injury to Rosalee. It was an action that threw her off-guard, and so she was unprepared as Arvid fought dirty and took a swing at her legs. By the time she saw the flash of silver in her periphery, she had only a second to try to dodge, but it was largely too late. The blade bit deep into her flesh and she screamed, knees buckling and stars blurring her vision from the sheer pain. The only thing that saved her from fully having the calf divorced from her thigh was the flowiness of her clothes, which kept Arvid from fully being able to gauge where to aim. 

Hot tears blurred her vision as she looked up at the monster before her, who clutched Rosalee on his shoulder once more, despite Amaryllis' best efforts to free the child. The sight of Rosalee still wriggling and writhing, despite being quite battered herself, broke Amaryllis' heart, yet at the same time, it gave her the strength to stand once more. She wobbled dangerously, blood pooling at her feet, and yet she stood.

"Let her go," She said again. "Take anything else, but let her go."
Carlos
Arvid Erwynson
Rural Northwind

Arvid was well out of reach of her axe, and its bleary-eyed, wobbling wielder was in no condition to pursue him. Beneath the fickle moonlight, Amaryllis' blood seemed like ink; it seemed like make-believe, that their confrontation was a charade. Arvid took another step backwards. The gold and the riches and the bounty seemed a fantasy. Right there, caught in his clutches, was a promising reality: a winter survived, a meal sustained through many days. This meant more than gold. This meant more than fantasy. Arvid flicked a number of dark droplets from his blade, watering the farmland, raining upon the parched earth. 

"No. I won, fair and square." Arvid stared at Amaryllis through his brow. "This is what I want now." 

He took more steps backwards.
Frankie
Amaryllis Sweetford
Rural Northwind

Amaryllis fought back the rising panic at those dreadful words: "This is what I want now." Rosalee began to panic more, thrashing and kicking harder than ever, but the poor child's fighting gained her nothing. How hopeless it all seemed...

Amary shook her head, following him with a lilting stride, her left leg dragging a bit behind the right. She still had the axe gripped in her good hand, but she was using it more as a crutch as she advanced forward, stubbornly protesting for Rosalee's freedom. 

"No, she's not," She replied, her voice more begging now than demanding. "What could you do with a child? She'd just be another mouth to feed—and you couldn't even feed yourself! That's why you came here, isn't it? To have a sheep to feast on? Please, just give her back to me. I'll give you anything. You can have whatever you want. Just please, give her back!