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</div></div><br/><span style="font-size: 15px">The sun bathed the slumbering battalion with light as it crested over the Daekrahm mountains. Spring settled over the Develdion lands as it gave a sweet kiss of dew to each blade of grass. The change in season brought a crispness to the air. It made the soldiers reluctant to leave the warmth of their bed and furs. They knew spring would soon dissolve into the comfortable heat of summer, but remaining patient while waiting for the seasons to once again change was quite the feat for most men.<br/>
<br/>
Down below camp, limbs sliced expertly through black water. The form disappeared beneath the surface, leaving nothing but ripples that could easily be blamed on the soft morning breeze. Moments later, near the lake’s curved edge, the figure emerged. Water cascaded off his chiseled form in steady streams, pulled down by gravity into Lake Slahthar’s welcoming arms. The man waded through the water while scarred fingers gently wrung the very same water from the braids woven intricately along his scalp.<br/>
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“<i>Mistä tiesin löytäväni sinut täältä</i>?” <span class="bbc-spoiler bbc-spoiler-instant" data-class="bbc-spoiler" data-xf-click="toggle-class" role="button" tabindex="0">(How did I know I would find you here?)</span><br/>
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The question garnered a gruff mumble in response. Rhaulneveth approached the voice without fear or hesitation. He stepped onto the sun baked grass and grabbed his tunic from where it lay draped across a boulder. <i>“Sinun pitäisi olla vaimosi reisien välissä.” <span class="bbc-spoiler bbc-spoiler-instant" data-class="bbc-spoiler" data-xf-click="toggle-class" role="button" tabindex="0"></span></i><span class="bbc-spoiler bbc-spoiler-instant" data-class="bbc-spoiler" data-xf-click="toggle-class" role="button" tabindex="0">(You should be between the thighs of your wife.)</span> Rhaul worked his hands through the holes in the linen fabric and guided it over his head. The fabric clung to his damp body. <br/>
<br/>
<a class="link link--external" data-proxy-href="/proxy.php?link=https%3A%2F%2Fs3.favim.com%2Forig%2F160113%2Fblond-male-model-cole-monahan-Favim.com-3880023.jpg&amp;hash=9c19fe57c104a1cf63a0dfb0bb1a31ce" href="https://s3.favim.com/orig/160113/blond-male-model-cole-monahan-Favim.com-3880023.jpg" rel="nofollow ugc noopener" target="_blank">Graeme </a>was his best friend and dearest confidant. Rhaul spoke freely with the man and despite knowing he was appropriately feared and respected, he knew the tender hearted blond had the tongue of a viper. Their heated arguments, albeit rare, were typically resolved by Rhaul fucking that vile mouth. <br/>
<br/>
<i>“Dusanian ratsastajat ovat etelässä </i>Kameeraska.” <span class="bbc-spoiler bbc-spoiler-instant" data-class="bbc-spoiler" data-xf-click="toggle-class" role="button" tabindex="0">(The Dusanian riders are on the south of Kameeraska.)</span> Graeme brought his hand to rest on the hilt of the sword sheathed at his hip. He experienced worry in a way unfamiliar to Rhaul. Graeme was more than knowledgeable of the length of his friend’s fuse and his quick temper. The idea of a meeting between Dusanian representatives and the Develdion ruler soured his stomach. Und Hraggen was a fearsome warlord, quick to respond with his fists and blade. Thankfully, Rhaul depended on Graeme to translate the Dusanian language into Develdi for his comprehension. Graeme hoped that the opportunity would give him the proper angle to diffuse the tumultuous situations he knew were bound to happen. <br/>
<br/>
Rhaul clapped his friend on the back and guided him towards camp. “<i>Rikotaan nopeasti.” </i></span><span class="bbc-spoiler bbc-spoiler-instant" data-class="bbc-spoiler" data-xf-click="toggle-class" role="button" tabindex="0">(Let us break fast.)</span><br/><br/>■ ■<br/><br/><span style="font-size: 15px">Quietly, Rhaul rolled from his furs and approached the pitcher and wash basin that sat near the doors to his private <a class="link link--external" data-proxy-href="/proxy.php?link=https%3A%2F%2Fthumbs.dreamstime.com%2Fz%2Fviking-camp-26016955.jpg&amp;hash=30d035c45403578b4d45c84513a487dc" href="https://thumbs.dreamstime.com/z/viking-camp-26016955.jpg" rel="nofollow ugc noopener" target="_blank">tent</a>. He stood nude there, splashing water onto his face from cupped hands. <br/>
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“<i>Yrität häiritä minua, </i>Und Hraggen.” <span class="bbc-spoiler bbc-spoiler-instant" data-class="bbc-spoiler" data-xf-click="toggle-class" role="button" tabindex="0">(You attempt to distract me, Und Hraggen.)</span> Rhaul pressed his hands to the edge of the basin. He gazed over his shoulder and watched Graeme with a mischievous, knowing smirk. The blond was visibly frazzled, sitting up amongst the furs as he stuffed his legs into his pants and fought to tighten the sword belt around his waist. Graeme was partly correct in his accusation. Und Hraggen had wanted to gift his friend a few minutes of slumber at the pleasant price of fucking him until sweat beaded on their forehead. <br/>
<br/>
He loosely crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the small table holding the basin and pitcher.<i> “Olen mies. Huohotat kuin huora ruumiini alla.” </i><span style="font-size: 15px"><span class="bbc-spoiler bbc-spoiler-instant" data-class="bbc-spoiler" data-xf-click="toggle-class" role="button" tabindex="0"> (I am man. You pant like a whore beneath my body.) </span> </span>Rhaul returned. The tone was light, just on the edge of humiliation and flirtatious teasing. Despite his intentions, Graeme’s cheeks reddened. Graeme clamored to his feet and threw an embroidered pillow at Rhaul. Und Hraggen growled as the impact knocked the basin to the ground. He shoved Graeme to the furs and ripped his trousers to his thighs. </span><br/><br/>■ ■<br/><br/><span style="font-size: 15px">The sun hung dutifully in the center of the afternoon sky. Und Hraggen sat atop his <a class="link link--external" data-proxy-href="/proxy.php?link=https%3A%2F%2Fi.pinimg.com%2Foriginals%2Fb7%2Fb9%2F4a%2Fb7b94ab542c868add6259b91d8599ba8.jpg&amp;hash=4f6bfe205a030cb8d9ba76e8983140be" href="https://i.pinimg.com/originals/b7/b9/4a/b7b94ab542c868add6259b91d8599ba8.jpg" rel="nofollow ugc noopener" target="_blank">horse</a>, hands resting on either thigh. He <a class="link link--external" data-proxy-href="/proxy.php?link=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.eurokilt.com%2Fwp-content%2Fuploads%2F2020%2F05%2Freal_leather_kilt.jpg&amp;hash=7bb9e5fb0321654731318f1f9a2820ec" href="https://www.eurokilt.com/wp-content/uploads/2020/05/real_leather_kilt.jpg" rel="nofollow ugc noopener" target="_blank">donned</a> Develdion colors - black with black accents. It was the smartest move in its neutrality. The color concealed his men in the darkness of night and blended their bodies into the forest Kameeraska like smoke dissipating into the sky. <br/>
<br/>
<i>“Kuulen hevosten ääniä.” </i><span style="font-size: 15px"><span class="bbc-spoiler bbc-spoiler-instant" data-class="bbc-spoiler" data-xf-click="toggle-class" role="button" tabindex="0">(I hear the sounds of horses.)</span> </span>Nearer to the ground, Graeme stood beside Rhaul. Rhaul had commanded his horse be brought from the stable, but Graeme refused. He would rather walk. The Dusanians could approach them with Und Hraggen in the sole position of power. Rhaul went along with his story, but he knew the truth had something more to do with how uncomfortable it would be for him to sit on his ass.</span><br/><br/><div style="text-align: center"><span style="font-size: 15px"><div class="bbImageWrapper js-lbImage" data-lb-caption-extra-html="" data-lb-sidebar-href="" data-single-image="1" data-src="https://blackdahliaroleplaying.com/attachments/capture-labeled-jpg.126987/" title="Capture labeled.JPG">
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