RP:A Berserkers Start
Location: Labor Camp in the Forest
Synopsis: Eliza ( Played by Pilar ), Sharna ( Played by Lanara ), come face to face with the Berserker - who again is acting strange. Despite everything that has transpired in Larket, he’s offering them aid? What’s going on?
A Berserkers Start
On the fringe of the Eternal Forest there stands a camp surrounded by ashen trees and necrotic foliage. No animals make their homes here, save the scavengers and beetles. A wall encircles barracks where laborers sleep when they're not working shifts at the various public works projects that benefit the Hard City. Locals say drow used to live here, but they were driven out, and in that battle that killed the forest, one of the two watchtowers and the entrance gate collapsed. The former was never rebuilt, but the latter quickly was. Scowling guards, many bearing anti-mage regalia, stand sentry at the gate and at the remaining watchtower. All visitors must be cleared at the guardhouse, and residents must obey a strict curfew.
The labor camp, since Kahrans attack, still stands in partial rubble. Though cleaning efforts have been attempted, it has been strained due to Larkets stance on the matter of witches. Supplies are still in demand, and running quite low. The few who remain have been under constant guard, and the presence of Larkets finest has been heavy since Valraes brutal execution. Obviously this is a hot topic among those she had held dear. Those who have been slain, have also been buried or dealt with in other ways. In all, the morale in the Labor camp is not high, nor does it bear any signs of a break. However, things might soon run high in stress for at this very moment, Eirik makes his way past the guarded gates. Dressed in the trappings of war gathered from Venturil, Frostmaw and Larket - though not a single weapon adorns his broad shouldered frame. The Lycan has to pretend, that these families within are hated by him, in public or at least when guards are looking. Obviously, none knew of his ploy to actually save them from the Monarch of Larket. Silver hues stand transfixed in his square jawed and scarred head while he takes in the sights and calculates the risks his presence alone might bring. For now, the berserker is content to meander through the outskirts, taking notes of their supplies and trying to find a way to earn their trust; even in the slightest of ways.
Eliza was among a group of witches sitting around a fire pit, trying to warm themselves. Blankets were in short supply, and they'd already had one old woman freeze to death. Her body still lay in her cot. The witches weren't willing to hand her over to the guards to be disposed of like garbage, but the ground was too frozen for a proper burial. And cremation would be in poor taste, considering. Eliza wondered who'd be next to die. There were maybe three dozen witches left alive in Larket, and all of them were gathered into this prison camp. If there were others on the outside, living in secret, she considered them cowards and traitors. She had lost function of her right eye and arm for the cause, and it was only through the grace of the gods that she could still walk.
Sharna sits on a short stool, the hem of her long robes covered in dirt and debris, as she meticulously stitches the inseam on a pair of tweed britches. There was a chain-link fence separating her and two others, from the other witches, as they were the only three that were deemed fit enough to still be put to work. The woman appears to be human, though there is something unsettling about her vivid green eyes, as though she could see beyond the ordinary realm in which she labored. Her long red hair flows freely, in dire need of a good wash and comb, as it falls in unruly waves, which grace the small of her back. Despite the fact that she works outdoors, during the night and the day, and that she’s of a very pale skin tone, she doesn’t seem to suffer from a tan or burn from the sun’s rays. Pricking her finger, yet again, with another poke of the needle, she curses beneath her breath and lifts her gaze to the nearest guard. Good. He seemed preoccupied in checking out one of the younger and prettier witches. Using this to her advantage, she hums a soft melody and watches as the pants beginning to sew themselves, to perfection. The time is cut in half, and her aching hands have a minute’s reprieve, giving her a minute to take a look around the labor camp. She was the eldest of the remaining witches in the labor camp, and she took it upon herself to always keep a watchful eye on those that weren’t as wise or obedient. Not that she was an old lady or anything, but she appeared to be in her mid-forties, though her magic obviously masked her true age. Being held a prisoner was all about survival, and she gives a curt nod to the two witchlings that catch her eye. Soon. This would all be over soon, she hoped. The gift of sight had been sending her dreams every night since Valrae’s death, though she didn’t know just how they had escaped this hell, or who was involved, or even when it would take place. The sewing is complete, she stops humming, and as she reaches for another fabric to work on, she finds her emerald hues locking onto the nearing figure of Eirik Vergessen. What was he doing here?! Had he come to boast of killing more of her kin? Would there be more brutality and a line of questioning?
Eirik rounds a corner to see this group huddled around a small fire, and his heart wrenches while he comes to a sudden stop. The nearby guard, who had been overseeing Sharna, stops his ogling and twists his attention to Eirik - the man the eldest witch has seemingly focused on. However, Eirik is noticing that they were simply freezing to death, and Larket was doing nothing for them! Monsters, and then he thinks to himself; like I was. His jaw clenches hard beneath these thoughts. He is remembering every foul deed and cruel action. How could he make this right? These people probably hated him, but he needed to find a way to get them to listen. Even if they continued on their tirade of dislike - at least they could be free from all of this. It seemed that supplies were an issue, and something that he must gather for them. It’s obvious that they wouldn’t come from anywhere else and so he deems this as his next task. He approaches the group huddled around a fire, but his voice low and he crouches as well; probably giving the company a bit of fright. Guards were everywhere. “You know, there’s a couple of barrels of oil just beyond the gate.” The Lycans voice is near whisper trying to keep Larkets watch-dogs off his trail. These supplies that he speaks of were some he had brought himself, for purposes that were less than savory. However, now, they could be used for the right things. “You could use them for the fires.” He would bring them himself, but he knew they would mock him. Perhaps even spit in his direction. Such things would go unpunished by him. This is his first attempt at trying to help, and more would come.
Eliza froze up when she heard his voice. She turned, shaking, to look at him, her functioning eye wide in terror, and when she beheld the man who'd beaten her so severely she could no longer write, could no longer see out of one eye, could no longer work, she screamed. It was a strangled cry, as part of her throat was paralyzed, but it had all the anguish of a woman reliving an unimaginable horror. Half-formed words fell out of her mouth. Pleas for mercy? For help? It was hard to tell; speaking normally was a chore for her now. Speaking while frightened out of her mind? Damn near impossible.
Sharna rises in her eight-by-ten cage, and clings to the chain-link fence, keeping a watchful eye on the sick and injured witches, and of course on the infamous witch-killer. What was he whispering to them? Surely, a man of his stature hadn’t ventured over to this particular fire for warmth! Was this another one of his sadistic ploys? Shifting her gaze to Eliza, her expression is one of curiosity, and she mouths, ‘what’s going on?’ before ducking her head and pretending she had seen nothing, as the Guard returns to his watch. “Get back to work, Red. I have a few stains in my own britches. You can work on washing those next!” He laughs, and the woman’s green eyes seem to darken as she fixes him with a glare. For a long moment it looks as though she’s going to cast a spell, or perhaps spit on the Guard, but she merely fixes him with a stare before turning her back on him and glancing back at Eliza to see what the deal was with Eirik. The heart-wrenching scream that emits from the witch causes her expression to soften, though it’s not long before her own scream joins that of her brethren. The Guard had stepped down from his platform and had lifted a wooden plank, which was then roughly smashed into Sharna’s spine, causing the woman to crash against the fence, and cry out in pain. Digging her hands into the holes in the fence, she tries to remain standing, though the pain is so intense that she falls to her knees. “I said get back to work!” Sharna hears his demand, she feels the throbbing in the middle of her back, and she tastes the blood in her mouth from where she had bit her tongue, during her descent to the ground. He would pay for this, and very, very, soon.
Eirik closes his eyes when she gives off that shrill of a shriek, and puts his arms out to stop the worried guards who came over to investigate the screams. He deserved that. He was worthy of far more than just a scream to his face. The guards he just warned off, eyeball the group, and then twist away. Eirik intended to bring those barrels into camp, regardless, but he dwells on Eliza, one whom he had personally tortured. He remembers that scream well, and recalls the night himself. How twisted - he knew forgiveness was never to be obtained. But he had hope, that he could at least, get her out of here. However, his attention is pulled to the caged witch, who releases another scream. Eirik has suddenly set his mind to a different and grim task. The guard with the wooden board is approached, and the Lycan extends a hand to take it from him. “If you really want to get her to listen.” The guard smiles at his approach and thinks that he’s merely going to watch the torturer go into action. Oh how he’s wrong. “You need,” His eyes dart around, from this spot no other guards could see them. “To hit her like,” The board is suddenly thrust towards the guards throat, which promptly stifles any cries he might have. Its an agonizing death, one which no screams even echo out to reverberate among the tents. The Northman catches the man before he can make any other sound as he falls limp. And stuffs the man in a large locked chest nearby. They wouldn’t find him for sometime. Silver eyes twist to Sharna, “You okay?” His voice is still at a whisper, and he only waits moments. “I’ll be right back, I need to bring her,” a finger points in Eliza’s direction. “Some oil to stay warm.” The warrior sets off to take up this task, even though he had just taken out one of their guards.
Eliza nearly fainted, so frightened was she, and her companions gathered 'round her protectively. They saw him turn his gaze to Sharna, wise, kind, fiery Sharna, and terror gripped them. “No...” one of them whispered as he started in her direction. They held on to each other, eyes wide, expecting the worst. Eliza, by now, had been turned around by her bunkmate so that she couldn't see what was going to happen. She stared into the flames, her mind temporarily fractured, unable to form coherent thoughts. There was a gasp from the witches behind her, who saw what Eirik did, but it didn't register.
Sharna flinches, imagining the burn that the next swipe of the board will bring, when she hears a voice, instead. His voice. Great. Let the brutality begin! The last time she was in the company of the witch-killer he had broken her ribs, on both sides, and left her coughing up blood. He was no friend to witches that was a certainty! Yet, the unthinkable occurs, and she twists her head as she hears the death rattle of the Guard behind her, and sees Eirik shoving him into a large chest, which he locks. He had murdered the abusive guard on her behalf? What was going on?! Sharna takes a moment to catch her breath, and she slowly rises to her feet, wincing in pain, as her green eyes lock onto the silver hues of the man. “I’ll recover…” She hesitates; about to inquire what his plan was, when he mentions that he’s off to provide the others with warmth. Before he steps away, she extends her hand and wraps her hand about his forearm, her power emanating from her fingertips and through his armor. “Thank you.” The lycan would think that she was merely an injured witch, muttering a soft thanks, and that her hand was a few degrees warmer than that of the average human. However, she had used her abilities to take a quick glimpse into his recent past, and whatever she had seen causes her lips to lift into a small smile. “Congratulations.” Nothing further is said as she watches him leave to go and retrieve some oil, the woman brushing her red locks back and shrugging her shoulders to the group of witches that had huddled around the fire. She needed time to process all of the things that had just happened, along with her most recent vision upon touch, and her dreams. For now, it was between herself and the witch hunter.
Eirik is stopped for only moments, at the touch of Sharna. Silver eyes twist to her, and to the group that is huddled around the fire. What is she doing? Her words only confuse him, and he gathers no insight from them, despite his empathy, which he is trying his best to ignore and stifle. He couldn’t be here while still suffering through all of that. Finally he turns and begins marching back through the Labor camp, with a purposeful stride. Intent on the task at hand, bringing those barrels into the witches domain. When he finally reaches the gate, he snatches the reins of the horse, and begins to pull the cart. When he reaches the entrance he nods to the guards, who are curious to know what he is attempting to do. “Eirik,” the guard on the left confronts him. “What are you planning?” The berserker had to think quickly, and then smiles. “Well, fire has been their friend, until Valrae. I’ve thought up something that might just turn things against them.” Again he is using his well earned reputation to his advantage. He had no intention of bringing further harm to these people. Not in the slightest. The guards grin and wave him through the gates. Soon Eirik would deliver barrels to the group, but for a few minutes they sit in silence and perhaps have the chance to talk among themselves. There are no guards nearby, thinking that they were still under watch.
Eliza was still recovering from the shock Eirik's presence had caused her, and her companions remained by her side, trying to bring her back. The brain injury she'd received had only impacted her physically; it was the emotional trauma that was shutting her down now. Her bunkmate rubbed her back, humming softly. Magic flowed from her fingertips, as much as she dared, and Eliza would feel some of the fog in her mind clear, at least for a few moments. One of the other women approached Sharna, glancing for any other guards who might be around, and whispered, “What happened? Did you hex him?”
Eirik is still coming up the path with that cart, stopping at each tent and dropping a barrel of oil to those that inhabit them. Much to his dismay, the couple in here as well, nearly hiss at the northmans presence, but he simply continues on. “Oil, for your fire.” A calloused hand points to their small thing. “Stay warm.” He only looks at them for moments and frowns, before twisting on heel and leaving. That cart finally arrives to the tent where he had found the group huddled. Instead, three barrels are brought in one at a time and he nods to them all popping the cork of one and setting it nearby. He hadn’t heard a single word between them and clears his throat. Obviously, he didn’t know that Sharna has enchanted the chest to never open, and instead, he is dragging the heavy object away. “The oils for you to use in the fire.” The chest is finally dragged to the cart, and Eirik calls out one of the guards. “Hey, come help me with these devices!” They might all suddenly panic, but they can see him, and a finger is pointing to the chest. A nearby guard rushes over to help him load up the dead man. “Thanks,” His voice is calm despite what he was doing. The horse is again led, and Eirik makes his way back out of the camp. He wouldn’t be gone for long, but he needed to get rid of the evidence; perhaps gather a few supplies. However, for the night, these few are left alone.
Eliza tensed up as Eirik approached them again, and her bunkmate slipped her arm around her shoulders. Mercifully, he didn't stay long, and Eliza began to relax again. She would not sleep well for several nights to come... But at least they had a warm fire nearby.
Sharna tilts her head to the side as her green gaze follows the whereabouts of the man, and as he unloads each oil barrel into each tent and helps to keep the fires burning, she purses her lips. Times were changing. And this was a case of redemption, if she ever saw one, in her many years. She raises a finger to her lips to shush her fellow witches as the guards help Eirik to load the chest, with the dead guard, onto the cart. The horse and the lycan head off, as if there isn’t a body inside of the enchanted trunk. It’s ludicrous, but it brings a smile to her chapped lips, as she shakes her head, her mind trying to grasp the happenings of this strange day. Her hues shift to Eliza, and she frowns slightly, hoping that she would make it through this ordeal, for they all may be escaping this madness, in time. “Just have faith…” Sharna mutters, as she returns to stitching another pair of britches, though this time, she makes certain to not use her magic. She didn’t wish to undo what the man had done for them.