RP:Spear in My Gut and She's to Blame

Location: Western Plains

Synopsis: After a couple of postings on the board of Kelay tavern, Velali and Eirik meet for the first time in Lithrydel; out in the plains of Venturil. She is a servant of Illisaria, the heart hunter sent to claim Eiriks. He is a berserker and a sworn enemy to the witch of the reach. What happens below is but a foretelling of things to come.

Spear in My Gut and She's to Blame

For miles and miles the planes seem to stretch, nothing else can be seen. Dull yellow grass and tiny shrubs, pitiful bushes as far as the eye can see. Yet life seems to be plentiful here undisturbed in peace and tranquility where few people tread the animals have indeed thrived. Rabbits and hares dine on exposed plant roots and seem not to care as you walk by most likely they have never seen any person such as you that could do them harm.

Eirik stands nearby and adorned in armor pilfered from Venturil, Larket and Frostmaw. Though this hodgepodge concoction of protective gear gives him a raiders edge, it is both enchanted and strong. His presence is only another warning as he stands between two erected stone stacked pillars, which have been marred in the blood and bone of things he has slain. Eirik den Voldelige waits for someone; for something to come into view from the only possible trail. Silver hues are fixed upon the horizon to the east. He knew the Hjertjeger would come for him and as such he is also armed to the teeth - in the traditional weapons of his people. If she showed, Velali would know this as well. A spangenhelm is held to his side, pinned under the weight of his left arm. Eiriks light brown hair is swept back - out of his face and braided; filled with totems of pride. There are no traps lingering for the worker of Illisaria. Nay for instead, the Berserker would grant her the honor of open combat if she sought it or words, if she sought that as well.

Velali keeps a sharp eye to the ground beneath Gunnolf's stride; her loyal direwolf carries her without any sign of hindrance, carefully stalking it's way through the brush of the plains. Occasionally he releases a grunt at a rabbit that darts across it's path, but remains on course as the faithful hound always is. The warrior shrugs her shoulder beneath Valbrandium plate, a rarity to see, even for a Rosfjorian. Stark white hair trails behind her brisk pace, like a flag heralding the arrival of only one possible person - the Hjertjeger. As she crests a small rise in the plains, her brows furrow down beneath the visor of her helmet, gray irises suddenly set on a quick assessment of the area. What is it he plans, she idly wonders, while releasing the fur of Gunnolf if only to thrust on her left gauntlet. She nears closer to Eirik, but comes to a stop twenty yards out - just within shouting distance - and dismounts from Gunnolf. She says nothing to the direwolf, but it still turns and stalks over to the tall grass to nestle down into, as if bidden. "You are either an honorable man, or a fool who thinks himself courageous," Her words come out like ice, the tone crisp and sharp. As sharp, perhaps, as the spear bound to her back, or the blade sheathed behind shield at her left arm. While she did not come for words, she would allow him to say what all men desired, before they were defeated.

Eirik flicks his gaze from beast to direwolf; how he loved those creatures. Her form of introduction is rather expected, and it does nothing to twist his scarred up features. "I am neither of those." She would know from the history of their own homelands. Den Voldelige earned his reputation for sheer violence and presence on the field of combat. He is an enemy of Illisaria, whom she obviously felt worthy of death by this heart hunter. "You're a long way from home Hjertjeger." Though he speaks Rosfjorian, his voice is riddled with grit and grain, like rocks underfoot. "And there will be no ceremonies for slaves." She wouldn't receive the treatment of their forefathers. Nor the ridiculous sentiments the tribe had formed. It would be bloody, and gruesome; Marvelous. This thought does stretch a smirk across his visage, though he does not don his helm. "Do you even know who you are working for?"

Velali shrugs her shoulders once again beneath Valbrandium plate, as if the matter of who he is was of little concern to her. In her experience, men often clambered for virtue moments before their demise. She always did find it tiresome. Even still, she adjusts her stance into a relaxed pose, though her back remains arched and poised, ready to strike. "Yes, I am a long way from Rosfjorn. Who would have imagined, Voldelige would come to this distant land, where the men are weaker than our babes. You must hold yourself like a god among these heathens." She smirks beneath visor, her head to tilt in a decidedly childish fashion. The insult of slave is ignored - she knows who she is, stalker of the dead, hunter for the Witch. She finds her position rather satisfying, made abundantly clear by gauntleted hands clasping together in an innocent expression of joy. They soon fall to her sides once more, and she finds herself itching to free her blade. "I work for Illisaria, Witch of the Reach, caretaker of your soul." She lets a cool laugh escape past red painted lips.

Eirik stands at his near six foot and broad shouldered height, unimpressed by the Hjertjeger thus far. There is naught but silence betwixt the duo for minutes and instead silver hues stand transfixed upon her, gauging her stance and attitude. “You’re a fool. But a Berserker you shall have this day.” There are no more words to be ushered and the lycan shifts, left hand pulling that helm free and placing it atop his head. Two heavily runed and mismatched weapons are drawn from their respective straps and ceremoniously clinked together; to usher in his readiness for combat. The berserker wastes no more time otherwise, and is springing into motion - a headlong charge despite the tall golden hued grass. His lungs inhale sharply, taking in the smell of the area, but his mind is back on the task at hand. The gap is closed in a few moments, and Eirik leaps, stretching his axe out before him in a faint attack, to only thrust the sword upon landing with a grunt. “Breathe,” his voice calls out to activate the runes upon the arming sword mid strike. It hisses white in fury, and screams through the air towards his targets sternum, fully prepared to skewer through armor like a hot knife through butter. His left foot kicks out at the Hjertjegers ankles, seeking to sweep her up and knock her over, but that tomahawk follows as well! Its' haft is spun within his grip, its blunted edge swung full force for the bridge of the warrior nose - seeking to crush it and blind his foe in blood and pain!

Velali 's gray eyes light up in marked awe at the sight of Eirik, who dashes towards her, intent on battering her like some sort of frail barmaid. Instead of waiting for her opponent to reach her, she chooses to bridge the rapidly shortening distance as well at a break-neck pace. Her long legs carry her nimbly across the lushly landscaped earth, sure and steady. When Eirik leaps towards her, she raises her shield and drops into a low slide. The sound of scraping metal can be heard as the feinted axe swing clangs against the Valbrandium surface of her shield. She would lift the shield higher yet, attempting to trip her prey mid-air. Her quick dive comes to a grinding halt, a plume of dust skirting up around her as she springs back to her feet, poised to strike. She draws her spear in one fluid motion, all the while intently watching Eirik's every move. The spear creates an audible hum as it is brought around to the forefront, taking up a position of defensive aggression to the side of her shield now held in front. She lowers herself to a deep crouch, her face a smooth sheet of ice beneath visor. Velali inhales the dry air of the the Venturilian plains and then springs back into action. The Hjertjeger thrusts first with her spear, intent on impaling Eirik at the abdomen and then slams her shield into the haft of the weapon - to serve as a further propellant of wounding Eirik mortally, and act as a counterweight of force, to which the spear is brandished about in a tight semi-circle. The butt of the spear is quickly thrust at Eirik from behind her back, which acts as a veil to conceal it until moments before reaching him.

Eirik gives no thought or surface tension to the spoil of his onslaught - nor to the failures that have been provided. It's expected coming from the Hjertjeger. Instead the Berserker is adamant in following his opponent, as if he would simply allow her to create the space she wanted! That runic blade is gripped and slammed towards that spear, shoving its piercing attack with all his might. Though his attempt to deflect might not seem victorious, it certainly is to him, for instead its tip digs only into the side of his stomach, granting minor wounds upon his flesh, but causing blood to hit the scene. The shield strike only seeks to pull her weapon free, as is intended, but the minimal hit she had claimed, meant this was in vain. Her spinning back attack, is sidestepped, whilst he shuffles around her form in the fight - glancing off to the side of himself as a moving target. Though the strike was deceptive, he is on the move! Eirik, twists his tomahawk to meet the edge of her shield, and he uses every ounce of his barbaric strength to wrench it from her grasp like a crowbar twisting out a door from its frame. If she did not react quick enough, she might find that protective device gone. But instead of further following his attacks he stops and hops backwards - sheathing both weapons. "A place like this is not deserving of your death. Your skills and mine, deserve a crowd and a tale worthy of them." The northman twists and leaves, clearly having gauged what he needed too. She would not have him this day.

Velali is a trained warrior and doesn't blanch at the sight of blood, nor does she allow herself any elation to elicit at the touch of forged metal to flesh. Battle is a quick moving tide, and she prides herself on being more quick than it - she can celebrate in the retrieval of her foes heart after she has won. Thus, she responds to Eirik's counter with further aggression, showing no sign of deterence by his action. His axe serves it's purpose of freeing her from the shield, but not before she uses her spear tip to draw free the sword behind it. She lets the shield go in a show of wobbling, sparkling metal, while simultaneously catching the falling sword in her now freed hand. Both weapons are brought around in a decidedly serpentine fashion, her back arching and muscles tightening like a twin-fanged serpent of nightmare. She releases an easy breath at the issuance of his words and makes no show of disappointment. She feels she will wear his heart, regardless of the venue he chooses to die in. "You think yourself a gladiator?" Velali smirks and lifts her visor for the first time since meeting Eirik. Her's is a feminine face, not distorted by the countless years of service to the Witch, and one he might remember from a time long ago. Red painted lips draw back into a grin, "You're as foolish as I am." She spins the spear around and thrusts it back within it's catch, the sword to lower at her side. "I will come when the time is nigh," Her Rosfjorian words are gentle, almost mother-like, as if to denote the care in which she will take of his heart. All this is said to his back as he moves forward, into the tall brush of the plains.