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Post by Fálki Pórbrandr on Jun 21, 2011 11:08:59 GMT -5
We'd returned victorious, only one man lost in the fray, and I was very pleased with how much we'd been able to get. That village we'd taken was a smaller one, not nearly as wealthy as some of the estates we'd taken with Eirik leading us, but this was a good training mission and had brought us a bevy of women and fine food, as well as fabric and other things. By far the women were the best part though, and all of them seemed to be country girls, used to some work and likely to fit in with all of the others we'd stolen. They'd become servants, or whores, and do whatever was needed. It was our way.
Once I'd dismounted I handed my reins to one of my sons and moved over to the wagon and looked inside at the person I'd managed to grab, still tied up just like the others, who were all seemingly in shock. I wasn't sure if our leader would show up and claim some of this for his own but it was well within his right. Things with the d'Angeline dogs had kept him busy though and that could mean he had too much on his mind, even for women. Congratulating the men as they passed I watched as they collected their takes and stepped up into the open wagon to get mine.
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Post by Grace Ouilet on Jun 21, 2011 14:09:17 GMT -5
There were whispers, a few nudged to my thigh that brought me away initially, and slowly I came to open my eyes, to regain my consciousness. We were moving, traveling, and once I realized it I panicked again, bolting upright so quick that I nearly fell over with having my hands tied behind me, not to mention the sudden stabbing pain that lanced through my head. I groaned softly, Miryelles name was already on my lips, but before I could start to shout or maneuver my way to the end of the wagon another woman stuck her face in front of mine.
"Don't," she hissed softly. "Don't. I know what you're going through, believe me, we all do, but don't.. it'll just make it harder on you, and on the rest of us. They're Skaldi."
The contempt in her voice was nearly palpable, and horror began to wash through me anew. "My daughter! My daughter, he ripped me from her, she's left all by herself, what if something happened? I need to get back there, I need to get back to her..."
"Your daughter is fine."
This from another woman, and I whipped my head to look at her through a wash of tears I didn't remember building, and the movement again brought another lance of pain through me. My head throbbed; it was all I could do not to lay down and squeeze my eyes shut. "She's fine," the voice continued, this one belonging to a dark-haired woman. "I saw her myself, your little fair-haired angel, picked up by Angelique d'Veron. She's too old, they wouldn't take her, but she'll take care of your daughter she will. You don't need to worry about her anymore.. you need to worry about yourself."
I squeezed my eyes shut, drinking in the information, hoping, praying that the lady was right. Curling my knees up, I cried into them, my hands bound behind my back and my ankles too lashed together. I cried and I prayed, and after a while I fell asleep again, but unlike before, this sleep was hardly dreamless, full of nightmares with steel teeth and poisonous fur.
The wagon slowed, and abruptly I became awake, my eyes snapping open with the sounds of goats, cows, metallic clanging and wood slapping together. Children laughed and a slow hum of voices grew, til at last our wagon stopped, and the men who'd stolen us reappeared, claiming the spoils of their plundering.
I recognized him right away, the man who'd done this, and I glared at him as fiercely as I could, scowled for everything I was worth. "I hate you," I spat at him, but other than that I was silent, struggling to my feet myself, not giving him the chance to put his hands on me to drag me out himself... though how I was going to walk with my feet bound together, I didn't know.
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Post by Fálki Pórbrandr on Jun 21, 2011 15:52:14 GMT -5
It was expected that the ones we took fought back for a little while, so I simply gave her a patient, stern look and grabbed her legs to pull her closer to the front of the wagon, a hand going to her shoulder to hold her in place while I spoke my peace. "You, stop fighting," I said in d'Angeline, my tone a low, nearly growling tone as I met her gaze with my own. "Otherwise I will have to do worse than before and you can wait days to heal." Sometimes they listened, sometimes they didn't, but from looking at the two women left in the back of the wagon their frightened gazes said they understood the general idea.
Without waiting for her to answer I picked the lovely blonde up by the waist and without hesitating or thinking about untying her I threw her over my shoulder, her legs dangling over my chest as though she was some disobedient child that I was taking home to be punished and heedless of whether or not she was trying to fight back. She had a certain roundness to her hips and stomach that made me wonder if she wasn't with child again, but that would be easier to tell later. If so my wife would no doubt have some say in her condition and I already knew she had one child. Perhaps if she was well behaved enough she could be trusted to look after my own children, though the prisoners could be a bit like rabid dogs and attack them if they thought it would get them anywhere. For now she'd be watched carefully.
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Post by Grace Ouilet on Jun 28, 2011 9:14:15 GMT -5
I quite literally squeaked when he grabbed me and spoke to me again, the beautiful d'Angeline language bruised and broken by his thick tongue. I tried to scowl at him, but I wasn't sure how fierce it was; fear was so thick in me, missing my little girl was so thick in me that I could feel my features tremble towards grief even as I tried to force them otherwise.
When he snatched me up and tossed me over his shoulder, I cried out in sharp pain, my pregnant stomach taking much of the brunt of my weight. "Stop!" I wriggled immediately to get my weight off my stomach, stopping only when my ribs were on his shoulder instead. "Gods let me walk, I can walk, put me down, please monseiur, I'll walk!"
I trembled on him, but I stopped moving once my weight was off my stomach. I wanted him to trust me, I wanted him to put me down, but I wasn't sure how much he understood. My hands and feet still bound together prevented me from injuring him much, but he'd have to untie me eventually.. wouldn't he?
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Post by Fálki Pórbrandr on Jun 29, 2011 21:34:45 GMT -5
For a moment the woman wiggled to get herself comfortable as I walked but I wasn't really paying that much attention to what she was shouting. Something about putting her down I was sure but I wasn't about to stop and cut the ties on her feet and hands right now and having her walk while still tied would have been useless. Once she was settled though she stopped moving and that kept me from slapping her legs or rear to remind her to behave. Maybe that bump on her stomach was a babe she was carrying after all. No doubt my wife would want to give her easier work for awhile if that was the case.
"Quiet, almost there," I barked in her odd, flowery language as I walked toward the home I shared with my family, not set far from the center of the camp and with four of my younger children playing in the yard. As soon as they saw what I had they bombarded me with questions but I told them with gruff warmth to wait until later for the explanation and stepped inside. My wife and eldest daughter were working on some sort of meal in a pot near the fire and the youngest child, another boy only two years old or so, watched from a nearby bench while playing with some carved figures.
"Marta, I've brought you some help," I told her in our native tongue, then picked up the woman I was carrying by the waist and set her down moderately lightly on the bench as well, her hands and feet still tied.
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Post by Grace Ouilet on Jun 30, 2011 8:47:37 GMT -5
Again he spoke to me in my own language, and a piece of me was oddly grateful for it. I didn't feel so alone in that way, and though I could see other d'Angeline women sporadic throughout the camp, it wasn't the same.. Elua it wasn't the same. The tears threatened to come again, but I swallowed them back, knowing I needed to concentrate and think, but Elua! Gods, I hoped Miryelle was alright. I had to trust in that woman, had to trust her that my little girl was fine. I blanched thinking of the alternatives, and, closing my eyes, I whispered a prayer to Eisheth to watch over his daughter.
Abruptly there were children, abandoning their play to interrogate the man carting me about, and from the gruff warmth in his voice I thought mayhap they were his. How awful for the children - I pitied them already. Before I could truly get a look at them though, we were inside and he was setting me down, not quite gentle, but not enough to make me grunt, either.
I blinked, and looked around, drinking in the scene of the crude hut. No beauty here; just effectiveness, and a wash of homesickness came on so strongly that I blanched. He spoke in his uncultured tongue and my eyes cut towards movement near the fireplace, an older woman and a younger standing together, both of them eyeing me. I was caught between frowning and cringing away, but when I looked at my captor again, I glared - a hot glare this time, and had my hands and feet been free, I likely would have kicked him. "Skaldia?" I asked, a simple word, though I already knew. I wanted to see him affirm it, and while I wanted to see that he felt bad for stealing me away, I knew I wouldn't.
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Post by Fálki Pórbrandr on Jun 30, 2011 13:35:47 GMT -5
Once she was set down the woman glared at me in pure hate and I merely stood steady under her gaze as Marta picked up young Roan and moved him away from the woman in case she lashed out. It would have been clumsy and ineffective but better safe than sorry when there was so much anger in her. Astrid, my eldest daughter, stood by and watched, steadily stirring the pot of stew though there was some apprehension in her gaze. Once my youngest son was set on his cot my wife returned though, arms crossed and watching the d'Angeline carefully as well. It was perfectly understandable; this woman could well be mad with grief or anger and she'd be living under this roof with our children.
"Yes, Skaldia," I said in a blunt tone to her question, looking at her sternly as I spoke in her strange language. "And this is where you'll stay. You'll cook, clean, look after my children and do whatever else Marta or I tell you to. If you resist you will stay tied and unfed to eat until you can obey. If you try to run you will be beaten, then tied and left without food. If you listen, you will be better treated. Do you understand?"
I knew that Marta spoke some d'Angeline but she was still cautious and watched the newcomer carefully. She'd adjust though and no doubt be grateful for the help with all of our children and they work they made, especially since I was taking my elder two sons with me on raids now. "Are you going to fight or would you like to eat something?" I asked in a sensible tone to the d'Angeline, waiting to see how she would respond.
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Post by Grace Ouilet on Jul 5, 2011 9:33:40 GMT -5
No sooner was I down and glaring than the boy was picked up and moved away from me, and immediately a wash of guilt flooded through me. I tore my gaze from the man before me to the woman at his side, eyeing me critically, and I very nearly bowed my head under her scrutiny. What was I to do? I was stolen, ripped from my child, with my second nestled in my stomach, but to frighten another woman who had children of her own, even one apparently married to the man who had taken me... I couldn't, no matter how much ill will I bore towards him.
He spoke again, and my eyes rose to his once more, but whereas before there was heat and anger, even hate, now there was remarkably less. I didn't like him, but I didn't want them to think I'd hurt their babes. Children should never be held accountable for the mistakes of their parents.
"I understand," I replied, my voice caught somewhere between a snap and utter despair. I didn't try to stand, but sat where I'd been delivered, my hands and feet still bound together. My mouth opened and closed, unsure of how to broach it, and my eyes cut over to the children as they watched me, before back to their parents. "I'm not going to fight," I said, as much as it burned me to admit it. My lower lip quivered, and I swallowed against it, needing to be strong for my babe. "I.." I'm pregnant? "I'll eat."
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Post by Fálki Pórbrandr on Jul 6, 2011 14:45:57 GMT -5
What had happened I didn't know but the woman who had been so angry before quieted considerably, slumping into a more relaxed posture after giving a look to my Marta. Had some sort of unspoken women's understanding been reached? It wasn't of my interest or concern, not when I trusted my wife, and I simply let it pass quietly under my scrutiny for a moment, then gave a nod to my daughter, who started to fill a bowl with the rich stew.
While the food was being prepared I leaned down and cut the ties that bound the woman carefully in case she decided to try and run, freeing first her legs, then her arms. Right now it seemed as though she was starting to settle into her fate, and as long as she was well-behaved and followed orders there was no reason it had to be any more painful than the country life she'd left behind. A moment later the bowl, a bit of bread and a glass of water were set on the table.
"Turn around and eat," I told her gruffly but without any anger, then stepped back again. "Then Marta will find something better for you to wear and a place to sleep." My wife said something in our native tongue and I nodded, then turned back to the d'Angeline, who looked much more angelic and pretty without the former scowl. "You're with child so it will be lighter work but you will still be working. That's all you need to know for now." With that I stood and picked up a wood-cutting ax and headed outside. Everything inside the house was my wife's concern, not mine, and I was content to let her handle it from this point.
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