View source for The Great Ones, Part Two: What is Ours


''This is apart of the first installment of 'The Great Ones', a Camp Willow plot. The introduction can be found [[The_Great_Ones_Aren%27t_Here|here]].''

'''Setting:'''

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<----> Camp Willow - South Main Grounds <---->

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Towering above all of this otter camp is an immense willow tree that has seen bygone seasons over generations of the inhabitants below. The girthly trunk is seen over gingerly waving reeds and cattails swaying in the cool breeze off of the wide river aside the camp. Camp Willow is settled underneath the elder willow tree casting off its shade over the land below. Perking ears are the soft waves lashing gently against the shoreline of the inlet that has been jetted into the shoreline. There are no hints of any of the outside land away from the secluded grounds of otters and their kin, hidden away from any sight of beasts outside the natural defense of the reeds.''

Extending from the lashing flames of small campfires flow light smoke trails, soon disappearing within the clear air of the woods. The dry piles of wood are stacked above a thin matting of reeds, leaving the logs to dry out completely to lessen the risk of thick gray smoke to give away their position to any beasts besides their allies. Set aside these same piles are various small, mostly one-room cabins that hold families as their own sheltar. An occasional tent sprouts from the ground, holding travellers or gypsys as they go about their own unusual business of trading and bargainning.

'''Characters:'''

'''Ayita''', a healer

'''Raisa''', a cook

'''Rincair''', a Viking and his men

'''Jake''', a resident

'''Trent''', a resident

'''Piper''', a resident

'''Zade''', a warrior

'''Kolbjorn''', the Viking chief

'''Liask''', a guard

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                   <----> Part Two: What is Ours <---->

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[[The_Great_Ones%2C_Part_One%3A_Under_Siege||Part One|]][[The_Great_Ones%2C_Part_Three%3A_The_Will_to_Survive||Part Three|]]

Things are growing hairier - and the chaos leeches further into Camp. The Vikings still find resistance at every turn, from the guards and fighter beasts to the old marm with a rolling pin... The otters do not give in easily. Even those not wielding weapons find their uses: there is a place in war for fighting, but there is also a place for Ayita - even as her legs threaten to give out from the fear. The healer is away from the fighting, patching up the fighters as they are brought to her - an arrow here, torn shoulder there... They're a tough lot, but it adds up. From her spot of relative safety near the Willow Tree, she has a good look at the terrifying show.

Raisa has gotten some other dibbuns somewhere safe and looks around, she grabs a passing Otter "Where is Konnor...where is he!!" One shrugs and has no clue. She frowns as panic sets in but unless she knows for sure she will not think the worse.

Rincair's band is smaller than the main fighting force, but with about thirty heads under his command, the marten remains a force to be reckoned with. He keeps his fighters close, not allowing them to split off in search of plunder just yet, and they roll over the scattered defenders as they encounter a few at a time. They have one goal; devastation. The sack will follow the fall, and his crew draws ever closer to the willow tree at the center of the camp.

Jake manages to load the sling a couple times and then gasps as he rushes forwards to help an ottermaid who got hurt and carries her to the infirm quickly.

Raisa looks towards where some of the fighting is and frowns, she won't dare risking back to look for Konnor. She can only trust he will meet her in one of the cabins further into camp, she will also keep an eye on the doorway to the infirmary.

The Camp is starting to slip - and the healers are pulled thin. "Put 'er there!" Ayita barks to Jake and the maid he is supporting. But they're coming... As the residents rush the invading force, they find themselves being battered back. Shouldering open a door, one of the shopkeepers leaps out with a roar in his smithing apron, swinging his hammer at the temple at Rincair as he passes the door.

Jake does as he is told and frowns. "What’s gonna happen?"

The borrowed helmet on Rincair's head saves his life, but he won't be returning it. The big marten reels crazily back as the hammer crashes into his head, denting the helmet and bending its form, only the thick cap beneath it preventing the impact from knocking the raider unconscious. As it is, his crewmates quickly assault the smith, cutting, stabbing, and slashing him into submission. With a blood-drunk howl, Rin recovers and dashes pell-mell towards the willow, where he can see the wounded being gathered. "Brenna allt!" he roars as he runs, preparing his axe to assail the cluster of defenders gathered around the tree. "Burn it all!"

Raisa gasps, she rushes as fast as she can inside where she thinks it to be safer, she can worry on finding Konnor later.

Jake goes to hid under a bed...yep that’s a great idea there, if trouble comes he will need to be dragged elsewhere or knocked out and carried.

"No!" Ayita squeaks, eyes wide as the smith falls and the charge turns their way. "GET THEM OUT!" She shrieks to the healers, and snatches the scalpel from her bag. "Inside!" And then the fires break out - and her eyes widen. "No.... NO!" The ottermaid snatches one of the wounded under the arm and drags him after the other retreating healers as the flames leap from roof to roof, quickly spreading through the Camp with a hunger not unlike that of those who started it. More residents pour out - even those who don't fight try to prove themselves useful, snatching buckets to quell the flames, dragging their fallen neighbors upright, even as they flee.

Raisa frowns and gets a scared dibbun and rushes from the cabin, hopefully someone got Jake from under the bed as she has a dibbun that was in the infirm earlier in the day and a injured guard leaning on her other side "Where do we go!!"

The raiders charge the tree, eager to attack the fallen and the weak, bringing the judgment of Storm Father down on this wretched, godless place. Rincair stumbles of his own volition, the blow to his head not as easily shrugged off as he would like, while the others continue the raid.

As the charge surges forward, the chaos unfolds. One beast throws a torch through a window, another kicks a fleeing resident in the back, flattening them to their stomach and stomping their head in with a sickening crunch. Ayita can't help but scream, muffling the sound around her paw as she turns to flee with the rest, rushing to Raisa's side to help her with the dibbuns. "One'a th'exits - go to th'hidden paths!" She hisses, even as another building bursts into flames beside them.

Raisa has never run so fast in her life! She is unsure how she got in charge of dibbuns but she did and thats fine, she gets along well with dibbuns as she rushes forwards. Another otter gets the passed out Jake.

Suddenly their path is cut off by some of Rincair's men, and a battle axe sinks into the ground between the two maidens. A stoat, roaring in his bloodlust, lunges forward for Raisa as the rest chase down the retreating wounded. "No, no!" They aren't going to make it - while this small offshoot of Vikings may not be as heavy in numbers as the main force, they are certainly a force to be reckoned with - they catch the wounded even as they flee, grabbing one of the trailing healers. She is thrown into the ground, and ripped from throat to groin in one quick, brutal stroke as the weasel roars. Ayita skids to a halt, ducking a sword as it whizzes overhead - she takes off running, even as Raisa makes it to an exit.

Huh? Whu? Smacking lips and the bleary blink of eyes reveals fire and screaming and chaos around Trent as he wakes up in the shallow wine cellar he had found under one of the huts. He tilts his head, looking up through the open cellar doors that nestle against the on-fire hut where the ruckus is coming from. "Seriously, can't a guy get some sleep?" Trent grumbles and sits up, an empty wine bottle rolling off his chest and clatter to the floor. "Piper," Trent complains as he rubs his eyes. "Pipes? Go tell 'em to shut up."

It's true, teenagers /can/ sleep through anything. Even an... invading viking horde? Piper is stretched out on her stomach, head pillows on her arms as she snores quietly - very ladylike, mind you. The sound of the clattering bottle wakes her, though, and she stretches up, her upper body lifting as she props herself to squint around. Her small ears perk at the sounds from above. She's not fully unconscious, she staggers up and heads for the door, scruffing at her headfur with a sleepy yawn. "... Was sleepin' jus' fine 'til /you/ started complainin', you great big blowhard," she mutters. And is just about to step out the door when part of the burning hut falls off and falls into the doorway. She bares her teeth in a startled yip and drops back, stumbling and falling onto her butt on the dirt floor. "... /Fire/," she almost squeaks. And then an axe comes flying out of nowhere, and slams into the wooden doorframe, and her eyes widen. "..."

Trent scowls as he finally draws himself to a sit. "Piper, I said tell them to shut up, not make more noi..." He stares, his eyes fixated on the axe. "Aw, what now?" the young river dog says, his voice shaking just a tad as he rolls to his knees and scoots over to Piper. One of Trent's arm curls around hers and he starts to tug. "C'mon! C'mon c'mon, we gotta go."

Ugh. /Teenagers/! Ayita is knocked flat by the hilt of an axe, and only barely manages to scramble for cover in time to see the destruction crashing through. Another swing tears into a cabin as the healer struggles to keep it between her and this attacker, splintered wood showering her and the ground as his steel gouges through it. Unfortunately, they have no way of knowing that the defenses at the entrance have fallen - and now more are pouring through the Camp, spreading like a sickening disease - destroying everything within reach. Fires burst into life in more cabins, more stores - flames licking easily against the wooden homes. Passing them, Ayita hears the voices and spins around to zero in on Piper and Trent, somehow shaking off her pursuer. They're new here - that she remembers. "THIS WAY!" She cries, charging towards them, snatching a plank of wood from the ground to use as a lackluster defense.

Zade is late to the party, which might be the only reason there are so many Vikings still standing. Throwing off a rope of fresh-caught fish from his shoulder, the big otter bounds in through the entrance, driving his spear through the spine and then belly of a mustelid raider. Even as the ferret squirms in death throes around the embedded polearm, Zade flings him off of it, through the air, then pivots and brings down another with a solid punch to the side of the head. "/Piper/!" the big dog hollers, with a hurried look around, then pounces the next Viking who strays close to him, introducing his long canine teeth to the poor sod's face.

Ugh teenagers, indeed. Piper is very briefly paralyzed by surprise, staring at the axe - blood dripping from the blade - as Trent gets an arm 'round her. She blinks, glancing to the side at her brother blankly before nodding. "... Right. Just." /Where/? But then, Ayita to the rescue! She breaks from her paralysis, then, surging forward while grabbing Trent's paw to keep him with her. "... What's going /on/?" the otter jill complains, as her eyes cast past Ayita. Which is when that shout catches her ears and she starts, eyes widening slightly. She tugs on /Trent/, now, as she moves to follow Ayita quickly, eyes darting every which way. When they're out in the light of day, she spots Zade - and a whole mess of... vikings. And fleeing otters. She loses half a step, her dark eyes wide in the firelight. "Zade!" she calls to the other otterdog, and squeezes tightly on Trent's paw. "Don't you go /anywhere/," she requires of her brother.

"What is going on?!" Trent bellows as an arrow nearly takes one of his ears. He ducks belatedly, cursing but thankfully the arrow missed it's mark. He stumbles and tries not to trip up on rubble and bodies. The dog begins to curse, clutching to Piper and trying not to look at what he's stepping over while trying not to fall. Trent is panting when Piper stops. "What?" he gasps with wide eyes. "Who the toad snot is /Zade/?" Panic starts to grip his features. "Where are you going?"

Still they come - pouring from the entrance like a blood-crazed tidal wave. "Tha' way!" Ayita points, desperately. "There's a hidden path out, connects wi' the - eep!" An arrow buries itself into the ground next to her, slicing a thin line against her cheek in its wake. She slaps her paw to it, but keeps going, motioning for the younger siblings to follow - and she catches Zade. Flee, you fool! The Vikings cascade through shops and stalls, tents are razed to the ground as torches are thrown into the very reeds. The only thing keeping the fires from rampaging out of control, or from destroying the Willow Tree which protects them - is the soil itself. The mud, the inlets, the streams - the land is still fighting back, even as its inhabitants are crushed underfoot. "Please!" She cries out towards the otter, fighting against them as they push their way in.

Zade is no fool, he's just very /good/ at what he does. The wrecked bodies of four, five, six vikings are left in his wake as he works toward the other otters. When another raider approaches them, a fox swinging a spiked club, the huge otter-dog looses his whip from his belt and there's a sharp whistle, then crack, as it lashes out and catches the tod's arm, winding twice around. With a powerful yank, Zade hauls the fox away and off his feet, reeling him in like a baited bass, then breaking his neck with a single hard smack of his tail-rudder. "Piper! To me," he barks at the sea-jill now that the way between them is cleared.

What he's stepping over is bodies, which is - disturbing, let's say. But Piper doesn't even spare them a glance, just stumbling and running after Ayita, her eyes on the over jill as she directs them. As Trent begins to panic, though, she halts long enough to turn, smacking him feverishly and repeatedly on the arm. "I'm not /goin'/ anywhere! Just. C'mon!" No panicking, bro. Pipes tends to get bitey, though for now she just growls, the fur at the back of her neck standing on end. Ffff. The tod /almost/ gets within swinging distance, running at the two siblings, only to be caught and dragged back by the whip. Piper blinks, glancing between Ayita and Trent. She... points. "/That's/ Zade." Aheh. She grasps Trent's paw again and drags him forward, because let's be honest. Zade's the one to be with just about now. Neck-breaking and all that. S'useful. "That way?" she asks frantically, glancing to Ayita again before indicating the path with a look. She ducks low, protecting her head as arrows fly over them.

"Ow! Ow ow, stopp, ow!" Trent nearly back peddles, but that way be vikings. He gripes and fusses as they trail after Ayita. "The tree with whiskers?" Trent asks with a snort. He nearly barrels into Ayita as they are forced low by arrows. "The bloody'ell do they want?" he demands at Ayita with ragged breath while stumbling forward. From the right a shaggy rat lunges with a dagger and Trent /squeals/.

The tree with whiskers notes Trent's comment with a flicker of one small ear, but he's a bit... busy. With the siblings a few steps away, now, he deftly sweeps out the butt of his spear toward the oncoming rat, knocking the legs from under him. Her? Hard to tell, with rats. "Piper, 'ere," he gruffs, flicking the whip over his shoulder to free that hand, which drops to the curved sword at his belt. "Stop clingin', ye two. Figh' back." The blade is extended toward Piper, and as soon as it's passed off the big otter turns, angling the spear toward another oncoming assailant, letting the viking's own momentum spear him onto the stabby end.

Ayita is not much protection, and she instead turns her desperate eyes on the warrior and his whip, only trying to stay alive - but at least Zade is arming the younger beasts. "Okay." She breathes, checking back over her shoulder to see if they are still following. "Okay." Run, run, run - the only thought that fills her mind is that of /fleeing/ to safety... But then she stops dead. "Th'infirmary!" She squeaks in terror, spinning about and turning her wide-eyed fear in that direction. "F-follow this path out an' /run/!" She pleads towards Trent as Piper takes up arms with Zade - and she, in all her foolish glory, is sprinting back towards the Willow Tree and making a break for the infirmary. She took an oath - she can't leave her charges to perish.

This is it. The center of the camp. Where the heartbeat of life sounds strongest. Kolbjorn has put his foot on the pounding artery of Camp Willow and /presses/, leading the frontal attack from the entrance and now /more/ raiders are spilling out through the camp, with death on their minds. They can sense the battle has reached its climax and, clawing like animals, they race to be the first to crush what's left of the resistance. Kolbjorn affects a quick, steady gait through the carnage, eyes darting about under his helmet, the gold outlines flashing in the light of the fires. He bangs his bloody axe on his shield as he aims for the nearest cluster, led by Zade. "Komdu ut sterkir sjalfur! Berjast vith mig!"

Clinging is what the two otter siblings do best, though! Piper lets out a low, almost whining yip at the idea of separating, but in the end she releases Trent's paw to take the curved sword. She turns to meet an approaching ferret, small ears swiveling back. She swings the blade in a somewhat wild arc, not necessarily skilled in the blade, but cuts him through the middle, spilling his guts with a surprised yip as she startles back a step. Well okay, then. She swallows down her shock and glances back to Zade and then Trent, before turning a look to the fallen ferret. She bares her teeth in a fierce little snarl and then breaks into a run, trying to make her way through the madness to the escape. Somehow, in that time, she gets lost in the crowd. Separated. She's gone.

Liask has no idea what the pine marten is shouting, nor does he really care. He could be shouting "PEACE TREATY!" and the scraggly otter guard would still run from him. Alas in his blind running he nearly bowls over Ayita on her way back to the infirm, skidding to a hault barely inches away form here, "Where do you thing you are going? Back! Run! Ru-" The otter out of instict twists to find a burly red fox following in his wake. Battle ax head in both paws wearing only tattoos and a kilt.

"Oh nuts..." The otter closes his eyes and swings his short sword with both paws, catching the axe at the hilt and locking blades with the fox. "Get out of here!" He shouts to Ayita, throwing a punch square into the fox's muzzle.

The fox barely moves his head, narrowing his eyes and growling at the soon to be the Late Liask.

"Oh blazes..."

"What? No!" Trent is panicking now, no doubt about it. "Are you nuts?" he screams into the insane amount of noise and voices and screams. The otter staggers around a few paces and finds a discarded mace with a metal head. The dog grabs it and scuttles towards the edges of the camp. He just keeps shouting 'Piper' over and over again as he squirms around and somehow avoids the clash of sword and tooth.

With the fine blade in Piper's hand, Zade's concern for her welfare is appeased. She'll be fine. With spear in one hand and whip in the other, the big otter-dog turns toward the latest wave of raiders, fixing his eyes on the obvious leader. Hackles raises, lips drawn back from his sharp teeth, Zade strides toward Kolbjorn, and with a twist of his wrist arches the long whip out across the distance between them, skillfully using the double barbed tips to cut the throat of one of the viking chief's underlings. "C'mon, ye damn idjit codger! Let's have a go, /shall we/?!"

Kolbjorn watches dispassionately one of his warriors go down, clutching at his neck as the flesh is ripped right out. "Th greiethir, hermaethur," he intones slowly. "I will honor you with a burning when you are dead. You will be nothing but a notch on my torc, and your bones will feed these fires so Storm Father's winds will sweep away your /ashes./" He raises his shield, covering all but his eyes, and charges straight for the otter warrior, his axe held behind him.

The fox standing over Liask is a mighty specimen of his kind, his fur snow-white and his spear still sharp and eager. He advances on Liask slowly, with the gait and gaze of a predator, clutching the spear in both paws. "Thu verethur aeth skreyta jarn minn, bjani," he growls. Whatever it means it sounds... lethal.

She did her best to show them the way out - but Ayita cannot abandon the infirm. If the beasts who fled there earlier in the siege are still there... If they made it. "The Skipper has fallen!" It is a pained, strangled cry that spreads through the Camp faster than the fires. The will to fight is fleeing them, and as the two warriors come to a crashing head at the center of Camp, another arrow takes the ottermaid in the calf. She cries out, tripping and stumbling among the roots of the Willow Tree, tears streaking her face as her home burns around her. Struggling upright, her helpless gaze is shot back towards Liask and the fox that approaches him, and she lets out a growl. "NO!" She shouts. "Get away from'im!"

The burly red fox locked in combat with the otter glances over his shoulder even as Liask struggles to untangle his sword form his ask, "Ishkava?" The fox shrugs, stepping back and gesturing to the otter in a 'after you' sort of way. Oh, lovely, thinks Liask. The portly guard looks back and forth for a way out, but how far can he really run? He says to Ayita behind him with a forelorn glance before turning to face this new white furred fox. He gulps, knees shaking, as he holds his swort sword out in front of him.

A fist-sized stone comes whizzing from the path to the northeast entrance, aimed for the head of the fox who was previously towering over Liask. It's sent from the sling of a silly ottermaid who really should've ran the first time she was told, but here comes Lady Pebbles. She grabs at whatever stones she can find, having lagged far enough behind that she can get a few slings loaded and loosed before she needs to retreat. If she retreats. She spots the last thing she saw before she lost consciousness, though, and all her rage trumps any logic in her mind. She pitches a rock at Kolbjorn. "You stupid weasel!" she barks.

Oh, this guy. So long-winded. Zade barks a laugh and surges forward to meet the oncoming marten, and as they come close together the whip whistles around in a sweeping sideways motion. It curls behind the raised shield to rake the twin barbs across Kolbjorn's back and shoulders, and then Zade drops down low in his bounding run, to slide-tackle the feet out from under his adversary.

Kolbjorn lets out a roar as the whip snaps. He can feel the sonic crack even through his armor, and links of chain mail pop right off, letting the barbs split open the furs and flesh underneath. But on he comes. He sees Zade go low and jerks leftward at the last moment, trying to sweep his axe low and catch something, any piece of Zade as he goes by. He'll be content with a cheek, or whiskers, or an eyeball. Then as he spins around to bring his shield up again... -CLANG- goes a rock against his head. He staggers just a moment, and laughs as he tears off his now dented helm. He doesn't say anything, just laughs as he hurls his axe with a loud /WHOOSH/ at Esgyrn, then goes to draw his sword. Rocks! Imagine.

The fox attacking Liask, on the other hand, is not so lucky. He is brained, either instantly killed or given a severe concussion, because he was not wearing a helmet. It was a sling rock, so the former is likely as it lodges in his skull, and he drops to his knees, then to the ground. But that is just one of many, and Liask has been bought a half-second at most of safety before more Vikings turn towards Esgyrn and Liask, roaring. Whoever is left alive is now drastically outnumbered, and about to be fallen on by multiple roaring vermin with sharp objects as they finish their encirclement of the main square.

Liask is okay - and Ayita turns... Her chest rises and falls in desperate, heaving breaths - the pain searing through her calf. It staggers her as she tries to take a step. "Run!" She growls, under her breath, at the bumbling guard - she, however, turns around and takes off towards the Infirmary again at a desperate clip, her limping gait dragging her through the chaos and away from it. For the most part, the otters of Camp Willow are taking their leave of the place - reluctantly fleeing. Dragging friends, neighbors, family... They're all running. At least the Vikings don't know the place as the residents do - the secret paths, the streams - they all create pathways to safety. Ayita is simply taking none of these.

The sight of the dying fox shakes Liask out of the trance he fell into. He gasps in shock then turns on his heels. That half second of safety is all he needs. The adrenaline hits and his heart begins to pound fiercely in his chest. He has to get out of here, he has to get out of here, he has to- The otter pauses to look at Ayita. Only a moment passes but in that moment there is hesitation, the horrible knowledge that if he stops to help her they will both die. But if he leaves now only ONE of them will die. A pained expression fills his face as he makes his choice, turning to leave Ayita behind without a second look.

Despite her success on the fox, Esgyen can only flounder in the face of Kolbjorn's unforgiving malice. Her rock falls to the ground, ineffective and fruitless, and she's left staring at the face of evil. The weight of his axe head slows its path toward the speckled youth, granting just enough time to dodge mortal wounding. It hits, not her head, not her neck, not a leg - just her side, tearing through her tunic and superficially skinning her hide. It slams into the ground behind her, leaving the otter shaken but not too stunned to turn and run. Like really run, for real this time - away, far, far away.

The edge of that axe just barely grazes across Zade's shoulder blade, leaving a long but shallow cut as the otter twists around and bounds back upright. In the time that Kolbjorn is briefly distracted by the thrown rock, Zade circles around to try to get at him from the other side. He puts his weight behind a hard jab with the spear between the front of Kolbjorn's body and the shield he carries, then jerks it sideways, using the polearm like a crowbar in an effort to pry the shield away from the big marten hob and cast it aside.

Kolbjorn's arm is forced back by the spear crashing into his shield, but his whole intent was to get /close./ Even as the shield is jerked aside he lets it go in favor of still moving forward, and brings his sword down /hard/ onto Zade's spear arm.

Her labored sprint only digs the arrow deeper into the muscle of her calf, and Ayita gasps out in pain on every other step - but she's still going! Dragging herself into the muck for a shortcut to the Northernmost grounds... And escapes that way. For now. Those able to escape: do, and those that don't, are falling to the ground, bleeding and crushed. As the grounds thin, the sounds of the Vikings ravaging what is left mingle with the primitive cacophony of the battle at the center of the grounds.

Instead of trying to dodge the downward sword strike toward his unprotected arm, Zade shifts just a little, rolling that shoulder forward so the blade strikes right against the metal torq at his bicep. There's a sharp metallic sound, and the power of it is enough to spread a deep ache through Zade's arm and shoulder, but instead of losing the limb he ends up with only another gash along his bicep where the blade manages to nick him. The spear drops from his momentarily numbed hand, and with a snarl the otter jerks away, circling, lashing the whip in the space between himself and the viking chief.

Kolbjorn whips his sword up again, looking surprised as the whip twirls around the blade - he must not have meant to do that. The barbs still slap down over his face and rake his forehead, drawing blood. But now they're both locked in that deadly embrace, and in the split-second it takes for the whip to slacken, Kol wraps a paw around it to /jerk/ Zade forward, right into his fist. Almost immediately after he tries to dig his claws into any part of the otter he can grab and shoves, trying to drive him back through the reeds and into the trunk of their seemingly sacred tree. Water sloshes and mingles with the blood around their footpaws. The remaining vermin, if they are not pillaging or tending to their wounded, start to congregate around one of the only interesting fights left, watching intently.

Shoulders heaving with huge billowing breaths, brawny muscles rigid, Zade strains against the tangled whip and sword, trying to jerk the latter away from Kolbjorn's equally stubborn grip. Inevitably they're pulled together, and as Kolbjorn's fist meets his shoulder the otter twists his head to sink his teeth into the marten's arm, his own clawed digits doing their best to gouge and tear wherever he can manage.

Kolbjorn roars like a wolverine as Zade's teeth sink in, past the furs and leather and into the flesh beneath. Not necessarily because of the pain, but because this is /destiny./ To strive and struggle and bite and claw for every breath is why Storm Father pulled their souls from ice. As Zade's claws gouge bloody furrows in his fur, Kolbjorn keeps pushing, pushing, until Zade is up against the tree, and then Kolbjorn balls up his free paw and cracks it into Zade's side, one, two, three. He already dropped the sword. This one will die with the greatest honor: by Kolbjorn's own natural weapons. He twists, spinning his thick torso, and attempts to literally throw Zade so hard the grip of his teeth is dislodged. Their fight is coming closer to the riverbank, and the other vermin crowd now, eyes alight with excitement.

With Kolbjorn's dropped sword, Zade's whip is also abandoned, his clawed hands and sharp teeth engaged in what's essentially become a sort of upright wrestling match. No finesse about it, just brute force. Their feet churn the bloodied mud, neither able to get much leverage, and it's only by small degrees that Kolbjorn drives Zade backward while the two large predators more or less maul each other. Feeling the rough and solid surface of the tree trunk against his back, his abdomen clenches up and the three powerful blows land against his ribs, causing low grunts of discomfort but not at all deterring Zade from his single-minded goal: ripping the hob's throat out. Only when he's swung around and flung apart from Kolbjorn do the dog's teeth wrench away, taking with them a mouthful of fur and some upper layers of skin. Muzzle all bloodied and throat rippling with a loud snarl, the otter throws out his hands to catch his weight and bounds back upright, whirling around to face the hob again, his feet braced sturdily near the edge of the river. "Still waitin' t'meet tha' /Storm Father/ 'a yers, ye pillock..."

Kolbjorn slaps himself on the arm several times, right where Zade bit him, as if to remind himself of the pain. "Perhaps I will drown you instead of burning," he snarls as he advances on Zade again, his face a mess of tangled, bloody fur and wild eyes that are enraged and exultant all at once. This is a religious experience, meeting someone who comes so close to being his match. "Your spirit will not fly to meet him. But your bones will lie with the fish you dogs love!" He charges the otter one last time, teeth bared and claws out, aiming to tackle him around the waist. Into the river, into the ground, into Hellgates, whatever works.

The threat earns a cackling snarl of near-breathless laughter from the otter-dog. As Kolbjorn charges he braces one foot behind him, making no effort to evade the tackle that throws them both from the river's edge into the river itself. As they writhe and roll together underwater, Zade twists and uses the advantage of his powerful tail to assert a more dominant position, using his teeth and claws not just to seek injury, but to gain a secure hold that pins Kolbjorn on his back to the gravelly floor of the river. With the water rushing above them and his teeth latched onto the side of the hob's muzzle, all Zade needs to do now is hold him there, trusting the viking's land-adapted lungs to give in long before the otter himself needs to draw a breath.

Kolbjorn feels the water well up and surround him. The water is not a natural place for a marten. That is the earth, and in the trees, where he can listen to Storm Father in the wind. But though the water is home only to angry devils, he doesn't fear it. Nor does he fear when Zade latches on and twists him in the muck, kicking up silt and shrouding them both in a horrible tasting fog of dead things and blood. He does, however, start to /worry./ Zade is... slippery under here. And Kol finds himself at a disadvantage and teeth, /teeth in his face./ He huffs, losing just enough breath to make it burn, and lets himself sink, still struggling under the weight of his armor and the otter on top of him. His claws wildly snatch through the mud and dead branches, searching, searching... finding. As his chest starts to ache and black fills his vision, he rears up and thrashes mightily, just enough to club Zade about the head with the rock he found. Rocks. Imagine.

Zade's lung capacity is at least double that of the viking chief. While Kolbjorn's struggle begins to hint at just how little time he can yet survive without taking another breath, the otter isn't even feeling it. What he does feel is the sudden rock to the side of his head, a blow delivered with enough power and proximity that it would surely knock him out, if not for the water somewhat slowing the motion. Instead it dazes him, just enough to loose the grip of his jaws on Kolbjorn's muzzle, and he lurches sideways. Then, just like that, his claws rake free and his weight is released from the pinned hob, and with one powerful undulation of his streamlined body, Zade disappears somewhere within the relentless current of the river.

A strong paw plunges into the water, the arm submerged up to the shoulder as the fingers latch onto Kolbjorn's mail brynie, a powerful tug dragging him irresistibly free of the water. Rincair did not interfere when the otter was pinned against the tree, nor when the pair tumbled into the water; that is not their way. You would no more walk in on a friend in his bridal chamber than interrupt a fight like this. But now with his leader's fate at stake in the grasp of the river, he cannot allow death to steal the brave raider's soul away, not under the water. His grasp on the bank is tenuous, but slipping and sliding, he manages to drag the other marten ashore.

Kolbjorn pushes away from the otter the moment he's loose, clutching his chest and looking for the surface. Good fight, though. Even if he dies here in the dark his countrymen will fish him out for a proper burial. /Ha./ Fish. He finds the riverbank and pulls upward, but then something else hauls him up, and the moment he breaks the surface he heaves in a mighty breath, and hauls himself ashore with the help of Rincair and others who rush to help. "Ha ha ha! HA HA HA HA!" he laughs. "So there /are/ strong ones here!" He shouts, grabbing Rincair by the shoulders and shaking him. "I will /FIND YOU!/" he shouts back at the river, so his voice goes hoarse. "I WILL FIND YOU! Another day. Ha ha ha! Another day." He looks around the village, at the bodies, the dead, the living, and... he smiles. "Now we claim what is ours."

Groups:

* [[Camp_Willow%21|Camp Willow]]

 
[[Category:Ayita]]
[[Category:April_2016]]
[[Category:Events_-_Mega_Plots]]