Where the wind blows free, tag: Desma

[Sigurd Sea-Sailor]

It was early afternoon and while the midday sun was slowly starting to move down,
it was still warm in the hold of the Völsung clan. The jarls wife Hild had been cooking
all morning and day to hold a feast in celebration of them finishing the building of a
new storehouse. They hadn’t been in this land for too long, and even though the main
buildings and such were already raised and the hold was functioning, there was still
much work left.

The new storehouse would be a great addition to progress, since they now would be
able to store more food and those who earlier had to hunt or fish every day now got
more time to help build. Nothing helped the spirit of the people more than a great
feast for certain! While the others enjoyed ale and mead, Sigurd had been strictly
told to not have a single drop by his woman. Due to “what happened last time”
– whatever that was.

Sigurd wasn’t much for taking orders, but the firm voice of his better half convinced
him it was wise to obey. He quickly grew tired of the feast anyway and felt rather trapped
by the choking air in the longhouse. Without making a scene he silent snuck out the door,
grabbing his belt with his sword. Sigurd took a deep breath of the fresh air when stepping
outside. He couldn’t see the ocean from here, but could smell the fact that it was just
behind the forest.

Even though the salty waves attracted his soul like a magnet to iron he didn’t plan on
going that way today. Instead he turned the other way and started to walk. Some slaves
were building on the wooden fences surrounding the hold. As the jarl approached they
stopped and looked rather spooked up on him. Sigurd gave them a short look and a smile,
“you should take a break. Join the others in the longhouse – there’s plenty to eat,”
he said, noticing how their faces lit up before they quickly ran towards the longhouse.

Of course there would be some sort of aftermath for this. Not all approved of Sigurd’s
gentle handling of the slaves. But right now he couldn’t care less. He was the jarl after all,
and if anybody wanted to question that they better keep their weapon ready – cause he
sure had his. The hold was behind him now and he reached a forest. It never stopped to
amaze the man how green the leaf was in this place.. And the birds seemed like they
could sing forever.

After walking even longer and reaching a hill Sigurd suddenly recognized the surroundings.
He had been here before… The first night here in Themiscyra. When the Amazons came.
They brought them to their fortress… It had been dark, but he was almost certain it was
this way they had been taken. He stopped for a second. Taking a quick look around.

That ment he was on Amazon territory. Close to their main keep. All by himself. How wise
that could be was hard to say – as little as Sigurd knew about those women. But that his
moves from here perhaps should be better planned was rather certain.

.

[Desma]

Desma had long spotted the man before he crossed the border. As she was in the habit of doing, the woman took it upon herself to observe her people’s visitors for yet another night. The building of a wall was what beckoned her back for another long night of still and silent observation. It was pressing for her to find out exactly [i]why[i] they were erecting such an eyesore. Was it to keep dangerous animals out? Or was it to protect themselves from a possible battle? At first, the woman had hoped that the reasoning was merely to protect their young and what little food they carried…yet, the way the workers were labouring- the craft looked far more something intended to defend from man. The thought made a pit start to swell in her stomach. No doubt it was her duty to inform the queen about this.

It was just when she was about to slip out from her scouting spot- a crude shelter with a hole dug around the roots of a tree and hidden with shrubbery- that a man started to approach the jungle. At first, Desma thought she had been discovered. Instincts were quick to seize her body, pushing her lower to the ground and further into the shadows that concealed her. Her breath seized at the back fo her throat as dark chocolate hues watched and waited for the moment of her discovery….then, to her surprise, he had walked right by.

Suspicion was quick to arouse with Desma’s mind. It was rare for one of the Viking kind to go within the jungle so late in the evening. Even more so, to walk through the large leaves and over the twisting roots without so much as a lick of hesitation was something even more astonishing. Within her shadow, large, brown eyes narrowed. What was he up to? She waited until the man was further along his unseen path, his back to her, to slip out from her concealed position. Slowly, quietly, she followed behind with spear in hand. The many years she had spent amongst the trees and vines allowed the warrior to follow behind in near perfect silence. The jungle had welcomed her long ago, accepting her as an ally. The ground almost rose to silence Desma’s footsteps and the trees felt as if the leaned and twisted to let their large trucks hide her thin figure.

Further and further along, she followed him with curious intent. She recognized now where he was going- but did he? It was when he approached the edge of the two lands did the man stop. A moment of realization had decided upon him, then, just as a similar moment had fallen upon the warrior. This barbarian was not one of their commons, no, he was their leader. She remembered him from the first day of the Viking arrival, the way he was brought through the village to meet with the Queen.

“What business do you have here?” The question came across as strong in the evening air, but was careful not to sound threatening. Stepping out into the clearing, Desma stood tall, her shoulders rolled back and chin tilted down slightly to look down her long nose at the leader of man. Standing in such a position, the warrior appeared nothing less like a wall of hard muscle, dangerous and unmovable. The spear in her hand that towered over her head by a good foot and sharpened to a deadly point only added to her intimidating presence.

As she waited for the man to turn around, to face his back to her village and face her, she wondered what he thought of her appearance. The Queen was a woman of beauty with her fair skin and dripping jewels; whereas the warrior bore skin as dark as the night and was dressed in a simple piece of rough fabric that just reached her knees and wrapped around one shoulder to conceal her one breast, leaving the scarred tissue of the other half of her chest well-exposed. Would he look upon her in disgust? Or was it fear that he would hold?

[Sigurd Sea-Sailor]

It was almost surreal how green it all was.. The leaf and grass.. Almost like something out of a story. But in Sigurd’s opinion this whole place was, so far. His kin hadn’t been in this land for long, and the man remembered clearly how they all almost fell into shock in their first meeting with the amazons. When the one Viking from the exploring party returned and told the other what happened it was hard for the lot to believe. As the women entered their camp that night and brought him and the other Jarls to their queen Sigurd still had troubles grasping his brain around it. Now they had only been here for a little while and the complete focus had been around setting the hold up and gathering the most important recourses like food and firewood. Yet they hadn’t gotten to explore either the land or its inhabitants at all – at least not the Völsung clan. Who knew what those Skjöldung’s and Ylfings’ were up to.

Sigurd caught eye on a small bird sitting in a three. It had such a vibrant orange color and sung tunes like he had never heard before. His calm gaze towards the bird was suddenly interrupted by an unfamiliar voice. He turned around reaching for his sword, but quickly stopped the move when he realized the voice didn’t sound as threatening as firm. Furthermore he laid eyes on a tall, dark woman – one of the Amazons without a doubt. Sigurd stood up straight, lifting his chin slightly. The Amazon had a strong presence, both in her looks and how she carried herself. His gut told him this was a warrior and by judging on looks a rather skilled one too.

The jarl was unexpectedly struck by a feeling of not knowing what to say. These people were still an unsolved puzzle with a lack of pieces, and the only thing Sigurd knew for sure was that they ruled this land and had been there for a long time, now granting his people permission to stay under certain circumstances. That deal had been worked out in a hurry, and the Vikings didn’t know much about how well the Amazon people took it in general, and if it was to be discussed further. In this moment the Vikings were still rather powerless against the structured Amazons, so he knew he had to avoid trouble as best as he could. Still, he would not stand the thought of being caged up in the hold like some animal, not knowing anything about the land he was in and what was going on around him. After all he was still a jarl.

“I was just going for a walk,” he started. Trying to sound as friendly and calm as possible, not giving away his insecurity. “I wanted to explore the area. Get to know what surrounds my kinsmen,” he added. All of a sudden he realized that the woman had only one breast. Scarred tissue was all that was left on the other side of her chest, exposed as the rough fabric she was wearing only covered one shoulder. Sigurd turned his look towards her face again, uncertain of how to react. As far as he knew that could be the case of the lot – maybe they was all born with just one? No, that wouldn’t explain the scar. Perhaps they always removed one then for some purpose? The thought struck him as a bit frightening. But as far as he could remember the other few he had seen seemed to have both.