FIGHT LIKE A GIRL

「 INKERI ERNOUF | 20 | HUMAN 」 I AM SO MUCH MORE THAN A PRETTY FACE

[inkeriernouf-blog]

“The forge is closed.” The bastard growled at the intruder, eyes glancing backwards with a hardened scowl from her place beside the fire. The scowl only lasted a moment, then melted into an almost vacant expression and moved back down to her slender axe in her hands. The embers cast her completion in an orange glow, and if one beheld her in proper sunshine, they would see the dark circles beneath her eyes and the stark gauntness of her cheeks. In the week and a half that had past since the discovery of her brother, Inkeri couldn’t remember the last time she had left the now abandoned forge for more than an hour. Days had bled into nights, and meals had been the last thing on her mind. With the giants at the boarder, no one had seemed to notice her isolation. A half-finished sword laid eerily on an anvil to her right, yet another reminder of all the things her brother had had left to do in the world. How many more smiles he’d had to share, and gods above, how many more things he had to create. The forge seemed frozen in time, just as Rohan’s body had been.

“How many times do I need to say the forge is closed? Gods.” 

[inkeriernouf-blog]

Marking & Posy!

Marking — tattoos: Inkeri actually has several circling her right ankle and right wrist, as well as several on her back/spine, in the traditional Viking design. Originally, the tattoos were meant to cover a few nasty scars she got when learning to use her axe, but now her scars are as precious to her as her tattoos, which cover her back, shoulders, stomach, and facial regions across her eyebrow, nose, and jaw.

Posey — herbs: Inkeri’s favorite herbs are lavender and poppy, as they are the easiest to find and the most plentiful. She has to travel to The Pass to collect them, but they makeup a large part of her stores. Poppy is her go-to for pain, while lavender has calming aspects to soothe her patients. She also tends to smell a lot like lavender, as well as mint, which is another favorite but less plentiful in Nysno.

[inkeriernouf-blog]

the death of spring // self para

The wind had grown far too cold for a night that was meant to welcome the fresh breath of summer. Inkeri had grown reckless; she felt suffocated and antsy. No one would be surprised if she slipped away into the night, and even less surprised on a night like this. She'd just been engaged. No...she'd been engaged. Now it was just real— too real. Betrothed to Brandr's brother, yet not a soul knew what that meant. No, to the Clans, the bride-to-be was no doubt sneaking away with her suitor, or better yet taking a moment alone to still her racing heart and to gush to her friends. Except, Inkeri wouldn't consider herself a particularly giddy future wife. Balsi was kind; he'd be a brilliant husband. Keri knew her place, knew that this alliance was the best thing they could do to install some peace between the mountains and save them all. We can't all be like you, Keri. We’re not bastards with no responsibilities to worry about. Those blade like words had been true, once. Once, she didn't have to worry about anything other than living her life how she saw fit. But that had changed. That change had been coming for a long time, now.

Then why did it feel so...strange? She'd known what was coming. Sighing through her nose, Inkeri pulled the crown of flowers from her dark tresses, wringing the fresh summer buds between her nervous fingers. The wind made her hair fly into her face, sending a shiver racing down her spine and her horse’s breath coming out in a cloud of white. A cold wind— a strange wind, out of character for a night such as Beltane. Summer would explode into the world soon, and with it, a new treaty and a clan strengthened by the wedding of a heir and a...bastard. Inkeri was a bastard, damnit. She never thought she'd have to roll in the mess of an arranged marriage. She was supposed to be exempt from all this, wasn't she? Why didn't the people see how weird it was? But, Ivar was her father, and she was his only daughter, bastard or not. It turned out she had a duty, after all. Damn it all to Hel. Bran had been wrong. So, stupidly wrong. Bastard or not, fate came ready to strike you when you were down. Had come to collect those years of freedom. Damn him to Hel. Damn what they'd done in that cave, damn that he'd kissed her and she'd kissed him in the woods.

Inkeri shoved the crumpled flower crown back onto her hair, nodding her head to herself. It wouldn't be so bad. Balsi was good. He was handsome - big headed, yes - but he was kind. Maybe they were suited for each other after all. Maybe something good could come out of this whole endeavor; even if she had to move away from the snowy mountains, even if she'd have to live in the same village as Brandr, whose touch had stained her skin and whose body had already claimed her. Gods, she'd slept with him! She'd slept with her finances' brother. The gods always seemed to have a funny way of doing things, didn't they? It was some time before the firelight finally faded behind her, the sounds and smells of Beltane no longer lingering in her ears and nose. The world was quiet, save for the howl of wind. The last snow had seemed to have fallen several nights ago, and it still blanketed the world in silence and white. Without the warmth of all the bonfires, Keri's skin erupted in goosebumps, and she closed her arms around herself as she began to shiver. She wouldn't be seeing much more of this. The quiet, the white snow...she'd miss it. Balsi's village was south of The Pass; its mountain's didn't have snow and ice year round like Inkeri's village's did. When summer came, the snow would melt with it there. It would take days of riding back north before she'd see her snow again. That wasn't something she'd get to do often. She'd be a Jarl's wife soon. That meant little time for leisure and free time. There would be no more sneaking away for adventures to North's Peak with Silas, no more stealing food and ransacking store houses with Ulric. There'd be no time for spilling her whirlwind of thoughts and fears to Rohan, and as for Eirik... She'd get to see him more than the others, what with the treaty, but he'd be a jarl of another clan. Of their home. He'd have better things to do rather than deal with than his little sister. He'd have a wife, he'd have children no doubt...Gods, she'd have children too, wouldn't she? Inkeri didn't even know if she wanted children. How was a jarl's wife supposed to wield an axe when she had children clinging to her skirts? She could heal, yes, but without the thrill of bloodshed...that was the one thing they'd discovered they had in common. That battle hunger. Yet more than likely, she wouldn't be able to so much as touch a weapon in the coking days.

 Inkeri's thoughts stopped sharply as horse reared in fear of something unseen and she was sent head first into the snow. Wait. The last snow couldn't have fallen only nights ago. She hadn't gone far, either— if she looked hard enough, she could see the Beltane fires no larger than stars on the horizon and he'd horse racing back to them. As she stood, her booted foot rammed into something metal— cold metal, despite the heat of the night at her back. It caused her to trip and tumble back  into...snow, a yelp jumping from her lips. Yes, that was snow. Snow in summer. With a groan she rolled over, eyes narrowing in the dark, her only light the cloud covered moon reflecting off the white that blanketed the ground. She fanned her fingers out, searching for the object, until they met the cold kiss of frozen steel. Why was there snow on the ground? It was Beltane…it was the end of spring. The weather had been warm for months now. The bastard gave it a tug, and within seconds she was pulling a sword free from the frozen white landscape. As she pushed to her feet, she spotted the round silhouette of a shield cast not much farther away. It had marking on it she'd know anywhere; markings of a crafter's hands, of a man who cared more about the beauty of things rather than the damage a weapon could do. 

Rohan. Gathering her dress between now shaking fingers, Inkeri held tightly to the blade, running towards the shield as her heart leapt into her throat. Rohan hated the thought of blood and battle. He wasn't an easy opponent, a master of swords who could easily match herself, but he didn't like war. He wouldn't stalk off with his gear unless something was wrong. Why would Rohan be away from the village? Come to think of it, she hadn't seen him for several hours. He hadn't even been at the table when Balsi officially asked for her hand. Sliding to a stop beside the shield, her dark eyes scanned the horizon. Rohan would never leave his sword and shield. He'd put too much time and effort into making them. She dropped the sword next to the shield, cupping her hands around her mouth, and shouting as loud as she could "Rohan!" Several minutes later, there was still no answer. The wind howled, but in that moment, it blew the clouds away from the moon. Light seemed to flood around her, and in that moment, Inkeri could see a figure collapsed on the horizon, lying still in a blanket of red. It was blood. With a scream, Keri took off into a sprint, collapsing by the cooling body. Blood dripped from his mouth, and a stab wound was where his heart should have been. Snow dusted the lashes of open eyes, but they only stared upward at the glowing moon. Keri pressed her ear to his chest desperately, searching for any sounds of life. No cloud of warmth seeped past his lips, and it seemed the heat had of his body long since vanished into the night air. Frost curled around the wound at his chest, his skin an unnatural blue. A body would turn blue with hypothermia, but this...this was like nothing she'd ever seen. No no no no no no. Tears froze on her cheeks as she slammed her hands into his chest. "Ro! Rohan, wake up!" Inkeri sobbed, but try as she might, her brother would not move. He would not breathe. Rohan Ernouf...he was dead. A golden light and a pure heart had been blown out as spring was meant to blown away the winter, and as his little sister screamed and screamed in despair, she could see the shadows of tall figures moving out of the gloom in the distance. Through her frozen tears and screams of utter anguish, she could see them. The things of legend — the things Runa claimed were real each month — giants.

 They wouldn't find Rohan’s body after the battle.

[inkeriernouf-blog]

brandrvargramr:

As his heartbeat slowed, Brandr could feel a little more of his usual self coming back to him. Soon, he would return to the festivities as if nothing had happened. Maybe he’d even be able to find another sparring tournament to join.

Of course, it wouldn’t be that simple.

The sound of her voice caused his heart to pound again, a single loud beat of alarm and despair, before settling into a softer, rapid rhythm of nerves. Why? he wondered. Weariness was starting to settle in, taking over slowly at the edges, creeping up his legs and fingers, clouding the edges of the darkness behind his eyelids. He didn’t open his eyes yet. He let her ask her question again. Her stupid, stupid, stupid question that he didn’t want to answer. Her hands on his chest left a different feeling than they had before—an ice cold tingle on his skin rather than a burn. Still he didn’t open his eyes, but his hands reached intuitively up to grasp her wrists while his head ducked swiftly to kiss her. Then, and only then, did he open his eyes.

“It doesn’t stop.” He couldn’t control his voice anymore, but he didn’t have to. The frustration sapped his energy as it came, creating a wave of angry exhaustion to keep him talking. “I stay calm because I have to. There isn’t any other way. If I don’t stay calm, no one in my family will have a clear head. We can’t all be like you, Keri. We’re not bastards with no responsibilities to worry about.” It wasn’t a condemnation, it was a statement of fact. “You told me your oldest brother, Eirik, is the responsible one. He looks out for you all, for your people, and one day for all of your territory. In my family, I have to be that person because Balsi sure as Hel won’t be. And my father would probably love him less if he was, as he does with me.”

Now that he spoke, it was hard to turn it off. And away from prying eyes, it was suddenly hard to stop looking at her. Feeling her skin against his again for the first time in a year was such a bizarre and pleasurable sensation. “I live with this because I have to. You will marry Balsi, and that is the end of that. Whatever this is we’re feeling and whatever we’ve shared in the past can’t exist. We have to erase it. If we don’t, if we let our guard down and anyone finds out, this peace treaty will be ruined and it will all be for naught. But the feeling doesn’t go away.”

There were no tears in his eyes, no hitch in his voice, but his frustration had spent his energy and the weariness had overtaken him. Bran could only hold her wrists and her gaze and pray she would finally, finally understand. “I don’t know how you’ll deal with it, but you have to find a way, Keri. Otherwise, we’ll all be right back to where we started. Until you figure it out, I can’t… I can’t be around you.”

“We’re bad for each other. And I won’t let us destroy our people.”

"You think I don't have responsibilities?" Inkeri snarled at him then, her nails digging into her palms as he held her wrists in iron to prevent her from punching him again. Gods, she needed to hit him. She needed to hit him hard. She wanted him to do something other than hold her off. She wanted him to feel. Not love, not lust. Nothing like that. She wanted him to feel how she felt, and his words were once again deflecting. Fucking sidestepping.

"What do you think I'm doing, Brandr? I'm marrying your fucking brother because it's the responsible thing to do. I'm selling my freedom for a stupid treaty! One that might not even last! How do you think that feels, Brandr? How do you think it feels to have the world and then have nothing and a fiancé?" She was yelling again, so ferociously her throat burned. His hands on her wrists were electric. 

Lightning that she could hardly ignore, and a part of her didn't want to. Maybe it was selfish, but that part of her that Rohan loved most — her unrelenting emotions and her inability to control them — and that part of her she hated was winning out. It always won out with Brandr. No love, no lust...but there was something. And she knew he felt that, even if neither of them knew what it was. Even if he would keep that stoned face until the day he died. She just wanted to see that he felt.

"No!” She erupted, words like poison. “You don't get to avoid me anymore. You don't. This is my sin as much as it is yours, and I'm so damn tired of dealing with it on my own. Because that's what you did! You left me when we found out our father's plan. Left me without a word. You left me to figure it out on my own, even after I saved your damn life! Your stupid, stupid, stupid fucking life—" Her next move surprised even her. Impulsive, that's what it was. Reckless like always. But she was moving, using his hold on her wrists to jerk him forward. Rising up on her toes and stepping up to his chest and slamming her mouth into his so quickly and so angrily that their teeth gnashed together.

She hoped he felt it. Hoped he felt all the anger and frustration as she moved her lips against his, ripping one wrist free from his grip to cup his neck and fist it in the hair there. Hoped he could feel her rage at him as the heat of her body licked up his own. The bastard kissed the man who was still that same stranger, because everything they'd known about each other in that cave was gone. She kissed him in all her rage and anger and prayed to the gods he felt something as she pulled him closer, kissed him harder. It was that, or break his stupid nose. Show me that you’re angry.

[inkeriernouf-blog]

brandrvargramr:

He’d known she wouldn’t take it well, and on one hand that was part of the plan. Sooner or later, she would get tired of him. Of doing this little jig of theirs. And perhaps she would come to hate him enough to let whatever remained between them die. She would back off for good, and Bran would once again be able to rest easy knowing he had done his duty as a good brother. He would have secured a place for Balsi in her heart by cutting himself from it, and they might even be able to enjoy a happy marriage. Maybe over time, she would hate Bran less, see why he’d done what needed to be done, and forgive him. Maybe someday, they could look back on all this and laugh. He prayed it might be so, because until it happened he couldn’t be certain. And of course, it wouldn’t solve the puzzle of his own foolish heart.

As the bowl dropped from his hands and rolled on the grass, Bran looked up at her. The anger in Keri’s eyes, as much as it hurt to see, gave him hope that his plan was close to succeeding. He thought she could have spat fire in that moment, had she a mind to try it, and her words lashed against him like whips. Her invasion of his personal space, the force behind her hands as she pushed him back a step, it was all heartwrenching and promising. A few eyes around them moved in their direction, but he couldn’t feel them. His skin under his shirt felt as though it was burning from where her hands had touched him. Inkeri had somehow mastered getting under his skin, pulling at his heartstrings, igniting his impetuous desires, and it took every ounce of will he possessed not to shove back, shout in her face, do what his brother might have done to answer such a challenge.

And he was doing so well. Until she spat the word ‘coward’ at him. Coward. One thing, above all, Bran would never be, no matter how his father proclaimed that patience and prudence were cowards’ tools. Fire ignited in his own eyes, a passion and a rage that was befitting of his very name. Brandr the flame, Vargramr the wolf-warrior. In that moment, the sudden twist of his lips into a vengeful frown terrified even him. Every urge told him to strike at such an insult, and only decades of careful self-training restrained him. Leaning close to Inkeri’s face, jaw tense and eyes reflecting fire, he whispered so none but she could hear, “Call me coward, but I’ll not be the fool in this game of yours, child. Take your anger and your tricks to my brother, he’ll love you more for them. I, at least, will do what I must to protect our people, even if you won’t.” Even when it kills me.

He could not look at her anymore. He needed to get away from her, from people, from noise and light and happiness. He needed a moment’s peace and quiet to calm himself. He couldn’t lose control like this. Damn her! Jaw clenched tight against any more words of fury, he turned and walked. Past unseen faces and muffled shouts, he walked, until he passed the sentries and into a line of trees and out of sight. He didn’t stop until he was well in the copse, the light of the fires only a glow in the distance, and his legs and heavy lungs bade him lean against a tree. His eyes closed against the dark, and his heart pounded a rhythm he could almost chant to. Leave me be. Leave me be.

“A- a child?!” Who was he to call her a child? When it was he — he in that cave in the cold and dark — who made her anything but? Who took away her innocence and damned them both? He was not solely to blame, no, she knew that better than most. Probably more than he did, but all the same, there he was. The picture of what a Jarl's son should be. Strong, unyielding, yet utterly and engagingly calm. Brandr, looking so stone faced as he passed her each time. So at peace as he avoided her gaze and so fucking guilt free and—

And there it was. The glimmer. That light and fury mirrored in his own eyes exploded the moment she declared him a coward. It was that which she'd been trying to gouge out of him, strip it from his skin and bones. Guilt, that's what she saw, after so many moons of utter nothingness. Of avoiding her; of rarely speaking. Of pretending that nothing had happened. Inkeri had no love for Brandr Vargramr — how could love make her this angry? — of that single thing she was certain. But after that night in the mountains, when they returned home to discover her engagement to his own brother, they had not spoken. Had not shared their laments and their regrets. And it was for that reason that she danced with him in this way, constantly watched him for that glimmer of fiery guilt she was seeing now. For she had seen it now, she was not going to let this opportunity slip through her fingers like she has at the river. So, she did the only thing she could do.

She followed him.

Followed him until the heat of the bonfires no longer licked at her back, until moving bodies and laughing faces no longer filled her ears and eyes. She followed behind him, waiting long enough so that it would raise no suspicions. What was there even to be suspicious of at this point? It didn't matter, anyways. Let them be caught. Let them be damned. Because she would rather be exposed to their people than left to wallow in this regret that pressed into her chest and made her feel like she was drowning. Always drowning. When she finally tracked him down within the thicket of the woods, she knew he would not notice her until she spoke — even in the dark, she could see his hooded eyelids, and how his chest rose slowly. Like he didn't even give a damn about his sins and hers.

"Answer my question." Inkeri's hands closed into fists, her slight body trembling with visible anger as the words came through gritted teeth and she closed the distance once again. Only steps away she stopped, no longer bothering to quiet her words or hold back the scream. "I asked you — how. Are. You. So. Calm?!" An angry breath before the beast was released. "How do you fucking live with this?!" Gods, please. Please tell me. Another, and her voice was cracking, hoarse and almost terrifying to behold. "How did you make it stop?” Distance gone, palms slamming into his chest. Thud.

Thud. Thud. “Answer me, damnit!”

[inkeriernouf-blog]

brandrvargramr:

Of course. Balsi would absolutely be the one to start a round of hnútukast. In the distance, Bran could hear a swell of shouting, and there wasn’t a doubt in his mind that it was the epicenter of the bone-hurling. “You’ll be busy then,” he said, staring off towards the source of the commotion. “When Balsi plays, there’s always at least one broken bone still in a person, and more than enough cuts and bruises.” He definitely was too sober to look her in the eye right now. Her, of all people. She had to seek him out. She had to challenge him. She had to take Balsi’s place. Her future husband’s place. Fuck.

Emotions bubbled hot and unwieldy in his chest. There was one way out of this, but he knew she wouldn’t like it. And of course, there was the part of Bran that wanted to say yes. The thrice-damned part that felt the tug of Inkeri’s challenge and thrilled at the feeling, that craved any little intimacy with her that he could get, even with a sword and an axe between them. But that part needed to die. It was his duty to kill it, because after this festival, it would have no place in his life. Keri would be Balsi’s and he would be hers, and Brandr would be merely a brother-in-law. What they’d shared in the mountains had been born of desperation and foolishness. And by every god who watched him, Brandr would always be the responsible brother, even if it hurt him. “Blast it all,” he said, putting on his best cheerful face and giving what was intended to pass as a mock sigh. “You know my father would skin me alive if I set foot in the ring with his soon-to-be daughter-in-law. Drunk would be worse; he’d probably give you my skin as an apology for my foolishness.”

“Sorry, Keri,” he said, glancing at her and then down at the empty bowl in his hands. “I’m afraid I must concede to you on principle. Congratulations on advancing to the next round.”

A cowards answer, that was what came from his lips. A cowardly and roundabout way of simply saying no. No, he would not battle her, and that alone was enough to send anger sparking through Inkeri's blood. It was icy and hot, disappointing and infuriating all at the same time. Inkeri had always been ruled by her own emotions, and this occasion was no different. Though for a moment — a simple fraction of a second — her face resembled that of a kicked dog, and it was hard to hide the disappointment before the anger found its way onto her features. Impossible. But, as quickly as that disappointment had appeared, it had faded. Her shoulders tensed, and the grip on her weapon turned pale white across her knuckles — It was all she could do not to scream at him again like she had at the river. They'd been locked in a battle this past year, yet the only moves Brandr had made were defensive. Deflective. She lunged and swung and desperately tried to hit him, tried to get a reaction and a sign that he had felt something...felt anything at all. Yet he sidestepped each time, and this was no different. Sorry. Ever the gentleman, save for the night they'd ruined each other.

"Sorry?" She hissed, and before she knew what she was doing, Inkeri had knocked the bowl from his fingers with the butt of her axe. Her breathing quickened. "You're sorry, Brandr? What are you sorry for this time? The brawl? The mountains? That night?" Each word was like bitting down on ice, spoken with anger that had been bottling up for nearly a year. It exploded again, just like it had the last time they'd spoken. It took only several steps until she was a breath away from him, only seconds before she'd shoved him as hard as she could. The brawl would distract the villagers, but it was a crass idea all the same.

Inkeri shoved him a second time, her words colder than their predecessors. "How are you so calm, Brandr? Why won't you do something? Why won't you do anything? What're you so afraid of?!" What she spoke of, she didn't know. It could have been his refusal to battle, could have been about the night they'd warmed each other's bed. 

"You’re not sorry,” She said, locking her eyes on his as her expression went deathly still, save for the thunder in her eyes. “you're a coward who won't even try his luck in a Beltane brawl, brother-in-law."

[inkeriernouf-blog]

linhilda-vapni:

Linhilda turned her head to look at the young woman. She had seen her before and looked familiar but couldn’t remember where. She thought really hard, blocking the sounds of the people, screaming and yelling to each of the men that were fighting. Then, when she mentioned her father being the Jarl was that the ale mistress realized the girl was Balsi’s betrothed, Inkeri. 

“So you’re the Jarl’s daughter.”, Linhilda said, “And Balsi’s soon-to-be-wife. Congratulations are in order, your father picked the idiot of the Vargramr brother’s”, she smiled “You’re going to have a hard time keeping him away from my alehouse, but I’m sure you can manage that by breaking his nose or something”

Inkeri glanced back at the stranger, who seemed to be not quite a stranger after all. Gazing up at the taller woman, Inkeri tilted her head, but nodded as she brushed a braid out of her eyes. "You're from Alrekstad, then." Her words were more of a statement than a question. All in all, she knew very little of Balsi and his friendships. They had shared some moments together — drunken themselves into a stupor after a bet and simply sleeping piled on furs in the Vargramr's Hall, only for Inkeri to sneak off the next morning and back out of their hunting date — but they were nothing more than moments. They'd had yet to really share the deeper parts of themselves. 

"Inkeri Ernouf." The bastard said with a smile and a nod, looking back at the brawl as she spoke to the dark haired woman. “Balsi can drink as much as he wishes, long as he knows that I’ll be drinking with him. I’ll break his nose if he tries to stop me. Whatever he says, I won that bet fair and square.” She said with a laugh, pausing between sentences to yell an encouragement at the two Nysno warriors as they clashed swords again, both barking with laughter as they went.  Gods, that was something she was going to miss.

[fuckyeahmaiamitchell]

[theneurotypicals]

For my next trick I’ll go through 9 different emotions within two minutes

[fierycavalier]

#the first trick was having no emotions for four days straight

[linhilda-vapni-deactivated20171]

Linhilda stared at the men who were wrestling in a circle, surrounded by people that were cheering and making bets. She finally had a free time from the improvised tent that served as an alehouse, letting Finna in charge of everything. She knew she could trust her with taking care of the ale and the drunk idiots.

The ale mistress frowned when she realized that the friendly match had now become a real fight. One of the men, the one that had been losing, didn’t like that and one of his friends threw him a sword. She rolled her eyes at he people who were now cheering even more, without caring that one of the men was going to end up dead. “Well, I guess the gods would like a little bit of blood, right? I mean, what’s Beltane without a sacrifice?”

[inkeriernouf-blog]

“Oh, he won’t die. My father would have an absolute fit about the whole thing...blood can be drawn, but death is off the table. We’re meant to be making peace and love.” Inkeri leaned against the fence that circled the ring, whooping excitedly as a warrior lunged and then side stepped, sending his opponent slamming his nose into the wood. “Ow, gods, that was a rough one.” She looked over her shoulder at the stranger, smiling as she jerked her thumb at the brawl.

“Would hate to be the person who has to clean that up.”

[ecavendish]

While the others participated in games and sports, Runa found herself only as an onlooker. Any sort of physical activity would soon render her lungs useless and leave her gasping for air on the ground. It was a pity, for all she wanted to do was run and participate with Inkeri, Clause, and the others. After a while her spirits began to dampen as she stood on the sidelines. To make matters worse, she was exhausted from blessing every piece of kindling for the the fires.

A small crowd began to gather, catching Runa’s attention. She stepped away from the sparring ring and listened in as a few people sat on the ground before one man. “The more you have of it, the less you see,” the man said, folding his hands in his lap with a smile. Several answers were called out until one woman was correct. “Darkness,” she said, taking the place of the man at the front. After frustrated muttering, the crowd silenced before the woman to hear the riddle she would tell.

After thinking for a moment, the woman said, “It cannot be seen, it weighs nothing, but when put into a barrel, it makes it lighter.” Runa sat down and glanced at the person next to her, trying to read their thoughts. “What do you think?” she asked.

[inkeriernouf-blog]

“I think I’ve been sitting here far too long.” Inkeri took a messy bite out of an apple, her elbow propped up on her knee. “Papa has been telling that one forever,” she quipped through a mouthful, caring little for manners and appearances. Half the village was drunk already as it was. She took another bite, swallowing so that she could lean over and whisper in her friend’s ear as she nestled beside her in the grass.

“It’s a hole. Put a hole in a barrel of ale and it leaks out, so it makes it lighter. Can’t weigh anything because it isn’t anything, and you can see it because it’s nothing but an empty space.” Inkeri paused, looking at the crowd as they puzzled over the answer. The air was warm and sweet with new life, and the waning sun cast the city of canvas tents in a golden glow. Inkeri then grinned at her friend, chucking the apple core over her shoulder. “I’ll bet you a sceat they can’t figure it out.” She quipped, holding up the small silver coin. “Appease my gambling problem, I beg you.”

[brandrvargramr]

“No, no, I told you,” Bran said, shaking his head emphatically. “I’m not drinking tonight! I’ll drink tomorrow and any day after that, I swear. Just let me have one night to enjoy all this sober.” Particularly given the announcement he knew was coming. It shouldn’t bother him, really, given that it was going to serve a higher purpose. Neither his, nor Balsi’s, nor Inkeri’s personal feelings really mattered compared to the prospect of ending a centuries old quarrel that no one understood anymore. The end goal far outweighed the cost, and he was happy to admit as much. But his head and his heart still felt heavy at the notion, and he knew that he was likely to imbibe just a smidge more mead than he would normally to cope in the days to come.

For one night only, he wanted a clear head with which to take in the beauty of what was taking place around him. The bonfires seemed to illuminate the whole valley, their light and smoke drowning out the stars. Music wove in and out of the crowds, different tunes and lyrics clashing into a festive cacophony. It was magnificent; what a wonder peace did for lightening everyone’s hearts. Except his own. Still, Bran forced a smile. “If it means so much, that I toast with you, get me a glass of water and I’ll toast with that. I’d like a clear head for when I challenge Balsi in the ring next.”

[inkeriernouf-blog]

“I think you’re going to want a drink after you hear what I’ve got to say.” Inkeri had already finished a horn of ale, and that warrior heart of her’s was itching. Itching so bad that she didn’t care who or what she went after, only that she needed to throw herself into a brawl. Brawls were precious, now. Each one was becoming closer to her last. Try as she might to love Balsi, it discouraged her that she one day wouldn’t be able to weald the lithe axe that Rohan had crafted her. Eir - a blade called mercy, named for the goddess of healing and medicine. Inkeri didn’t want to show mercy today.

“Balsi is off throwing bones...apparently he has a title to protect.” She paused, almost nervous as she addressed Brandr. She’d been so rude to him, but then again, she was always rude to him. “So you and I have the next battle, Vargramr.” She gave him a cat like look, her head tilting sides ways as she looked him up and down. The music roared in her ears, but that infernal itch was the only thing she could think about. It was crying out to move, to sweat, to strain muscles to the point of pain. Just to distract her from the massive weight of responsibility that was bearing down on her slight shoulders. “What do nyou say? Want that drink? Might not be able to win otherwise.” It was a casual question, and there was even a grin, but the look in her eyes was anything but. Please.

[aldissela]

“Keep your hair on, let me see what I’ve got here,” Aldis said, trying her best to be soothing in the face of the harried girl at her stall. This Beltane celebration was going to be the best thing to happen to her sales in months, no doubt about it. But only if she stayed on top of her stock. And already it was starting to dwindle. Predictably, the smaller and lighter pelts were going fastest, so she was trying her hardest to push a few bigger items out. “Sorry, love, you’ll have to come back tomorrow, I’m all out of rabbit. I do have some prime buck skins which would work just as well—” Clearly, this girl wasn’t fussy, because she practically threw the coins into Aldis’s hand and dashed off with the skins before Aldis had a chance to explain. Well. Whatever worked then. With a slightly bemused expression, she turned to the next person waiting. “Sorry about the wait, what can I do you for?”

[inkeriernouf-blog]

Inkeri sulked at the sight of the young girl pratically sprinting away with what would’ve been her skins. Oh, well. The furrer didn’t ever seem to be too far from Nysno or Alrekstad, and if the bastard knew anything, it was that Aldis would always come across good furs when given time. “I was hoping for a new boots, but that will have to wait...” The Healer said with a smile, running agile fingers over the mounds of fur on the stall’s table. “How about something to make a new satchel? Something movable. Everything is in bloom, I’ll have to get off my ass and go collect for next year.” 

[sirikrelfenson]

A pleased bark from behind him told him that someone was waiting on him. Sirikr looked up from the length of antler he was carefully carving at, and nodded at the dog. “Is she yours?” he asked with a friendly smile, hands still working the file on the bone as he spoke. “She’s been a very attentive lookout for customers.” He sat back in his chair and kicked his boots up onto a tree stump that served as a convenient foot rest, and grinned widely. “So, what can I help you with, then?”

[inkeriernouf-blog]

Inkeri didn’t respond to the man for a good moment. Instead, the petit bastared gave him a long look, eyes narrowed in a manor similar to the cats that seemed to trail behind her. Just this week alone she’d had to chance off an orange tom, only getting rid of once she tossed some scraps it’s way. Strays seemed to be her specialty...because there was Sirikr Relfenson, the realm’s strangest wanderer back to stalk her again.

“No.” She said slowly, eyeing him carefully. “It belongs to one of the Vargramr boys, I think.” Sirikr was always on her tail, it seemed, always close behind with a joke to crack...but it’d been a time since he’d been back to Nysno, let alone The Pass. “Oi, why have you come this time?”

[yoursummerdreamz]

[starwarsgenerator]

she wears short skirts, i have the high ground

[inkeriernouf-blog]

Another life: Dystopian world

HUNGER!! GAMES!!

Inkeri would be in District Two, and would be a Career like the majority of her family since the rebellion. Born into a prominent family who owns many of the fortifying companies of Panem, she’s a winner of her games now living in super annoying luxury in the capital. But winning her games shouldn’t have been a surprise.  Each brother volunteered for and won his games, and Inkeri would be damned if she didn’t do the same. Wining was hard and brutal, and it’s something she regrets…but she needed to survive, if only because she was scared to die and she didn’t want to leave her brothers behind. 

But fate is funny, and her games was a mere five years before the next Quarter Quell…and the next games? It’s sibling against sibling.