31-07-2012, 01:31 AM
(This post was last modified: 08-01-2013, 10:02 PM by Shaman Oren of Staghelm.)
Part 3: Loss and love
"Why now... of all times, now..." Oren's mind raced hard with an ache that could only be matched by the sight of her lifeless body. It had been a long trip North from the shore and illness had taken root in the ranks of what remained of Asgrim's army, now in the hands of his older brother Oren. The shaman's eyes burned, his face seemed haggard. For a day now he'd been sitting alone in the bottom of the ship, holding the Body of Artisia Dyria in his arms. She had taken the worse of the illness, a flu that seemed to chill to the very bone. Her death was slow, painful as she expelled everything from her stomach over a few hours. This vomitting had slowly turned to dry heaves, until finally the blood came. The fever burned her and caused dillusions that eventually got the young woman locked in a cell where she began to chew on her own tongue from pain and the growing insanity of the deadly illness. Within a day she had passed from dehydration and blood loss due to this, Frozen plague.
Oren had watched every moment of her decay, watching the beautiful young woman he had come to love wither away and lose all that made her unique. His pleadings with the ships captain had gone largely unheard, sitting out before his cabin in the biting, howling winds as the ship slowly creaked up the coast with the rest of the fleet. The winters of this land were harsh, unforgiving, and lethal and even the ship seemed to shudder under the burden it carried. Snow's fell gently, however... almost mockingly upon the frozen armies as they tried to pass the time, huddling around deck fires and stomaching what brews and broths they could. It seemed the only sounds in this ghost sea was that of a dying woman and her lover, begging with God and man to be empowered against it. Yet still, the day passed, the sun rose on the trudging fleet and soon overcast skies gave way to the realit of her death. Below the decks Oren continued to stare into her lifeless face, no more tears came from his burned eyes, no more shakes and callings of her name. He now only stared, her body lying in his arms as he sat on the ships bottom floor, the lanturn nearby swaying with the movements of the frozen voyager that carried them on a sea too shallow to contain his sorrow. "Wait for me... wait for me for I cannot bear breathing without you drawing air from the same sky... seeing when you no long can see the beauty of day... I cannot bare to live when you no longer sing..." Oren's thoughts grew more and more bitters as her face grew cold, her skin pale. Only the touch of her soft brown hair could comfort the stinging pain that was taking root in his heart.
As day turned to night, the ship's crew approached the storage where Oren had taken hold, cradling the body of a woman who had once saved his life.
"Lad... time t'throw it over board. No reason for us all to die." The man who entered the door spoke, wearing a heavy fur, his bearded face shadowed by the dim lanturn that seemed to be winking out in the presence of such a burdened soul, drawing all light and joy from the room in an attempt to keep from succumbing to crushing loss. "Give me the body..."
"I will not let you take her from me... I can't lose her..." Oren's hoarse voice spoke in the dark, the lanturn winking out as though his very words had commanded it's silence. He looked up to the doorway, daylight spilling in from the deck above. "I can't lose her..." REpeating himself, the shaman seemed mindless, as though she were simply sleeping.
"Take the body... he seems to be in dillusions..." The man spoke behind him, his words muffled by the wind above and wood that cried out with the broken man's soul. On que two men walked in, lifting her body from the man's arms. They swiftly carried her away, lifting the frozen, decaying body up the stairs. As they began their ascent, Oren too stood and carried his body begrudgingly toward the stairs.
Back up on deck, the soldiers and sailors had moved to a side, and a veil prepared for the dead woman. Three men lifted a stretcher that she had been placed on and moved toward the southern rail, preparing to release her into her watery tomb. Oren could do nothing but watch as her face, pale and peaceful as the fresh snow, moved from the wind, taunting his shattered heart. Despite his exhaustion and dehydration, another tear slipped from his eye, racing down his cheek to kiss at the cold skin, pulling his mind back to the nights spent with her. He closed his eyes, feeling the wind whisper her name in his ears as the sound of a splash heralded the dead into her frozen tomb.
"Artisia!" Oren screamed finally, his voice more of a bloodied rasp than that of a man. He rushed to the side rail and watched as her beautiful hair wreathed a pale face and white gowned body, slowly sinking into the deeping sea, surrounding her with frozen blue stones that would seal her from him for the eternity of his being. "My love... My..." He cried out, falling to his knees on the deck as the rest of the crew and army watched, sniffling and quiet cries besetting many of them as their Jarls replacement was stung with the cruel blade of loss. "Rest... my love, and wait for me..." Oren's mind prayed in place of his broken voice, closed eyes picturing her smile, one last time. With opened eyes, he then stood and looked about the crowd. They in turn looked to him, as if clinging to him for some form of reassurance. Perhaps they thought that the death of even his lover could be an omen, or perhaps that he would die in the night of grief.
"Oren... take heart, you will see her again." Joseph vane spoke to him quietly, stepping forward from the crowd. Behind him stood his love, Marne, who watched him with deep brown eyes. Her red hair stood out from the crowd despite it's frozen and mired state. As she watched Joseph she seemed to will upon him a soul of consolement and wisdom to offer the shattered and vexed leader that the frozen armies now desperately looked too for guidance. "No long does she suffer this war, pain, or watching your hurt... as she looks down for you she will see your strength and happiness. She will wait for you, above, hoping for you again to see her face."
Oren listened to the man, though he was young, his heart was true. He could sense the pain that Joseph had felt not long ago, experience and wisdom grown in fields of love and the will to uphold those that were crushed so painfully below the heel of despair. As he listened he couldn't help but feel that belief was the only weapon now that could fend off the jaws of his sorrow. Thus, with a nod, he offered his hand up for joseph to take, watching the young knight's eyes with a renewed sense of inspiration. "His part in this tale has yet to be seen..." Oren thought to himself as Joseph helped him to his feeth, brushing snow from the Shaman's fur's.
"The people look to you, Oren of Staghelm... our Jarl is no more, they need hope." Joseph continued, his dark brown hair blowing in the wind as he looked out over not only their own boat, but the fleet that seemed to silently glide on the sea of glass beneath them. The win itself even ushered in a feeling of loneliness, as though the boats were loud intruders in a long undisturbed graveyard.
With this, Oren turned to face the crowd. Many of them shed tears of their own, loss and pain having run rampant amongst the people, wreaking death and decay amongst their ranks. They huddled together, clasping blankets and their loved ones close as though they might be taken by specters from the mists that seemed to follow the boats. "You look to me... for strength, resilience, and reassurance in un-assured times... yet no man is a mountain upon wich he can shelter the nations of the world. No man is a bastion against the howling wolves of death and loss. I am but a man, a man you all look toward for faith and comfort in this... frozen hell. I tell you this, now, that not one of us is out of deaths reach. Cling to eachother, find hope, faith, and love where you can and with that light flames to ward away the creeping darkness that crowds around us... If we cannot come to bind ourselves together in hard times... then we are nothing but snow to melt away in the spring." Oren's words came from a heavy heart, urging them to look to eachother for strength, not one man. Wisdom in spite of agony.
With those words he turned, facing away from them as the wind pushed at his furred cape, giving him the appearance of a ghost. He walked toward his own cabin on the ship, pressing frozen finger tips to the chilled door before striding in with a heave of his broken heart.
“Oren, wait!” Murrow called to him from behind as she pressed out of the gathered people. Her footsteps thudded heavily on the deck as her leather clad body emerged from the crowd and ran after him, rushing into his cabin before he could close the door. As she came in, a small gust of wind pushed snow about her, swirling around her young form and giving her an ethereal appearance. “Oren... wait... please, do not give in to this. You know that you are not without hearth of love... you have me, your Murrow...” She stepped to him, taking him firmly in her arms as he chest came to press against his. Her cherry lips met his and the creak of frozen leather filled his ears. He could smell the lavender oil that she had always worn, feel frozen buckles and straps that held the leather armor to her body... her small breasts as they kissed at his chest, as though trying to comfort the heart that took blow, after blow. Thus she continued to embrace him, even if he tried to get out of her arms, she held him there and let her lips express what she felt her words could not. The feeling of a warm body, the gentle caress of a lovers tongue, all of these were medicines he needed and that now only she possessed in this frozen prison.
As night fell upon the boat the people bed down, resting after a long day watching their new leader suffer loss. Inside of Oren's cabin, however, a new love was sparking. Murrow had lied him down and now pulled at the sash holding his tunic. “Relax... not all things are evil in the frozen dark” She breathed her words into his ear, her warm breath teasing at his skin. Soon, his sash gave way to her prying and found it's way to the deck floor. She then sat up, straddling his waist and looked down into his eyes, looking at those dark green orbs so full of pain, her hands then moved up from her thighs and under his tunic, pulling it up as they made their way along his belly and chest. Murrow could feel the scars of her lover, how the steel of his enemies had come so close to their mark, but were made to wait upon the day that the fates would see Oren hewn from the world. Thus she continued, slowly sliding her warm, soft hands up his form until she could pull his tunic up and away from his body, pushing his arms back down while she leaned forward to kiss him again with a fiery passion that would threaten the very ice bergs of the ocean around them. He could feel her thighs tightening around his waist, the wait of her small body as she pinned his arms down, his tongue tasted at her lips as they remained locked in that loving kiss. “Rest... there is much stress to be undone.” Murrow's young voice again drifted to him through the dimly lit room, her chestnut brown hair tickling at his bare chest and neck as she spoke. Within moments of her words, Oren heard the clink of brass buckles, the moan of stretching leather, and the thud of a chest piece falling to the floor. It was too dark to make out intimate detail, but he could see her milky skin, fresh and smooth like a fine cream. Her body leaned back again, almost as if begging him to look, to take in every inch that he could see. Even Murrow's hands played a part in drawing him away from his stress and toward something new, something that would heal him. She took up his hands in her own, moving them over her soft, trim belly, slowly having him paint waves on her skin with imaginary brushes, before cupping them over her breasts. She held them there, watching his face as she did.
“You know how I feel... and I know you feel the same... Honor that love, Oren. Don't be ashamed of me.” She spoke quietly, using her grip on his hands to have him massage her tender orbs, her hips ever tighter as they hugged his legs, the leather pressing firmly to his woolen trousers
It wasn't shame that held his heart in a cell, it was embarrassment or some feeling of time needed to heal. He was simply, in shock from the events that had stolen love and family from him. He could only look up at her, young and full of potential, dangerous yet so loving.
“I never took shame in you, Murrow... never...” Oren finally spoke while closing his eyes to attempt to clear his mind.
“Good... after tonight you will know all of me... and hopefully your word will remain as so.” Murrow's lips spoke quietly to him, whispering words she intended only for her lovers ears. As she did she scooted back, lifting her backside up to slip off the leather riding pants and drop them to the floor. In turn she reached ahead, stretching out like a cat as she pulled Oren's pants away from his legs and dropping them to the floor as though they were a nuisance. After she let them go, she turned her eyes back to him, taking in every inch of his body. “His skin is a tale of it's own...” Murrow's eyes nearly widened at the tapestry of scars that covered him, her fingers drew in even more as they slowly moved up his thighs, stopping between his legs as she began to comfort and relax him slowly.
“Just relax... I don't like being on bottom...” She giggled as she bit her lower lip, pulling and pushing at him gently. So he did, closing his eyes and lying into the fur bed as Murrow's lips slowly made their way up to her hands, continuing their work while her hands massaged his tense muscles, holding his hands after a short time and clinging to them. Oren could here her quiet moans, the sound of the bed groaning as she moved with his now shuddering form. All the while his heart raced, mind swam, and beads of sweat rolled off of his chest as tears of relief. For a long while she continued, her eyes closed, picturing him from when they had first met, remembering his smiling face, how his hands would hold his spear or bow. It as love truly love that drove her, made her mad for him.
After what seemed like hours, she took her mouth from him with a wet pop, laughing quietly as she drooled slightly onto the bed.
“Now...it's my turn” She whispered, sidling up his legs until her warm waits cradled his own. Her body again leaned forward, pressing her bare chest to his in order to allow her kisses to reach his lips. Then, locked lip with lip she reached down and slid him inside of her with a gasp that played at her arousal. Slowly, back and forth Murrow began rocking her hips against his, gasping and breathing in deeper, and deeper. Her hands would not leave his, her lips frequently finding his in the dark as though they would perish if left vacant for too long.
“Oren... tell... me... of your love...” Murrow gasped, her hands curling into his chest as her back arched. “tell me... of your... mhh love for me...” Again, she attempted her request, mingling speech with gasping and curling digits and toes.
“I... never wanted ill for you... you've always been kind... and for this I've felt drawn to you... as the flower yearns for the sun in spring... or the moon chases the sun in the heavens... I will... chase you...” Oren's voice cooed in the dark, his gasping and breathing labored from the sensations that held him firmly, erasing stress and anguish from his mind and body. After confessing the depth of his feelings he opened his eyes, looking up at the young girl, her soft breasts bouncing with her labored and hungry grinding, her cherry lips pinched between her teeth as wave after wave of stimulation ran up her spine over and over. She could feel her mind numbing as pleasure mingled with his words of love, giving her what she had wanted to hear from the day she met him. Over and over a tingling tide of sensual ripples shot up her spine. Gasping and curling her fingers against Oren's shoulders, Murrow felt herself nearing the end, thus she leaned in pressing her erect nipples against the breadth of his chest to whisper as she released in union with her lover.
“I love you Oren...” And with that Murrow gave out, her body clamping around his flesh as the two clung to each-other, releasing as their love was realized.
The sun seemed to rise brighter the next morning. A warm wind had carried the fleet fast during the night and they were within eyesight of the port they had been making way for. Not a cloud lingered in the sky, no flakes of snow, and no biting winds to chill or shake the passengers. They had made it, and it brought to them a great sense of relief. Ice and snow dropped in large chunks from the ships as they made their approach and the faces of the people seemed to drop their haggard and defeated looks. Soon they would have warm food, warm beds, and a chance to collect themselves. On the flagship, Oren's ship. Joseph vane, his lover Marne, Oren, Murrow and many others were already feeling a renewed sense of ambition. Ready to take on the world once more.
“Oren, we're approaching the docks. The people will be relying upon you for strength, leadership in this hard time... are you ready?” Joseph asked, putting his hand on the shaman's shoulder as he looked out from the bow of the ship.
“Aye... I am. I wouldn't be, however... if I didn't have such people to lead.” Oren's response was accompanied with a breath of fresh air. His eyes lit up as he looked upon the Nordic houses of the dockyard. The wooden and stone keep just on the hill, wreathed in a blaze of the morning sun. He was truly ready for what must be done, ready to lead, to fight and to die.
“Oren, dearest. I'm so sorry to hear of Arty's passing... Surely you're not too distraught? If so, I can offer you some... comfort if needed. Just ask honey pot and I'm here for you...” Suddenly a voice spoke from behind he and Joseph, it was a sultry voice, almost dripping with over exaggeration. Yet at the same time this voice was absolutely sincere. As he turned he noticed the raven haired woman that had only recently joined their party, just before the passing of Jarl Asgrim in the tunnel. Victoria, still wearing clothing unfitting of decent company, stood leaning on the mast of the ship. Her dress seamed to scream for attention as he breasts clung desperately to the inside of their silken bindings, her legs wound tight in a black garment.
“No, Victoria. I will not take comfort in my... in the Jarl's woman. And it was the Jarl you took such interest in, is it not?” Oren Ashwood of Staghelm had regained his keen intellect and drive and stood ready as she approached.
“Aye, it was... but only because I like men with... power.” Victoria’s hand had made it's way to Oren's belt-line, quickly drawing the burning gaze of Murrow who was preparing horses for the docks. Despite her violently protective nature, she watched. Oren, knowing that this was not normal, stepped back and furrowed his brow.
“Your attempts are misplaced. I have my own woman, now please... take your desires elsewhere.” Oren spoke disdainfully as he turned to Murrow, shedding light on his love for her again through this display of resolution to her.
“My desires will remain where I please, Oren, Brother of Asgrim... My enemy...” Victoria glared at him from her place by the mast with eyes darker than that of the black widow.
"Why now... of all times, now..." Oren's mind raced hard with an ache that could only be matched by the sight of her lifeless body. It had been a long trip North from the shore and illness had taken root in the ranks of what remained of Asgrim's army, now in the hands of his older brother Oren. The shaman's eyes burned, his face seemed haggard. For a day now he'd been sitting alone in the bottom of the ship, holding the Body of Artisia Dyria in his arms. She had taken the worse of the illness, a flu that seemed to chill to the very bone. Her death was slow, painful as she expelled everything from her stomach over a few hours. This vomitting had slowly turned to dry heaves, until finally the blood came. The fever burned her and caused dillusions that eventually got the young woman locked in a cell where she began to chew on her own tongue from pain and the growing insanity of the deadly illness. Within a day she had passed from dehydration and blood loss due to this, Frozen plague.
Oren had watched every moment of her decay, watching the beautiful young woman he had come to love wither away and lose all that made her unique. His pleadings with the ships captain had gone largely unheard, sitting out before his cabin in the biting, howling winds as the ship slowly creaked up the coast with the rest of the fleet. The winters of this land were harsh, unforgiving, and lethal and even the ship seemed to shudder under the burden it carried. Snow's fell gently, however... almost mockingly upon the frozen armies as they tried to pass the time, huddling around deck fires and stomaching what brews and broths they could. It seemed the only sounds in this ghost sea was that of a dying woman and her lover, begging with God and man to be empowered against it. Yet still, the day passed, the sun rose on the trudging fleet and soon overcast skies gave way to the realit of her death. Below the decks Oren continued to stare into her lifeless face, no more tears came from his burned eyes, no more shakes and callings of her name. He now only stared, her body lying in his arms as he sat on the ships bottom floor, the lanturn nearby swaying with the movements of the frozen voyager that carried them on a sea too shallow to contain his sorrow. "Wait for me... wait for me for I cannot bear breathing without you drawing air from the same sky... seeing when you no long can see the beauty of day... I cannot bare to live when you no longer sing..." Oren's thoughts grew more and more bitters as her face grew cold, her skin pale. Only the touch of her soft brown hair could comfort the stinging pain that was taking root in his heart.
As day turned to night, the ship's crew approached the storage where Oren had taken hold, cradling the body of a woman who had once saved his life.
"Lad... time t'throw it over board. No reason for us all to die." The man who entered the door spoke, wearing a heavy fur, his bearded face shadowed by the dim lanturn that seemed to be winking out in the presence of such a burdened soul, drawing all light and joy from the room in an attempt to keep from succumbing to crushing loss. "Give me the body..."
"I will not let you take her from me... I can't lose her..." Oren's hoarse voice spoke in the dark, the lanturn winking out as though his very words had commanded it's silence. He looked up to the doorway, daylight spilling in from the deck above. "I can't lose her..." REpeating himself, the shaman seemed mindless, as though she were simply sleeping.
"Take the body... he seems to be in dillusions..." The man spoke behind him, his words muffled by the wind above and wood that cried out with the broken man's soul. On que two men walked in, lifting her body from the man's arms. They swiftly carried her away, lifting the frozen, decaying body up the stairs. As they began their ascent, Oren too stood and carried his body begrudgingly toward the stairs.
Back up on deck, the soldiers and sailors had moved to a side, and a veil prepared for the dead woman. Three men lifted a stretcher that she had been placed on and moved toward the southern rail, preparing to release her into her watery tomb. Oren could do nothing but watch as her face, pale and peaceful as the fresh snow, moved from the wind, taunting his shattered heart. Despite his exhaustion and dehydration, another tear slipped from his eye, racing down his cheek to kiss at the cold skin, pulling his mind back to the nights spent with her. He closed his eyes, feeling the wind whisper her name in his ears as the sound of a splash heralded the dead into her frozen tomb.
"Artisia!" Oren screamed finally, his voice more of a bloodied rasp than that of a man. He rushed to the side rail and watched as her beautiful hair wreathed a pale face and white gowned body, slowly sinking into the deeping sea, surrounding her with frozen blue stones that would seal her from him for the eternity of his being. "My love... My..." He cried out, falling to his knees on the deck as the rest of the crew and army watched, sniffling and quiet cries besetting many of them as their Jarls replacement was stung with the cruel blade of loss. "Rest... my love, and wait for me..." Oren's mind prayed in place of his broken voice, closed eyes picturing her smile, one last time. With opened eyes, he then stood and looked about the crowd. They in turn looked to him, as if clinging to him for some form of reassurance. Perhaps they thought that the death of even his lover could be an omen, or perhaps that he would die in the night of grief.
"Oren... take heart, you will see her again." Joseph vane spoke to him quietly, stepping forward from the crowd. Behind him stood his love, Marne, who watched him with deep brown eyes. Her red hair stood out from the crowd despite it's frozen and mired state. As she watched Joseph she seemed to will upon him a soul of consolement and wisdom to offer the shattered and vexed leader that the frozen armies now desperately looked too for guidance. "No long does she suffer this war, pain, or watching your hurt... as she looks down for you she will see your strength and happiness. She will wait for you, above, hoping for you again to see her face."
Oren listened to the man, though he was young, his heart was true. He could sense the pain that Joseph had felt not long ago, experience and wisdom grown in fields of love and the will to uphold those that were crushed so painfully below the heel of despair. As he listened he couldn't help but feel that belief was the only weapon now that could fend off the jaws of his sorrow. Thus, with a nod, he offered his hand up for joseph to take, watching the young knight's eyes with a renewed sense of inspiration. "His part in this tale has yet to be seen..." Oren thought to himself as Joseph helped him to his feeth, brushing snow from the Shaman's fur's.
"The people look to you, Oren of Staghelm... our Jarl is no more, they need hope." Joseph continued, his dark brown hair blowing in the wind as he looked out over not only their own boat, but the fleet that seemed to silently glide on the sea of glass beneath them. The win itself even ushered in a feeling of loneliness, as though the boats were loud intruders in a long undisturbed graveyard.
With this, Oren turned to face the crowd. Many of them shed tears of their own, loss and pain having run rampant amongst the people, wreaking death and decay amongst their ranks. They huddled together, clasping blankets and their loved ones close as though they might be taken by specters from the mists that seemed to follow the boats. "You look to me... for strength, resilience, and reassurance in un-assured times... yet no man is a mountain upon wich he can shelter the nations of the world. No man is a bastion against the howling wolves of death and loss. I am but a man, a man you all look toward for faith and comfort in this... frozen hell. I tell you this, now, that not one of us is out of deaths reach. Cling to eachother, find hope, faith, and love where you can and with that light flames to ward away the creeping darkness that crowds around us... If we cannot come to bind ourselves together in hard times... then we are nothing but snow to melt away in the spring." Oren's words came from a heavy heart, urging them to look to eachother for strength, not one man. Wisdom in spite of agony.
With those words he turned, facing away from them as the wind pushed at his furred cape, giving him the appearance of a ghost. He walked toward his own cabin on the ship, pressing frozen finger tips to the chilled door before striding in with a heave of his broken heart.
“Oren, wait!” Murrow called to him from behind as she pressed out of the gathered people. Her footsteps thudded heavily on the deck as her leather clad body emerged from the crowd and ran after him, rushing into his cabin before he could close the door. As she came in, a small gust of wind pushed snow about her, swirling around her young form and giving her an ethereal appearance. “Oren... wait... please, do not give in to this. You know that you are not without hearth of love... you have me, your Murrow...” She stepped to him, taking him firmly in her arms as he chest came to press against his. Her cherry lips met his and the creak of frozen leather filled his ears. He could smell the lavender oil that she had always worn, feel frozen buckles and straps that held the leather armor to her body... her small breasts as they kissed at his chest, as though trying to comfort the heart that took blow, after blow. Thus she continued to embrace him, even if he tried to get out of her arms, she held him there and let her lips express what she felt her words could not. The feeling of a warm body, the gentle caress of a lovers tongue, all of these were medicines he needed and that now only she possessed in this frozen prison.
As night fell upon the boat the people bed down, resting after a long day watching their new leader suffer loss. Inside of Oren's cabin, however, a new love was sparking. Murrow had lied him down and now pulled at the sash holding his tunic. “Relax... not all things are evil in the frozen dark” She breathed her words into his ear, her warm breath teasing at his skin. Soon, his sash gave way to her prying and found it's way to the deck floor. She then sat up, straddling his waist and looked down into his eyes, looking at those dark green orbs so full of pain, her hands then moved up from her thighs and under his tunic, pulling it up as they made their way along his belly and chest. Murrow could feel the scars of her lover, how the steel of his enemies had come so close to their mark, but were made to wait upon the day that the fates would see Oren hewn from the world. Thus she continued, slowly sliding her warm, soft hands up his form until she could pull his tunic up and away from his body, pushing his arms back down while she leaned forward to kiss him again with a fiery passion that would threaten the very ice bergs of the ocean around them. He could feel her thighs tightening around his waist, the wait of her small body as she pinned his arms down, his tongue tasted at her lips as they remained locked in that loving kiss. “Rest... there is much stress to be undone.” Murrow's young voice again drifted to him through the dimly lit room, her chestnut brown hair tickling at his bare chest and neck as she spoke. Within moments of her words, Oren heard the clink of brass buckles, the moan of stretching leather, and the thud of a chest piece falling to the floor. It was too dark to make out intimate detail, but he could see her milky skin, fresh and smooth like a fine cream. Her body leaned back again, almost as if begging him to look, to take in every inch that he could see. Even Murrow's hands played a part in drawing him away from his stress and toward something new, something that would heal him. She took up his hands in her own, moving them over her soft, trim belly, slowly having him paint waves on her skin with imaginary brushes, before cupping them over her breasts. She held them there, watching his face as she did.
“You know how I feel... and I know you feel the same... Honor that love, Oren. Don't be ashamed of me.” She spoke quietly, using her grip on his hands to have him massage her tender orbs, her hips ever tighter as they hugged his legs, the leather pressing firmly to his woolen trousers
It wasn't shame that held his heart in a cell, it was embarrassment or some feeling of time needed to heal. He was simply, in shock from the events that had stolen love and family from him. He could only look up at her, young and full of potential, dangerous yet so loving.
“I never took shame in you, Murrow... never...” Oren finally spoke while closing his eyes to attempt to clear his mind.
“Good... after tonight you will know all of me... and hopefully your word will remain as so.” Murrow's lips spoke quietly to him, whispering words she intended only for her lovers ears. As she did she scooted back, lifting her backside up to slip off the leather riding pants and drop them to the floor. In turn she reached ahead, stretching out like a cat as she pulled Oren's pants away from his legs and dropping them to the floor as though they were a nuisance. After she let them go, she turned her eyes back to him, taking in every inch of his body. “His skin is a tale of it's own...” Murrow's eyes nearly widened at the tapestry of scars that covered him, her fingers drew in even more as they slowly moved up his thighs, stopping between his legs as she began to comfort and relax him slowly.
“Just relax... I don't like being on bottom...” She giggled as she bit her lower lip, pulling and pushing at him gently. So he did, closing his eyes and lying into the fur bed as Murrow's lips slowly made their way up to her hands, continuing their work while her hands massaged his tense muscles, holding his hands after a short time and clinging to them. Oren could here her quiet moans, the sound of the bed groaning as she moved with his now shuddering form. All the while his heart raced, mind swam, and beads of sweat rolled off of his chest as tears of relief. For a long while she continued, her eyes closed, picturing him from when they had first met, remembering his smiling face, how his hands would hold his spear or bow. It as love truly love that drove her, made her mad for him.
After what seemed like hours, she took her mouth from him with a wet pop, laughing quietly as she drooled slightly onto the bed.
“Now...it's my turn” She whispered, sidling up his legs until her warm waits cradled his own. Her body again leaned forward, pressing her bare chest to his in order to allow her kisses to reach his lips. Then, locked lip with lip she reached down and slid him inside of her with a gasp that played at her arousal. Slowly, back and forth Murrow began rocking her hips against his, gasping and breathing in deeper, and deeper. Her hands would not leave his, her lips frequently finding his in the dark as though they would perish if left vacant for too long.
“Oren... tell... me... of your love...” Murrow gasped, her hands curling into his chest as her back arched. “tell me... of your... mhh love for me...” Again, she attempted her request, mingling speech with gasping and curling digits and toes.
“I... never wanted ill for you... you've always been kind... and for this I've felt drawn to you... as the flower yearns for the sun in spring... or the moon chases the sun in the heavens... I will... chase you...” Oren's voice cooed in the dark, his gasping and breathing labored from the sensations that held him firmly, erasing stress and anguish from his mind and body. After confessing the depth of his feelings he opened his eyes, looking up at the young girl, her soft breasts bouncing with her labored and hungry grinding, her cherry lips pinched between her teeth as wave after wave of stimulation ran up her spine over and over. She could feel her mind numbing as pleasure mingled with his words of love, giving her what she had wanted to hear from the day she met him. Over and over a tingling tide of sensual ripples shot up her spine. Gasping and curling her fingers against Oren's shoulders, Murrow felt herself nearing the end, thus she leaned in pressing her erect nipples against the breadth of his chest to whisper as she released in union with her lover.
“I love you Oren...” And with that Murrow gave out, her body clamping around his flesh as the two clung to each-other, releasing as their love was realized.
The sun seemed to rise brighter the next morning. A warm wind had carried the fleet fast during the night and they were within eyesight of the port they had been making way for. Not a cloud lingered in the sky, no flakes of snow, and no biting winds to chill or shake the passengers. They had made it, and it brought to them a great sense of relief. Ice and snow dropped in large chunks from the ships as they made their approach and the faces of the people seemed to drop their haggard and defeated looks. Soon they would have warm food, warm beds, and a chance to collect themselves. On the flagship, Oren's ship. Joseph vane, his lover Marne, Oren, Murrow and many others were already feeling a renewed sense of ambition. Ready to take on the world once more.
“Oren, we're approaching the docks. The people will be relying upon you for strength, leadership in this hard time... are you ready?” Joseph asked, putting his hand on the shaman's shoulder as he looked out from the bow of the ship.
“Aye... I am. I wouldn't be, however... if I didn't have such people to lead.” Oren's response was accompanied with a breath of fresh air. His eyes lit up as he looked upon the Nordic houses of the dockyard. The wooden and stone keep just on the hill, wreathed in a blaze of the morning sun. He was truly ready for what must be done, ready to lead, to fight and to die.
“Oren, dearest. I'm so sorry to hear of Arty's passing... Surely you're not too distraught? If so, I can offer you some... comfort if needed. Just ask honey pot and I'm here for you...” Suddenly a voice spoke from behind he and Joseph, it was a sultry voice, almost dripping with over exaggeration. Yet at the same time this voice was absolutely sincere. As he turned he noticed the raven haired woman that had only recently joined their party, just before the passing of Jarl Asgrim in the tunnel. Victoria, still wearing clothing unfitting of decent company, stood leaning on the mast of the ship. Her dress seamed to scream for attention as he breasts clung desperately to the inside of their silken bindings, her legs wound tight in a black garment.
“No, Victoria. I will not take comfort in my... in the Jarl's woman. And it was the Jarl you took such interest in, is it not?” Oren Ashwood of Staghelm had regained his keen intellect and drive and stood ready as she approached.
“Aye, it was... but only because I like men with... power.” Victoria’s hand had made it's way to Oren's belt-line, quickly drawing the burning gaze of Murrow who was preparing horses for the docks. Despite her violently protective nature, she watched. Oren, knowing that this was not normal, stepped back and furrowed his brow.
“Your attempts are misplaced. I have my own woman, now please... take your desires elsewhere.” Oren spoke disdainfully as he turned to Murrow, shedding light on his love for her again through this display of resolution to her.
“My desires will remain where I please, Oren, Brother of Asgrim... My enemy...” Victoria glared at him from her place by the mast with eyes darker than that of the black widow.