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 Posted: Fri Nov 05, 2010 1:46 pm
 Following Gunnar's implicit advice the Warlord of the Stormborn, Aesir, made his way up to the ice melts, where the view was purported to be fine. The air up there was thinner, it seemed, and capable of freezing a lion's very lungs within his chest. If Aesir joked about the air being bracing in the main living area of the stronghold, he could extend the joke about the air up here being "brisk." At least, that's how many of the Stormborn born into the pride described it, and Aesir had learned to see it that way, too. In time.
The chilly air at the ice melts did take some getting used to, but the water there was clearer and fresher than the water to be found in the stream, which could sometimes be brackish at high tide or following a storm, when the water from the sea flowed into the fresh water estuary. Not to mention, the water from the ice melts was cold enough to make a lion's teeth hurt and completely take his breath away if he drank it large gulps. Fortunately for everyone's health, the ice melts simply weren't arranged for large gulps of water, and forced those drinking there to lap at the shallow pools or icicles (if they were particularly masochistic).
Once he'd slaked his thirst, Aesir descended. There were definite signs of life within the stronghold now as the Stormborn began to rise and stir. He'd passed a few sentries - there were always a few posted - and nodded to them in passing, but none of them were the Reaver he was looking for. He hadn't been joking when he mentioned to Gunnar that he wanted to go out viking soon, and having been reminded of the Reaver Taraxa, Aesir was quite certain that he would like to have that fighter as one of his band when he set out.
He was off in search of Taraxa, of course, though he knew it was entirely possible that the Reaver was still sleeping off the effects of the night before. As he walked Aesir tried to recall whether Taraxa was part of some Captain's crew on a permanent basis, but his mind drew a blank.
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Posted: Fri Nov 05, 2010 2:18 pm
While there were some lions in the pride that preferred to decline mint and berries, Taraxa wasn't one of them. No, the brawny lion was rather fond of the mint and used it after a long day of sparring to relax a bit. Of course, this meant that Taraxa wasn't at his best during the early mornings and often slept late (or at least avoided bright light) until his head stopped swimming about. This morning was different. The grizzled older lion lurched to his feet, driven from sleep by the abrupt need to both relieve himself and cure his cottonmouth. Dragging his feet, Taraxa blearily made his way from his den, seeking a secluded patch to take care of business before he was driven by the dire urge to wet his mouth. His Stormborn brothers were rising as well, and if it weren't for the sight of the Warlord making his way through the center of the area, Taraxa would've slipped back to his den to rest a bit more. He frowned slightly before deciding to greet the Warlord. "Hail, Warlord," he called, forgoing the usual greeting. His voice was still rusty with sleep and the aftereffects of mint.
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Posted: Fri Nov 05, 2010 3:37 pm
Sometimes life just decided to make things easy on people, Aesir thought as he heard someone call out to him, for when he looked to return the greeting he saw that it had been uttered by the very lion he'd been seeking. He tucked his chin briefly into the mane at his chest, where his favorite token nestled against the long, black fur, silently thanking the gods for this stroke of good fortunes. Being a lion, he had no concept of what the carved-bone representation of a hammer might have been used for by another species. He only knew that it was a talisman of the gods, and powerful enough that he could feel its strength without having any occult abilities of his own.
"Taraxa," he responded, taking in the older lion's condition in a quick glance.
Someone had indulged the night before, he noted with both amusement and jealousy. The next time he'd be able to allow himself to become so inebriated would be at the homecoming feast following his raid. He'd have mint at the sending-off, too, but in moderation. Vikings began early in the morning, and he didn't want to set out with a swollen head. With just a tiny hint of wickedness, Aesir called a little more loudly than was necessary, "Isn't it a fine morning?"
There had once been an expression in the pride which had fallen into disuse years and years before Aesir came, "it's a good day to die." It had formerly been used in place of "good morning." When Aesir learned that, he'd been taken with the expression, but he'd never been quite brave enough to use it for fear that it might be misinterpreted. Perhaps now that he was the Warlord he could bring it back into use, but in a different context. Perhaps as something to be said before an attack. Or would that be too morbid?
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Posted: Sat Nov 06, 2010 1:03 pm
Taraxa couldn't help but wince at the loud voice of his Warlord. His head was throbbing, his ears ringing, and his cottonmouth had not disappeared after the sip of water he'd taken. "A fine morning," he grumbled, shooting a glance at Aesir. The Warlord had obviously not over-imbibed on mint or berries, and Taraxa sometimes envied that about Aesir and the others who were able to limit their intake. Taraxa enjoyed partaking in them both, and often did so over-excessively.
"What brings you out this morning, Warlord?" The question was gruff, though Taraxa had nothing but the highest of respect for Aesir. "You are rather... chipper, while regrettably I suffer from a night of excess." He licked his lips, smacking his tongue against the roof of his mouth in an attempt to wet his whistle. "I apologize if I seem less than fit this morning."
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Posted: Sun Nov 07, 2010 8:11 am
It had been unnecessary and maybe a little cruel, but Aesir couldn't help being amused by the impact of his overly loud words on the older Reaver. Of course, the subtle winces from other lions in the area told him Taraxa wasn't the only one who had over-indulged the night before, and could have lived without their leader's effusive greeting. Well, not effusive. Just loud.
He maneuvered closer to Taraxa so that he could continue his conversation at a lower decibel. It wasn't that he really wished to spare the ears and heads of his pride members - Aesir was still enough of a bully that he wasn't much bothered by the suffering he'd casually inflicted on any of them. He was more interested in keeping his plans to himself for the time being. Plans about his viking, that is.
Also, there was a part of him which was still unsure about how well received he would be by the Captains and more experienced Reavers, and since he had plans to ask Taraxa to go viking with him, he had to entertain the possibility that the vibrant-maned lion would refuse. He didn't want that refusal to come at great volume, for it would surely be humiliating for Aesir as a Warlord to be turned down. Theoretically no one turned down Warlords, and to do so was a mark of disrespect comparable to issuing a challenge to their authority. It was unlikely Taraxa would choose to do that.
"Initially I came out because I was thirsty. I was at the revels last night, too, you know." That was all he would say about Taraxa's condition. The Reaver had been in the pride longer than Aesir, and should remember that as a Captain Aesir didn't care for drunkenness in his Reavers, but only when they were viking. Otherwise, he didn't take issue with it.
"I wanted to talk with you about some plans I'm making."
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Posted: Sun Nov 07, 2010 8:56 am
Plans, hmmn? Taraxa liked the sound of that. Gunne had often asked Taraxa to go viking with him. Taraxa had often wondered if Gunne would've given him the rank of Captain if it weren't for his untimely death. Taraxa wouldn't mind the position, really, but he didn't have the drive to achieve the position on his own. His time was better spent brawling, womanizing, and imbibing. He was never so careless when he was viking, but it'd been quite some time since he'd gone on an officially sanctioned viking. More's the pity. One could only find pleasure in being a glorified Stormborn bully for so long.
In response to Aesir's mention of his plans, Taraxa dipped his head in interest. "My ears are yours," he said quietly, taking notice of the Warlord's obvious desire for secrecy. Why else would he have come closer? Part of Taraxa had to wonder if Aesir was worried that the long-time Stormborn would have no interest in being a part of his vikings. Taraxa was no such lion. He firmly believed that each current Warlord was Warlord simply because he was more worthy than the last, and he would follow Aesir to his grave if the Warlord asked it of him. A pride could not be strong if there was unrest within the ranks, and if there was one thing that Taraxa cherished and believed in, it was that his pride was a close-knit one full of brothers. Sometimes he might turn a blind eye to certain happenings, but he would never double-cross his Warlord.
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Posted: Sun Nov 07, 2010 9:37 am
Aesir noticed Taraxa's tone become dramatically softer, which made him grin with good humor.
"It's nothing so secretive we have to whisper," he said. "It's more that I haven't solidified my plans, and I'd like to do that before I go crowing about them."
Which seemed understandable and reasonable to the Warlord. Some people were full of braggadocio, and Aesir did like to boast, but he was very aware that his actions would be under close scrutiny for some time, and he wanted to be sure that no one could find anything to criticise. At least, not when it came to anything important. The trouble was that there were so many things people could consider important, it was hard to know when he could really relax.
"Walk with me a bit. I was thinking of going viking." The thought had really only occurred to him as he was speaking to Gunnar, but no one needed to know that. "Which means I'll have to assemble a crew."
Assembling a crew wasn't anything new for Aesir. He'd done his time as a Captain, after all, and Captains had to assemble crews whenever they decided to go viking. The best crews were ones which had worked together numerous times and wherein the personalities meshed and a number of other considerations which made Aseir's head spin if he tried to consider them consciously. Mostly whenever he chose crews, he went with whichever lions seemed like good choices at the time. It usually worked out.
"Your name came up when I was discussing it earlier with Gunnar. He thinks very highly of your abilities, and I have to say I agree. You're very good, and I'd like to have you at my side when I go out."
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Posted: Wed Nov 10, 2010 11:21 am
Taraxa fell into step next to Aesir. "Viking?" There was a hopeful lilt to the older lion's raspy voice. He was silent for a moment, mulling over the fact that Aesir had gone to Gunnar before coming to Taraxa. That caused a slight scowl to flit upon his face before ghosting away, an almost imperceptible twinge. He wouldn't let that bother him, Taraxa swiftly decided, though he had to question for only a moments time the motives behind it.
"Gunnar is a strong lion," Taraxa muttered with a bit of fondness. He thought of the Reaver as a son, and he did enjoy the way Gunnar looked up to him. At times Taraxa envied Gunnar's youthful drive, often being reminded of a much younger Taraxa. They were close friends and Taraxa trusted Gunnar with his life in battle.
"I would be honored to be a Reaver on your first viking," Taraxa spoke with the confidence of an older male, one who had seen much bloodshed and many battles. He preened inwardly at the Warlord's compliment, though outwardly he showed no sign of the ballooning ego within his chest. Of course Taraxa was good. He was a Stormborn!
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Posted: Wed Nov 10, 2010 1:02 pm
Aesir didn't fail to notice the expression which flitted across Taraxa's face, and although he was not exactly an expert at reading people's emotions, he could recognize a scowl and guess at its source in this case. So Taraxa was irritated that Aesir had first spoken to Gunnar. Not wanting to step on anyone's toes, particularly not the toes of experienced Reavers who knew well what they were doing, Aesir grinned.
"Gunnar is a strong lion," Aesir agreed. Then, wryly, he added. "He also happened to be on my way to the ice melts this morning."
The expression on his face became one of distinct pleasure when Taraxa agreed to come with him. He had not expected the Reaver to refuse, even after the minor insult of not being the first Reaver Aesir approached. It really wasn't a major thing, and it certainly wasn't intended as a sign of favoritism. If Taraxa thought back to Aesir's time as a captain, he'd really just asked Reavers as it occurred to him. Planning for personalities and people was not the Warlord's strong suit.
"I'm glad to have you with me. When I have chosen the rest of my crew, I'll let you know." As an afterthought Aesir asked, "Do you have any recommendations for people I might ask?"
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Posted: Wed Nov 10, 2010 1:13 pm
"Most excellent." Taraxa was mollified by the Warlord's words. He'd meant no disrespect or ill will. Taraxa beamed at Aesir, looking thoughtful as he mentally went through the lions he thought would be suitable for Aesir's first viking as Warlord. Only one sprang to mind, and Taraxa hesitated to bring it up even though he knew the lioness in question was fit enough to fill a spot.
Stoically Taraxa set his jaw and peered at the sky, silent for a long moment before deciding to speak. "Nymph. I'm sure you know of whom I speak. She is a large lioness, one of the few female Reavers. It took her many tries to win a challenge, but she showed much determination and did not back down. A born warrior," he continued, not wanting to show softness towards the lioness he was quite fond of.
"Aside from her," he grumbled, "I would say Emeka. We came to a tie on his first challenge. A strong and able-bodied lion."
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Posted: Sat Nov 13, 2010 7:03 am
He wasn't in the habit of checking others' reactions to his own actions, but it was a habit Aesir knew he would have to develop as Warlord. While the position did grant him the authority to do as he pleased without regard for anyone else, a wise Warlord wouldn't do that. Gunne had been a bit like that toward the end, which was how Aesir had managed to win his consort over. That and the fact that he was younger, fitter, and a very forbidden thrill. He couldn't even begin to guess at Morrigan's reasons for supporting his bid for power, and trying made his head hurt, so he didn't.
In any event, he couldn't help feeling smug that he'd managed to change how Taraxa felt with just words. He'd always been able to joke and brag with other Stormborn, but this wasn't the same thing. It was more like the kind of thinking stuff Morrigan did. It was really a shame there was no one Aesir could go to and brag about this particular victory, small and silly as it was. Cleverness and trickiness in battle was one thing, but this was a completely unfamiliar form of battle for him.
"Nymph..." He had to think about it. He knew there'd been a lot of lions challenging to get into the pride, and he couldn't help thinking that it was a good sign for his rule. Not that an outsider could possibly know that the pride was under new leadership, but the gods did.
"Is she the one I've heard described as 'pink and persistent'?" Aesir was pretty sure that was the one Taraxa meant. There weren't a great many female Reavers, even though females weren't forbidden to hold the position. Aesir didn't care one way or the other whether females went viking. Indeed, they could make a viking far more pleasant for the male members of the crew if they were of a willing nature.
"I trust your judgment in this, Taraxa. If you say she's suited for it, I will ask if she wishes to come. It can't do any harm to her honor to be asked along on this raid." Since he didn't think she'd been out reaving yet. "And I will also think about Emeka. I've spoken to him. He travels with a bird. Eyes in the sky could be useful."
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Posted: Thu Nov 18, 2010 7:00 am
Taraxa chuckled at the words that Aesir used to describe Nymph. He could only imagine how furious she would be if she knew that such words were being used in relation to her. "Aye," he dipped his head, "That's the one. She wears many scars -- most recent ones all provided by me." He couldn't stop the bit of pride that edged in on his words. "I think you will honor her by asking her if she'd like to take part in your first viking."
There was a little piece of Taraxa that couldn't stop himself from preening inwardly when Aesir spoke of trusting his judgment. It was a high compliment, at least Taraxa though so, and he dipped his head once more in acknowledgment. A small smile ghosted across his muzzle, and he merely agreed, "Yes. Eyes in the sky could be of much assistance."
Falling silent once more, Taraxa peered up at the sky. Eyes narrowed as he watched the silvery clouds move in lazy turmoil. A long moment passed before the large lion spoke again. "I am eager for a true viking."
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Posted: Thu Nov 18, 2010 7:06 am
"I will ask her then," Aesir said.
He wasn't quite sure whether Taraxa was chuckling at the description he'd repeated or whether there was something else in his words which had provoked the older lion's mirth, but it wasn't derisive laughter, and so Aesir didn't mind that he'd caused it. If he'd thought Taraxa was laughing at him, however, he would have been quick to remind the Reaver who was Warlord, and that he was not to be made mock of.
Thinking about Taraxa's skill in battles, the Warlord felt obliged to add, "She will be in a condition to go, won't she? You didn't take too much out of her hide?"
If she was still recovering, Aesir would leave her behind, and she could just wait for some other Captain to decide to go raiding. He didn't want to bring any seriously damaged lions as part of his party. He'd be responsible for them, and it would reflect poorly on him as a leader if he chose badly and worse if he allowed a poorly chosen lion to die. Ideally, no one would die on this viking.
"As am I," Aesir agreed. Probably he was more eager for it than Taraxa, who had not spent any time confined to the stronghold at the absolute bottom of the pecking order as a Thrall.
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Posted: Thu Nov 18, 2010 7:14 am
"She will be fit," Taraxa promised, "and I think she will be sorely disappointed if you do not ask her along. She has worked hard and with fierce determination to win her way into the pride. She's taken many beatings at my own paws and even then came back. I believe she was made to be a Reaver, and I believe she will do you great honor by being at your side for your first viking."
Taraxa knew of Aesir's history as a Thrall, and despite it Taraxa felt that Aesir had earned his place as the Warlord. Gunne had been a friend and a brother, but Aesir seemed to have what it took to lead this band of brothers. He missed Gunne on occasion -- they'd been friends, after all, but Taraxa would never, ever cause harm to the Warlord, no matter who they were or how they'd acquired the title. Only the worthiest of lions held the title of Warlord. In Taraxa's mind, this meant that Aesir was a worthier lion than Gunne.
"We will bring much glory to the Stormborn," Taraxa said quietly.
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Posted: Thu Nov 18, 2010 9:23 am
Aesir nodded sharply in acknowledgment of Taraxa's assurances. In truth, he wasn't really worried that the lioness would be unfit. Challenges for entry were not supposed to be deadly, and rarely became so unless someone made a mistake. It was rarely the Reaver who made the fatal mistake, but rather the challenger who didn't know their own limits and pushed on when they should give in. He had wondered if perhaps Nymph had been such a one, but Taraxa didn't seem to think so.
At Taraxa's quiet words Aesir's grin turned briefly feral. "That we will."
There wasn't much else to say, and while Aesir wouldn't have minded hanging around to talk he could appreciate that he'd caught Taraxa at a bit of an inconvenient time, and so there was a hint of dismissal in his tone when he said, "I'll find you when I've chosen the rest of the raiding party."
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