brave_kreyu | OOM All Skate Skellig Dream Magic Weirdness -Part 10

Hanging back (but at the same time, he does not act submissive - if anything, his position as they walk is that of 'defense', keeping guard behind them) as they approach, Skellig is struck a bit at just how...big...Koshchei is.

Clearly, he has been laboring and fighting for quite some time!

However, he does not puff himself up or try to appear bigger himself - while he might be built much leaner than this man, he is still solid, and still quite able to defend himself (and his mate) if needed.

"Is that why you are out here chopping wood?"

He grunts an affirmative. "Everyone else hung over, or too worn out from festivities after I deal with sorcerer," Koshchei explains.

Kreyu reaches for Skellig's hand, takes a hold of it. "Is anyone hurt? My husband Skellig is a very talented healer, even more than I am." She's so very proud of Skellig, so happy that he is her husband.

Without even thinking, his fingers shift and automatically interlock with hers - she will be able to feel the faint surge of pride when she speaks of him so highly.

"I would absolutely be willing to lend my assistance if it is needed," Skellig says, with a firm nod. "It would be the least I could do."

He could chop wood, but he would likely be much less efficient than Koshchei.

Koshchei is a bit surprised to hear Kreyu call him her HUSBAND, but doesn't comment on it, and his smile to Skellig is friendly. "Thank you," he begins, sincere. "No one hurt, not in the body." He scowls. "Sorcerer use MY identity," he growls. There is a rumble like tectonic plates grinding together, the 'dragon' leaking through because he is angry. "Use to gain trust not earned, do much harm, kidnap princesses."

Kreyu frowns too, clearly angry as well. For beings like dragons, one's reputation, one's good name, is VERY important. Most supernatural beings only know one another by reputation, and it is far easier in this age for someone to steal that reputation and use it for themselves. "You will be fixing the damage he has done for decades, at best," she comments. "I'm sorry, Koshchei, that is a dreadful mess."

Koshchei nods. "They hurt in spirit though, he keep them trapped here to look at them, to HAVE, like birds in cages." His voice sinks to that rumbling of stone again with his anger.

"The princesses...are they still here?"

The idea of them being trapped in cages and mentally harmed, traumatized...Skellig does NOT like that, not at all. And while his abilities to heal are typically more limited to the physical aspect of things, he might be able to help soothe some invisible wounds if given the opportunity.

(And if it would not cause more trauma or concern.)

Kreyu does not like that thought either, squeezes his hand.

"They are here," Koshchei replies. "Most worried about Ludmilla," he says, voice softening. "Sorcerer fight Sasha, man she love, when he try to protect her. Close to nine moons since she saw him last, and she is getting very...big," he explains. Koshchei is a bit vague on human reproduction after the sex bits are over.

"I might be able to help with that," she tells Koshchei, smiling. "I have been training to deal with such things. Is Sasha alive?"

Koshchei shrugs. "Could be, was still breathing when she taken, but badly hurt."

"Then we would go to them, if you would allow it."

His focus is already shifting to concentrate his Light where he might need it most, how he can redirect his own reserves to aid others - pieces working in the background of his mind as he follows along with Kreyu and Koshchei.

"Probably not awake quite yet," Koschei rumbles. "Was crying last night until late, but we can go inside."

He easily picks up the heavy stack of firewood in his arms, stowing the axe on a stump for now. The fortified hunting lodge theme continues inside. A few servants are sleeping in makeshift bunks, sleeping the sleep of those have had entirely too much to drink the night before.

On a pile of cushions, furs, and blankets near the central fire in the entrance hall are three lovely woman carefully covered up with blankets to keep them comfortable and warm. One a blonde, one a brunette, and one a redhead, their complexions all as pale as Skellig's. "Katarina, Sofia, and Melia," he says, voice soft and fond as they walk past. Skellig is very familiar with the kind of blissful exhaustion on their faces, and the echoes in the room leave no doubt that Koshchei took all three of them to bed and pleasured them quite THOROUGHLY last night.

"Ludmilla on the second floor, in room with loom. She says is 'homey'," Koshchei adds as they leave the room, enter the kitchen. The cook in their bunk is snoring, quite out of it.

The echoes in the room (also the hallway...and even a bit of lingering 'noise' has filtered into the kitchen) are quite loud, and as they enter and move through the space, briefly it is almost deafening! Add in the peaceful, blissful exhaustion on the features of the women (three of them!) as they rest sleeping sprawled about (thankfully covered enough to be decent) there is absolutely no doubt as to what kind of party occurred here.

He is silently grateful for Kreyu's hand in his, as it helps him to refocus and balance his attention.

Noticing her quiet concern for the shift in his energy, he gives it a gentle squeeze. "Just loud, have to adjust a bit," he offers, voice low.

She smiles reassuringly at Skellig, squeezes his hand. Koshchei tends the fire. "Bread dough not cooperating, but plenty of leftovers," he offers. He pours them some beer, prepares toast with room temperature roast from the night before.

"Do they want to go back home, the princesses?" Koshchei nods. "They do, although we could probably throw another party first while you are here?" he asks, cheerful.

Kreyu flushes very dark. "Ah, no, I think I will have to pass on that, Koshchei." She clears her throat. "I have an acquaintance I'd like you to meet, a prince in Mirai, an artist who is going to be in the middle of a succession crisis."

Skellig can almost SEE Koshchei's train of thought redirect. "Good marble in Mirai," he muses aloud. "Many princes, yes? Much stabbing in the back." He huffs, disgusted at the idea of backstabbing. "Not fair fight for human artist, so squishy..."

At the mention of another party - and the way that Kreyu flushes so dark - it is clear just what kind of festivities that Koshchei is considering...and while obviously they would both be invited...that is still not something he could wrap his mind around.

(He only has ONE mate, thank you very much!)

"He is a very talented artist," Skellig adds, as he accepts the beer and food offered willingly - with his metabolism and their travels, he is hungry, and if he is going to need to work to heal, it would be foolish not to. "Has quite a penchant for delicate things, like birds."

He glances up and down over Koshchei, with a subtle smile. "Though I am certain there are other forms he could appreciate given the opportunity."

Koshchei chuckles heartily at Skellig's last comment. "I have an appreciation for the delicate myself, in art and otherwise."

"Did the sorcerer get away?" Kreyu asks.

Koshchei runs one hand over the stone of the fireplace and the stone shifts as if it were unbaked clay under his touch. He begins to shape a bird as he speaks. "Sorcerer say he can not be harmed by mortal means, so I drag him down into the stone and leave him there."

Kreyu grimaces a bit, as that means the sorcerer was essentially buried alive!

"After a while, no heart, no breath, no motion echoing in the stone. Think he dead, have not pulled him out to check for sure."

While Skellig is eating, the stone-morphing occurs and he is simply fascinated by the entire process. (He is definitely staring a bit, as the stone 'softens' and is easily formed by Koshchei's hands, as if it is the most malleable clay.) So much so that he has much less of a visual reaction to what has become of the sorcerer.

"A man who harms others will reap what he sows," he comments.

Does the idea of Death being nearby bother Skellig? Not particularly. Would he have chosen a swifter method? Probably. But for the fear that he likely instilled in those princesses, trapped and set aside in their cages in the dark...did he deserve the same, suffocating, trapped darkness, no chance of escape? Possibly.

Koshchei is shaping a delicate lark, life size, from the granite. He has pulled the stone loose from the fireplace for easier working with both hands. (And to make it easier for Skellig to see what he is doing, although there's not much to BE seen.)

"Indeed," Koshchei rumbles. "Especially if he is fool enough to do it using MY identity."

By the time they are finished with their meal, Koshchei has finished the lark enough that it is quite recognizable AS a lark. "Needs more work, more detail," he explains as he sets it down to pick up his mug of beer. "But not a bad start."

"It is a wonderful start," Skellig offers. "I am always in awe of those who have such artistic talent with their hands, I have never been one to possess it, myself."

To be fair - until he ended up here in this world, in the desert wandering, he was practically crippled with painful arthritis and hardly able to even move his fingers without sharp daggers shooting up his spine, unless he dulled it with drug or drink.

"Thank you," Koshchei says, smiling softly. "Take time to learn, but earth is in me."

Skellig hears someone's footsteps approaching quickly. The red head he saw sleeping earlier feels worried, her clothes hastily pulled on. "Oh, we have company!" she blurts out, startled as she sees them through the doorway. She shakes her head. "Koshchei, Ludmilla has gone into labor!" Koshchei stares at her in utter incomprehension.

Kreyu stands, gathers her bag. "I have trained with a midwife," she says.

"Oh, thank the gods! I, we, don't know what to do."

"It might help if you can boil some water, put some clean rags in the boiling water for a while. They will be useful, later." Kreyu tells Koshchei. Whatever winds up happening.

Skellig briefly thinks back to the last time they were in a similar situation where Kreyu's midwife skills were required - that was when the entire debacle with Akatan occurred, and his mind faintly shudders at the image of her gasping for breath, her blood spilling onto his hands and filling his lungs. But he quickly shakes his head and clears it from his vision, refocusing.

"Boiling water, clean rags," he says. "There will be some other things that we will need later, but there will be time for that."

Clean, soft blankets for once the child is born (whatever winds up happening) and adequate hydration for all involved, Ludmilla, Kreyu, and whomever may end up assisting. Koshchei still looks completely bewildered at the idea entirely, which makes Skellig quirk a faint smile as he glances to Kreyu. "I assume I would not be welcomed to assist you, but if there is need, you can call for me at once."

Kreyu nods. "She will be more comfortable without a man there," she tells Skellig. She gives him a brief kiss on his cheek. "But I will call you, if you are needed."

They hurry off and Koshchei looks at him, his face crinkled with worry. "Ludmilla is hurt?" he asks, confused. "Not understand point of boiling water. I can take injury, heal it, not need water."

Once a large pot of water has been set over the fire to begin to boil, the other women leave to go find a fetch rags - surely one of the other servants of the house will know! Their hangovers are going to be in for a rude awaking very shortly.

"Not injured," Skellig offers as reassurance. "Humans...they...can be complicated, when it comes to giving birth to a child. It is much like how most mammals give birth to their young, except often a woman will require more assistance due to..."

He motions awkwardly with his hand, trying to think of how to word this. "The body relaxes and things...shift. But the infant must still come free from the mother...through the way the man entered her in the first place to give his seed to her."

Edited 2024-10-06 02:44 (UTC)

"Oh, oh no," Koshchei replies, sounding rather horrified. "No wonder they frightened."

Shortly, it's rather like someone has kicked over an anthill, with hungover servants, including the cook, going into action. Skellig and Koshchei are pressed into service to help with making a fortifying broth for Ludmilla and the other ladies. Cordials believed to be helpful are being dragged out of the cellar, ingredients for foods believed to help in recovery after birth are being fetched from storerooms.

Those are the activities that might in some way be practical. Others...less so. Offerings made to various gods and goddesses are in the works as are many more behaviors that are frankly superstitious: untying every knot that they can find, things straightened, shutters opened. The illusion of control, of being able to affect an event so hazardous as child birth, has resulted in LOTS of superstitions.

The lodge is a hive of activity, and Skellig is finding all of it - even the less practical - incredibly fascinating. The ingredients for the broth are relatively straightforward and easy to prep with direction from the cook, and once that is on to simmer, attention turns to opening, straightening, untangling things.

Both Skellig and Koshchei have extra sensitive hearing, so it is no surprise when Ludmilla lets out a particularly pained shout that they freeze on instinct - Skellig cringes slightly as the echo reverberates down the staircase, but he can hear Kreyu's voice, calm and steady.

"There is still quite a while to go yet," he says to Koshchei - almost apologetically. "And likely quite a bit more of that to come as well, even with the aid of the ladies and the things we have sent up."

At some point when a lull seems to settle, the cook announces that there is a meal prepared, if they would like to eat when able - after all, that is what HE can do it aid in this event, as stressful as it may be for everyone. Food helps.

"Not right, that it should hurt so," Koshchei grumbles.

The redhead from earlier, who it turns out is named Melia, comes back downstairs looking a bit wilted. The dress is honestly too fine for what she's doing, but it is what she has.

As they eat, Melia talks a little. "Your wife, Kreyu, says everything is going as well as can be expected for a first time mother." She flushes. "The others, they have been at births before, I have not."

She sips her drink, a cordial. "I think I would have gone mad without the others," she confesses to Skellig. "If he hadn't caged us up together. Only a year, but it felt so very long."

"They are complicated things," Skellig offers. "Births. But Kreyu has been training for some time with a quite skilled midwife back home in our village," he adds. "And she has encountered many obstacles. Ludmilla and her child will receive great care from her."

At her admission that they were caged for an entire year, he shifts his position slightly in the chair, expression changing - he is both sympathetic to the plight of the women, and angry at the same time that they were subjected to it at all.

"It would have been much more difficult, if you had been alone. But it was still not right."

"No," she says softly. "I know it could have been much worse, but it was bad enough."

"We want to go home, but we don't want to be separated from each other either. Katarina is jumpy, still, at sudden noises, and I can't be in a room smaller than this," she gestures to the great hall the dinner has been set up in, "with a closed door without feeling my heart race. Sofia just has nightmares, which are easier to hide, but..."

"Just because they are easier to hide than other reactions does not make them any less difficult to heal from," he says, honestly. "All of those are valid reactions to having been exposed to such a horrid ordeal. It is good that you are here now and safe, and perhaps in time you will be able to travel once again."

Skellig can vouch for their continued safety - as now that they are with Koshchei, even from what little interaction he has had with the man so far...he doubts any harm would come to these women, if an attempt were made.

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject