In which Rotag\u01ebll fights the people she raided.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Rotag\u01ebll stood, chest heaving against the heavy fur pelts she wore, boots sinking into the sand. Her right hand gripped her axe, the blade of it just barely brushing the pebbles on the shore. Blood spilled down the left side of her face, the gouge in her flesh digging deep, blinding her eye, ripping open her brow and her cheek. It dripped off her jawline, splattering into the soaked earth beneath. Water lapped at the back of her heels.\u00a0<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The Christians stood across from her, stopped now that she and a few others had turned to ensure their siblings got aboard the ships safely. The large chest stolen from the church would take several to heft into the boat, and they would need to be kept safe.\u00a0<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cSister,\u201d called a sibling to Rot\u2019s left, who stood with broad shoulders and a large, stolen sword clasped in their left hand. Grein Ingsun, who was neither man nor woman, and wore the pelts of slain christian pets. They nodded to the christian who wore leather armor over his fabric shirt, and grasped a longsword. His blond hair was matted and greased, tussled from waking in the middle of the night. The moon\u2019s glare reflected in his blue eyes, like the glint of murderous desire.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Rotag\u01ebll dipped her head in understanding. The other Christians stood behind him, holding a few of their weapons, but only the blond man had a chestpiece of leather armor. He was their leader. If he died, the others would likely scatter.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cYou will\u2026 what you stole, heathens,\u201d the man spat. \u201cI\u2026 you in the name of God to\u2026 down\u2026 weapons and\u2026 that chest.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n
Rot tasted her own blood, the iron flavor coating the corner of her lips. She used her forearm to smear it across her cheek, staining the wolf pelts she wore wrapped around her body. Her grasp on his language was incomplete, but it seemed he wanted the chest back specifically. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cName?\u201d Rotag\u01ebll asked. \u201cWhat is your name?\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n
The man looked to her, eyeing her before sneering. \u201cMy name is Thomas Blacksford. I am the\u2026 of this\u2026 the\u2026 you stole from.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n
Rotag\u01ebll snorted. He thought of himself highly, that much was clear. He seemed to confirm he was the leader, and with a glance to her right, to her sister Mallymkun Tyrsun, it seemed that they had all got a similar impression. Rotag\u01ebll stepped forward, and Thomas gripped his blade tighter, lifting it towards her. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI am Rotag\u01ebll Rakvisun,\u201d Rotag\u01ebll said. She pressed one hand to her bloodstained chest. \u201cIt is\u2026\u201d she searched for the right Christian word. \u201cDeath hour.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n
Thomas scowled. \u201cYou heathen shit.<\/em>\u201d With a lunge, he stabbed his blade at her, a blade Rotag\u01ebll knocked upwards with a swing of her axe. She stepped into his guard, and spun her blade down where his shoulder met his neck. With a choked scream, the man dropped his weapon and collapsed. Rotag\u01ebll kicked her axe free. She looked at the other Christians.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cDeath for you?\u201d She lifted her hand to point to someone on her left, keeping the eye that could see facing the rest of the crowd. \u201cTake chest?\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n There was hesitance. And then there was anger. Such fury Christians seem susceptible to, unable to control their violence when victims of it themselves. The Christians howled as wild animals and rushed forward. Rotag\u01ebll stepped back, readied her blade, and met them with the cold blade of her axe.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" Rotag\u01ebll stood, chest heaving against the heavy fur pelts she wore, boots sinking into the sand.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":1905,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false,"jetpack_publicize_message":"","jetpack_is_tweetstorm":false,"jetpack_publicize_feature_enabled":true,"jetpack_social_post_already_shared":true,"jetpack_social_options":[]},"categories":[692],"tags":[648,649,647,578,299,652,580,97],"jetpack_publicize_connections":[],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"https:\/\/winter-publishing.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2020\/11\/pexels-photo-681467.jpeg","jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/p27tjX-uI","_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/winter-publishing.com\/welcome-to-winter\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1904"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/winter-publishing.com\/welcome-to-winter\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/winter-publishing.com\/welcome-to-winter\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/winter-publishing.com\/welcome-to-winter\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/winter-publishing.com\/welcome-to-winter\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=1904"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/winter-publishing.com\/welcome-to-winter\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1904\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":1925,"href":"https:\/\/winter-publishing.com\/welcome-to-winter\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1904\/revisions\/1925"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/winter-publishing.com\/welcome-to-winter\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/1905"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/winter-publishing.com\/welcome-to-winter\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=1904"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/winter-publishing.com\/welcome-to-winter\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=1904"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/winter-publishing.com\/welcome-to-winter\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=1904"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}