I Play

Bound - rough draft

Wed, 24 Nov 2010 13:10:42 GMT

Title: Irminsul: Bound
Rating: Currently, it's at PG. Eventually, NC-17
Synopsis: An alternate view of how the god Tyr lost his hand.
Note: Fenris doesn't actually speak. The italicized words are thoughts.

She was embarrassed to be laying there, her life oozing out onto the forest floor. She was the mighty Fenris, the shape-shifting hero of her people, the Jotun and a major player in the war against the Asa-men. She should have been wounded honorably in battle. Instead, she was caught unawares by angry farmers seeking the wolf that had terrorized their herds.
"This is so freaking stupid." she thought, angrily, and tried again to regain her feet, to find the energy to shift back into human form, to heal her wounds, to die on the Front where she belonged, not out here. Not in the leaf-mold, slain by a filthy dirt-grubber.
All her struggles earned her, though, was a thick, gray fog creeping around her vision and her blood pooling a little faster on the leaves beneath her. The end was near. As if to punctuate it, a great shadow appeared to loom over her, blocking out the fitful moonlight, filtering through the forest canopy. Death, himself, had appeared to claim her. Fenris was unable to suppress a thin whine, as she closed her eyes and waited for her heart to finally stop. Distantly, she heard Death growl, "And who was the asshole that left his pet this way!"

The fact she still breathed should have been her first clue, along with the painful catch that came at the apex of each breath and made her want to cough. Awareness of even that came slowly, however. The first thing that truly did filter down into her conscious mind was the soft scent of squirrel spoor playing a gentle counter-point to the scent and sound of roasting meat. Her stomach growled around a deep, dull ache, and Fenris opened her eyes. She found herself so overwhelmingly *hungry,* she couldn’t even spare a thought to wonder about her state.
She whined and tried to get to her feet. The meat Fenris scented was tantalizingly close, over a lively fire. But there was something else besides the scent of squirrel spore: the scent of Asa-man, the enemy.
“Hey, she’s awake! She recovered quick, didn’t she?” said a voice, followed by squirrel chatter that seemed to agree.
Fenris craned her head around to affix the approaching speaker with a glare. He was tall, blond and dressed in armor that confirmed him as the origin of the Asa-man stink. She growled low in her throat as he made his way slowly around the fire. He had one hand out, as if to ward off an attack.
“Easy, now. Take it easy.” He murmured softly as he paused to take the meat off the fire with the hand not outstretched. He then came closer. “I’ve no doubt you’d do all in your power to make good on that , Beautiful.”
He was about a foot away, and though Fenris still could not get to her feet, she still peeled her lips back to show her gleaming fangs. The Asa-man appeared unperturbed, though he moved deliberately and spoke gently: “I don’t want to see my hard work ruined or my guts decorating the scenery. This will help.” He then stretched out and laid the meat in front of her nose.
Fenris stopped growling and took an experimental sniff. Roasted rabbit. A young buck that had been snared. No poison. Interesting. She raised her head a little higher, trying to smell the Asa-man at a distance. She didn’t smell fear, but anxiety in the form of nebulous anger, not directed at her. Very interesting. She would have contemplated what it meant more, but her stomach decided to complain loudly. There was no current threat, so it was safe to answer those complaints and dig into the proffered meat.

The Asa-man seemed to watch her with interest. A smile playing gently on his lips, he rocked back on his heels and quipped, “You are quite the lady; you eat so delicately.”
She looked up from her meal and gave a contemptuous snort. The Asa-man tipped his blond head back and laughed. Fenris grinned around each bite. He had a good laugh: warm, hearty, and without malice. Such a shame he was an Asa-man, the enemy. With warrior writ large in each sinew and well-defined muscle, he was something to behold. His hair was a clean, bright corn-silk that tumbled to his shoulders. As the crunch of bone reached her ears, signaling that her meal was just about over, it dawned on her that the Asa-man’s eyes were trained once more on her, with an expression of expectation in their doe-brown depths. Well, not really on her. They were focused on a spot just to one side, to avoid challenging her. She broke off eating and tipped her head to one side as if to ask, “Well, what?”
He seemed to take that as an invitation and came closer. A serious expression settled on his rugged features. “Please don’t think me too forward, my lady,” he began. “But I simply must disrobe you.”
Fenris was very glad for her fur. It hid her sudden and violent blush, which would have been very hard to explain on the wolf-hound she suspected that she suspected she was supposed to be.
The Asa-man continued on, unaware, with that serious expression still firmly in place: “It is about time to change the bandages on your chest.” He held out his palm for her inspection.
“Oh.” Fenris thought, her blushes cooling instantly. She gave his hand a polite sniff; his scent betrayed no real malice, only a nebulous fear that she might not let him finish tending her wounds. She leaned to the right, until she was comfortably laying on her side, waited for him to begin.

While he tended her, Fenris occasionally craned her head around to watch him curiously. He had a soft, gentle touch that would make her cheeks warm... and other parts of her, though she tried hard to remain stoic, to keep in mind that she was a Jotun and he one of the enemy. She found herself charmed, however, watching him putter about and natter on at her, as if she wasn’t wearing the wolf-shape. Her tongue lolled out in a lupine-grin.
Far too soon, the task was complete. He rocked back on his heels and patted her side gently. “There. You should be in shape to travel tomorrow. You can stay with me or we can find you a home, once we reach Asguard. I don’t expect your former master cares to have you back, since he left you in such a nasty state, but I wouldn’t mind such a lady by my side.”
Fenris swallowed hard, a feeling of dread washing over her, as the Asa-man named his stronghold—her enemy’s capitol. At the same time, her heart contracted. “If we weren’t at war, I wouldn’t mind, either.”

Pagsen and Tenpou

Fri, 28 Aug 2009 20:56:08 GMT

With a sharp moion, Tenpou pulled the troll off Pagsen, freeing the Death Knight to reach for his weapon. However, it wasn't needed, as a few quick knife-strokes later, the troll crumpled to Tenpou's feet.
"Hey, Ten!"
The rogue turned. "Yes?"
"Watch this." answered the blond Death Knight, grinning wildly, as he mimed pointing a gun at the troll-corpse. "Pow." he finished, and promptly the corpse exploded, splattering the other man with offal.
Tenpou made a face. "And by that demonstration, I can only conclude that your brain died first."
The half-mad grim instantly disappeared. "No. It was the very last thing to die. I was fully concious as my last breath passed my lips and my head hit the pavement. With my last organic electrical impulses, I could only think 'oh, shit.'"
The rogue stood speechless, blinking at Pagsen.
After a few moments, the blond brightened, and the grin returned. "But isn't Corpse Explosion just the coolest?"
Tenpou smiled back at him. "It is. But only when you're not the one wearing the troll-guts."

Martin, Douggie, and Chloe

Wed, 24 Dec 2008 00:44:28 GMT

Someone was coming. Dr. Martin West could hear the distinct thump of boots on the sidewalk, over the bustle of his pet werewolf washing the dishes. He set his newspaper to one side, and walked over to the door. He threw it open, just as the newcomer was preparing to knock and glared down into her surprised, dark eyes. "You're noisy." He told the young woman in a lab coat, who was still prepared to knock upon a door that was already open. Then, before stepping aside to allow his guest entry, West shouted over his shoulder, "Douglas, the dog-walker is here. Get your coat."
"What?" came the confused reply from the kitchen.
"You heard me." West answered, returning to his abandoned newspaper, a self-satisfied smile tugging at one corner of his mouth. He had gotten away with something rude and left confusion and surprise in his wake.
"Well, yes, but..." Douglas emerged from the kitchen, drying his hands on a dishtowel and spotted the bewildered woman on the threshold. "Ah, yes, Doctor West. I'll get my coat." Tossing the distowel to one side, he turned to remove one from a nearby hook.
"Make sure you do your business while you're out." West called from his seat, not looking up from his reading. "And have her toss a ball for you. You're getting a bit flabby."
"Yes, sir." Douglas turned back to the young woman, who now wore a horrified expression. He blushed as he shrugged his jacket on. "Ah, don't mind the doctor. He's just making a joke."

Once they were out of the house, the young woman rounded on Douglas. "Dog-walker? Toss a ball for you? You have got to be kidding me."
He tipped his head to one side with a smile. "West would do it, himself, but he's got some experiments running that need to be supervised."
"What?"
Douglas tipped his head to the other side. "I'm lucky to have a warm bed, good food, and a thoughtful master. Most of the other werewolves that cross West's porch only get a bowl of dog-chow and a patch of staw in the barn before being sent on their way." His companion gave him a look of horrified disbelief, which elicited a chuckle from the young man.
"You ARE kidding me!" she accused him."
"Yes, I am. And Doctor West was really making a joke, Chloe."
"I got to hear the fearsome Doctor West make a joke." The young woman shook her head, making her black pig-tails bounce. "They're never going to believe this, back at the lab."

Letters Found in a Niche on Sunstrider Isle

Sat, 06 Dec 2008 02:18:32 GMT

Dear Tenpies,

Why are you still hanging around that abomination? You know, dead things can't warm your bed.

Not approving your choice in company,
Yonners

*~*~*
Dear Yonners,

What do you mean? Decomposition generates heat.

Not caring,
Tenpies
*~*~*
Dear Tenpies,

Ew. Just ew.

Grossed out,
Yonners

*~*~*
Dear Yonners,

You started it.

Accomplished,
Tenpies

*~*~*
Dear Tenpies,

If you're that hard up for a date, you should really let me find you a suitable one.

Generously,
Yonners

*~*~*
Dear Yonners,

Um, no, thanks. I've SEEN the kind of things you consider a suitable date: too much fur and sharp teeth.

Refusing,
Tenpies

*~*~*
Dear Tenpies,

In my defense, she was a troll, not an orc!

Offended,
Yonners

*~*~*
Dear Yonners,

Way to go, asshat. You ruined a perfectly good insult.

No love,
Tenpies

*~*~*
Dear Tenpies,

What?

Confused,
Yonners

*~*~*
Dear Yonners,

I had been referring to Tristam, but you... *The rest of the letter is unreadable squiggles. The translator suggests this was caused by uncontrollable laughter and a pen.*

*~*~*
Dear Tenpies,

You suck.

No love,
Yonners

Haiku

Sat, 22 Nov 2008 01:29:15 GMT

"Midwinter Temple Visit"

At the temple gates
A neat yellow hole in snow
Sacred call answered.

^My first successful haiku. That's the version I posted to DA. The following is the version I used for the current BPTP inquisition:

"On the Way to Midnight Mass"

Next to the church doors
A neat yellow hole in snow
Holy call answered.

The werewolf and the mad scientist

Thu, 30 Oct 2008 01:17:30 GMT

It was a dark and stormy night. It was also cold. The lone form that slouched down a muddy driveway shivered visably. A cold, sulfer-lamp illuminated the doorway of the squat house. It was there that the form paused and frowned down at the mud on the hems of his pants.
What a night. the owner of the form, Douglas Ansley Peters, thought unhappily before knocking on the door.
Much to his surprise, it opened immediately, revealing a tall, thin man, peering at him through thick glasses. "Finally."

The tall man pulled him inside and shoved a towel at him. "Wait here." he said, before slipping behind another door, leaving Douglas to drip on the yellowing linolium in the foyer and blink owlishly.

Flashback.
"Are you sure you want to do this, Doug?" asked the aging hippy on the other side of the great maple desk.
"The island houses both Doctor West, with his work on lycanthropy and the world's largest collection of beings from folklore. I kill two birds with one stone, Professor." Douglas was quite literally on the edge of his seat with excitement.
"I'm not worried about most of the island's dedizens. It's Doctor West. He has a certain reputation..."
"Of being a dickweed?" Douglas asked with a grin.
The aging hippy looked a bit sheepish. "Well, yes, there's that..."
"I've dealt with dickweeds before. Don't worry."
"I'm not worried about the dickweed reputation. I'm worried about the one that says West's barking mad..."

Douglas finished drying himself and hung the sopping towel on the back of a chair. He stepped farther into the room. Looking about he found himself in a dining room, seperated from the kitchen by a counter that was over-burdened with dirty dishes. He eyed the dishes before glancing back at the door his host had disappeared behind...

Follow Me

Tue, 30 Sep 2008 01:40:57 GMT

Gojyo doesn't want to go anywhere with this story. Cian, however, offered himself up. He's not one to pass up a princess. It's just a fragment, currently. I dunno if it will be a full-on story, part of an episode, or what, yet.

You don't know how you met me
You don't know why, you cant turn around and say good-bye
All you know is when I’m with you I make you free
And swim through your veins like a fish in the sea

The moon rose, and she was asleep. Finally. Cian reached for his pants. As he stood, he spared a backwards glance for the blond waif that was his recent bedmate. They all told him that she was a princess. They were right; she was one-- the worst kind, in his opinion: forthright, selfish and so very dull in the bedroom. It made her repellant. He had to think of more plesant conquests to even perform.
A smile played across his lips, as buttened his pants and thought of the most plesant of those conquests...

She wasn't really a princess, but in Cian's eyes, she was: a shapely beauty with long, flaxen tresses and eyes the colour of the sky's morning glory and the princess of the feilds and the copper mines, where her husband worked...

--husband catches on, but doesn't harbour any hate for Cian, as he believes he's not good enough for the girl, either. There is an accident at the mine. The husband happens to be taking a late lunch, but word filters back to the girl. She abandons Cian and rushes off to the mine, only to get into trouble, herself. Cian follows as best he can, but he finds himself helpless, because he's claustrophobic and terrified of being underground. The husband rescues his wife, who breaks things off with Cian. Cian is heartbroken, and decides to never let himself become that involved again, always keeping lovers-- especially human ones, at a distance.