[Thel] John and the Beastie

"Lookit 'im. Great big bastard, dunnae e'en have shoes on, paeddlin' 'round in the mud." Robert observed, laying in the grass next to his companion; a younger man named John, as they watched one of the Eastern clansmen on patrol. The clansman was massive, well over 6 foot tall, covered in tattoos and muscles, wearing a boar skull as a helmet, carrying what looked like a sickle made of a bear's jaw bone. John shook his head, watching the behemoth sauntering around, pausing occasionally to watch for one of his compatriots a couple hundred yards down the tree line. "Hoo many men to take him doon, daya think, Rob?" John asked jokingly, Robert not even cracking a smile. "Least twa, mehbe thrae. Dependin' on if ye were ta catch him ha'in a wee nap I'd say." he replied dryly, before beginning to crawl backwards through the grass, just enough to stay out of the big man's sight, John following his lead.

As soon as both men were sure the goliath in the trees couldn't see them, they rose to a crouched position, and moved as so, back towards the foot of the hill they had climbed, back to their horses. "Ah've nae seen a man wee'er than 6 and half feet, and built li' a black bear ou' here, Rob. The feck are we e'en doon oot here? Spyin' on three big men, who look aft' the tree lines? Dunnae make sense for meself." John told Rob as the pair once again hung their swords and axes from their belts, hanging off to the side from their sporans. "Aye, it dunnae make sense lad, but i' eases Stewart's woes when we tell 'im the beasties have nae decided to come across the line. Small vict'ries b'y." Rob smiled as he mounted his steed, the black mare shaking her head, flopping her ears against the aide of her head. Rob reached down and scratched the horse's neck, telling her she was a good girl while John took several attempts at mounting his own horse, a brown gelding that had more attitude than intelligence. "Ri', we bes' be gettin' back tae ald man Stewart with ta'dees news, aye?" John asked, finally getting control of his horse. Rob let out a small, quiet laugh watching the young man, before nodding, and steering his mount west, and proceeding.

Rob always loved spring in the central territories, the highland flowers in bloom along the black rock-lined hills always made him happy. "So, who's in charge of this area?" John broke the silence of the ride, looking around at the scraps of green and blue tartan tied to the cairns along the hillside. "Clan Mouen. They been wi' Clan Stewart for a while noo. Dunnae worry aboot the cairns either lad, there's nuthin' buried in 'em. The b'ys from the nearby toons put 'em up ta keep the beasties a'wee. Won't venture near 'em 'cause they think they'll be cursed fer gettin' too close or somethin'. The beasties are mighty spooked o' the old gods comin' back and smitin' 'em, e'en though the gods have nae been all that talkative recently." Rob explained, pointing out the cairns all the way down the road, the scraps of tartan flapping in the breeze. John let out a small "huh" as he nodded, satisfied with the answer he had been given.

It didn't take long to reach Aardmoen, a small town not far from the territorial border, where Clan Chieftain Stewart was awaiting their report, along with reports from 18 other scouts. The main road was often a swampy mud hole, especially after storms. Rob's horse finding it difficult to find footing every now and then, but pushing on towards the small hall at the end of the street in the square. Rob and John brought their horses to a stop just outside the hall, next to the hitching post. Rob was the first to dismount, jumping down into a deep spot of mud, his foot pulling out of his boot, which was now suctioned into the swampy mess. Losing his balance, his foot was the next into the mud. Rob simply let his head fall back against his shoulders, and exhaled sharply as he closed his eyes. "Don't lose your shet, i's just a boot. I's just a bit o' mud." he thought to himself, taking a deep breath. John broke out laughing as he rounded the corner behind Rob's horse, laughing at the predicament Rob found himself in. "Feck off wi' yer shenanigans an' help me." Rob laughed, John stepping as high as he could as moving through the mud became more and more difficult, before eventually losing his balance and falling face first into the mud, a panicked "Feckin' bugger!" coming out as a shrill shriek on his way down. Rob let out a deep laugh, attracting the attention of the locals as he pointed and laughed at the young man trying to push his way out of the mud.

His laughter had also drawn the attention of Chieftain Stewart, who threw open the door of the hall, looking down at the two men in the mud with an incredulous glare. "Wha' are ye twa gigglin' 'boot? Wallowin' roond innae muck like wee piggies ya are!" Stewart shouted, barely suppressing a smile as he scolded the men. John quickly used Rob as a way to climb back to his feet, covered head to toe in mud, staring up at the little old man, who appeared to be 90% moustache by weight. "Sorry sir, jus' a wee bit o' strugglin' innae mud." John smiled looking over at Rob. "Well, wha' do ye have tae tell me ta'dee?" Stewart asked, placing his hands on his hips. "Same theng as yeserdee an' the dee a'fore, sir. Three beasties wanderin' the tree line, waitin' fer some poor bastard tae try and cross." Rob reported, shrugging. Stewart nodded, twisting the left side of his fiery red moustache; the only patch of hair that hadn't turned to grey. "The big b'y still ou' there? That great big one with the boar skull?" Stewart inquired, exaggerating the dimensions of the man with his hands. "Aye, he's hard tae miss." John interjected. "Oh, is he John? Is the biggest man Ave e'er seen hard tae miss?" Stewart mocked him "Bloody fool." he continued, shaking his head. "So the big b'y is still there, any chance ye can bring him doon, Rob?" Stewart asked, crossing his arms. Rob stifled a laugh and shook his head. "Like I told John here, ye'd need twa, mehbe thrae b'ys t' put the bastard doon, dependin' on if he's ha'in a wee nap, or he's had a fair kip." Rob replied. Stewart nodded, and smiled. "Should be a proper test fer dummy here then? Aye?" he laughed, pointing to the mud covered John. "Oh aye! Right to me bloody death!" John objected. Stewart raised his eyebrows, turning back towards the young man. "Surely, you can do it, so goo, get tae it." Stewart goaded him, pointing back down the road. "Fine, Ah will." John said shakily, going back to his horse, and mounting up. "By the Gods b'y, ye cannae thenk Ah'd really sent ye to fight that beastie on your own!" Stewart laughed, slapping his knees as the look of relief fell across the young man's face. "Come on inside, an' get washed up, get some ale into ye too, to stave off that bloody chill." Stewart told the pair, ushering the pair inside. "Get some rest in b'ys. Got a special task for ye tommorow."

"Oh aye, jis' sneak pas' 'im." John said mockingly, laying in the grass next to Rob once again, echoing old man Stewart's words. "Ah, shut yer wee gabber, ya pansy. It'll be fine. If what Stewart heard fae them Mouet b'ys is right, we'll get t' Glott's camp an' back afore big man here e'en has time t' think aboot if we been here or not." Rob replied, watching the massive clansmen turn and start moving back down the tree line. "Ri' let's go." he whispered, moving to his feet, and sneaking down the hill, John following close behind. The pair moved quickly and quietly over to the tree line, keeping a close eye on the Caledoni clansman who stood no more than a hundred feet away. John pushed Rob forward as he watched the clansman begin to turn, rushing him into the thick forest growth. "Oh fook, get doon." John hissed, as the big man began to lumber back in their direction. They had never been truly able to appreciate the size of this man before now, as they had never been this close. They could see now that he was easily over 7 foot tall, not 6, as they had thought, and he was quite wide. He passed so close that they were able to see the fine detail in the tattoos that covered his body from his neck to his ankles. They could also see his face for the first time. "Kinda han'some innie?" Rob whispered, a smile on his face.

John slapped his hand around Rob's mouth as the goliath's attention snapped towards them, as he peered through the trees, looking for the source of the sound. John peered back at him through the grass, feeling the clansman's gaze sweep over them. John tries to steady his breathing, hoping the big man wouldn't see them. He breathed a sigh of relief as the clansman turned around, shrugged, and kept moving, back down his route. "Ya dunnae know when t' shut the fook up, Rob." John said, wide-eyed, letting go of Rob's mouth. "Wis jis' a joke." Rob scoffed, rising to his feet, pulling John up after. "There, no we should be go-" Rob began, before being cut off, literally. The massive clansman had circled around them while they were chatting away in the brush. Now, Rob sank to his knees with the clansman's axe buried into his head, right down to the teeth. "Fook!" John shouted, beginning to run, sprinting back out of the tree line as the clansman gave chase. John crested the hill, and began to run down, heading towards his horse, the slick grass took his feet out from under him, as he began to tumble down the hillside, his pursuer still close behind him. He felt the clansman's iron grasp at the back of his shirt as he came to a stop at the bottom of the hill, and saw a brilliant flash of light as a giant fist collided with the back of his head.

"Awwww, awwww my God." John groaned, opening his eyes, watching the canopy of the forest move overhead. The panic began to set in as he tried to raise his head, and saw the clansman dragging him along. "Shhh!" the clansman hissed, turning his head to look at the battered intruder over his shoulder. "Put me doon! Put me doon!!" John squealed, trying to grab handfuls of dirt and leaves as if it would slow the brute down. "No!" the goliath barked, shaking John by the legs, flailing him around like a child. "Shh." the big man again hissed. John let his head fall back against the ground, tears beginning to roll down his cheeks as he was dragged to gods know where. It seemed to take quite some time to get wherever they were going, as the sun began to set, and the forest grew ever darker. John had come to accept the reality of his situation by now, knowing he would likely die when they got where they were going. "Wheres we goin' anyways?" John asked the big man. The clansman paused for a moment before answering, "Glott." John sighed and cursed under his breath as he recieved his answer. "For fook sake, jis' stop fer a minute!" John erupted. "No." came the gruff reply as the behemoth wrenched on his leg as he pulled him along.

John watched the canopy of the forest pass over him for what seemed like hours, before the big man finally stopped. "Wha' are ye doin'?" John asked, almost disinterested as the big man put him down, and began looking around on the ground. "Wood." the man replied, almost as disinterested. John let his head rest against the ground as the big man began snapping limbs off the old trees, and throwing them in a pile. It was almost eerie how fast he managed to get the fire going after he was done gathering the wood. He propped John up against a log next to the fire, and pointed an accusatory finger at him as he grunted, as if telling him to stay put. With his hands and feet tied, he didn't have much other choice. The beastie stalked off into the woods, returning maybe an hour later with a deer slung over his shoulder. John watched him process the deer, portioning the meat, and carefully scraping the hide. "Wha's yer name, beastie?" John asked, breaking the still silence of the woods. The big man looked up from his task, before returning to work, "Wodan." he replied, as he skewered a few pieces of the meat on the end of his crude dagger. John watched the fire flicker in Wodan's eyes through the eyeholes of his mask as he gingerly rotated the dagger over the flame. "Where are ye from?" John asked, knowing full well he was annoying his captor. "Here." Wodan answered, motioning to their surroundings. "Yer from this forest?" John inquired. Wodan exhaled sharply as he looked up at John. "Ingvald is my home. Home of ancestors." Wodan finally replied. "How old are you, now?" John beamed. Wodan cocked his head at John, and again, exhaled sharply. "29 winters." Wodan sighed, resting the dagger and cooked meat on a small rock at his feet, before picking up the deer antlers, and examining them. "Aw, not a social butterfly, I see." John chuckled. "You will not laugh tomorrow." Wodan chuckled back, the smile falling from John's face. "Sleep now." the behemoth said, leaning back against the log behind him, and dropping his head against his chest. "I've gotta find a way outta this." John thought to himself, closing his eyes.