Anoikis is a mess to be sure, vomit, wine stains and sweat. Yet he hasn't relaxed and replies in a low Northland dialect of Orcish. "This is the second summonling that has attacked us in as many minutes, and I am sure a startled a flesh and blood two-legger (Northland Orcish form humanoid) when I tripped over my wine flask. I think that person was waiting fro Bram" He smiles and back into his broken accented verison of the groups shared language he whispers "I'd bet yous mother n alls her bad magic dat dere is somebody watching us." He winks and smile at Huk and nods to the north west of their current position.
OCC: I'd handle Anoikis point of view but feel free to move him around, I hope I have gotten his tone down.
Elsewhere at that very moment in the isolated village of Crom Cruac. Lilith Blackcandle awoke in her wood framed bear skin bed. Everything was familiar, the glow of the dying bonfires in the town square outside outlined the closed shutters of her bed chamber. Her two husbands were asleep on either side of her. She could still smell smoke in her hair and on the skin of her younger husband’s back. She couldn’t have been asleep long, but she felt completely awake. Her mouth was dry and her blood was racing. It was no wonder with the bonfires and all that dancing through the smoke, her humors were not doubt out of balance. She needed to bring her phlegm up with some water. Not wanting to wake Nance or Gorat, she sat up, slid to the foot of the bed and then climbed over the time worn foot-board.
She slipped around the beaded bed chamber curtain and into the main room of her house remembering briefly the hours she watched Nance thread the beads to make the curtain. The fire in main room was still crackeling and the mosaic of the wolf’s head Nance had built into the chimney stared at her with fierce red tiled eyes. She stepped softly towards the fireplace and the bucket of water resting by the hearth. Her legs and back were stiff from the dancing, her right shoulder sore from the hours she worked with cleaver in preparation for the feast, but these were the blessed pains of a holy festival. As she padded slowly across the polished flag stone floor, she stretched her arms up over head, and made few rhythmic motions from the fire dance. She admired how she could make the blue snakes tattooed along her forearms dance. Her arms were the young firm arms of a laboring peasant, and she bent them back beneath her long mane of thick blonde hair to shake out the bed knots. While doing so she felt a sticky spot behind her ear, and rubbing she found a patch of dried blood she had missed while washing.
She lifted a glazed and fired ceramic cup from beside Gorat’s rocking chair and tossed the stale wine it contained into the fire. Then she stood in front of the fire, listening to the wine sizzle, feeling the heat prick her naked skin and staring at the familiar hearth. Nance at left the stew pot over the fire, must have been half full at the time and it had all cooked down now. She would have to get some soap to clean it now. She waited until the warmth grew uncomfortable and then remembered her humors. Holding her long blonde hair back with one hand she bent at the waist and dipped the cup into bucket and as she rose she was startled by a strange figure caught in the corner of her eye. It was a toy horse. She looked at if for a long time till a pop in the fire broke her fixation. She drank the water. It was large enough for child to sit on, it had black wool coat like sheep, a toy leather saddle and a wooden horse head with a painted face. She bent down and touched its head, it rocked back and forth, its movements exaggerated by the flickering fire light. “Why are you here?” she whisphered to the horse. She turned back to the bucket and saw another beaded curtain leading to a room that use to be where she kept the her spindles….until…. There was something on the tip of her tounge she couldn’t remember it.
She looked back the horse. “Dannella” The name crossed her lips as whispher. That was Dannella’s horse. They had moved the spindles out of the room a year after Dannella was born that current lead to Dannella’s room. She knew all this but it all seemed so distant from herself, like she was listening to the Crone tell a story. Dannella is 9 years old, brown hair, blue eyes and….she is my beloved daughter. Lilith could think of no other details regarding her child, but was suddenly pressed by a desire to see her child. She placed the cup next to the bucket and walked purposefully into Dannella’s room sending the beaded curtain splashing loudly around her form. She was greeted by a cool room with no fire in its small stove and the smell of fresh cut timber. She scanned the room, there was a bed in the corner underneath a shuttered window. She walked to the bed in the dark, and placing her left upon the bed post she leaned over the bed. IT WAS EMPTY. She snapped back up. Her left hand was sticky with sap and saw dust. She dropped down to her knees and looked under the bed NOTHING. She jumped up to her feet and threw open the shutters letting the light from the dying bon fires in to the room. Empty, a rack of clothes stood in the corner and a black horned rag doll rested on the floor.
Lilith screamed for her husbands “GORAT! NANCE! DANNELLA IS GONE!”
