‧͙⁺˚*・༓ ♱ bones and honey
#9
[align=center][div style="width:500px;text-align:justify;line-height:1.2;font-size:9pt;"][ BAD DOG ] An excerpt from Sköll's past. Just before he would go on to travel from his home, set 6 or so months before his arrival at Flintlock.

"Alright... You can drop the knife, boy."

His head cocked slightly as his senses seemed to rush back. A soft breath escaped his parted lips as he met the gaze of the speaker, whose eyes were blown with fear, his body tense.

He was afraid of Sköll.

They all were. The eyes of his groupmates bore into the boy, silent, the air still. A boy was crying a few feet away.

The body twitched at his feet before falling still. It's still warm blood sank into the earth below Sköll's feet.

"I said drop it!"

The silence cracked as the man drew his weapon. The knife landed with a wet thud into the red below, and a woman from the crowd stepped forward to retrieve the blade. His commander sheathed the gun, and his body seemed to relax slightly.

He didn't realize he was crying until now. Another tear spilled from his eye, collecting at his chin, but he looked lifeless otherwise. His mother was dead. Her body only a few feet away, collapsed over itself in an unnatural way. And at Sköll's feet was the body of the old man. The crying boy rushed towards the elder's corpse, wailing in grief.

It had happened so fast. The old man had sternly refused to give up his belongings. Edda grabbed the young boy who was with the man, a knife held menacingly to his throat. Before she could fully turn to the elder, his gun rang out and her body hit the ground. Sköll had felt his chest swell and he could not remember what happened next. But he could piece it together.

"I'm fine," He assured slowly.

The group slowly broke away, a man taking the child away, and his commander stepped towards him and put a hand upon his shoulder. He did not seem to care when Sköll flinched, but he had never cared before.

"Policy. Even now, boy," He said, looking at the silent nineteen year old. "We'll put her next to Hati," He continued solemnly, "Tonight we will celebrate her life. We'll let you join us." After a moment, he stalked off curtly, and the boy's gaze finally rose to settle upon him, following the back of the man's head. His tongue began to bleed from in between his teeth.

He spent the winding hours of the evening seated on the outskirts of the celebration. He did not interact, nor did he move from the wooden bench until the last of his groupmates passed out. When he finally rose, Sköll freed the boy, scared him off with a threat, entered one of the storage tents, and re-appeared with their two cans of gasoline.

When the fire roared to life, soon did the screams join in. The entire campsite was covered in raging flames, licking the night sky hungrily. Men and women scattered like insects, their bodies flailing as the fire ate through them. Some tumbled to the ground, writhing around before falling still to crackle in the shriveled grass.

Sköll stood at a distance from the scene, and he, too, screamed. He howled. Guttural and emptying, he screamed on and on with his victims; with his abusers. No longer was he under their control. No longer would he be beat into submission. No longer would he be their puppet. No longer would he be told, "go fetch, dog." The leash had snapped. The mutt was free.

Oh, how he howled.
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‧͙⁺˚*・༓ ♱ bones and honey - by Cubs - 09-19-2021, 08:58 AM
Re: ‧͙⁺˚*・༓ ♱ bones and honey - by Sköll - 09-23-2021, 06:57 AM



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