The Beast from the Deep

Hel's Maw, A village of the Snow Wolf Gen

"Superstition and nonsense." Feldrin spat on the frozen mud in disgust. The tall golden haired warrior stood leaning on his great axe, his crystal blue eyes framed in a sullen frown.

"You don't believe in the Orphan." ask the shorter man standing next to him.

"No Shanga, I bloody well don't. I believe and bad weather and bad luck."

The two men stood a short distance from the fishing dock where a crowd were gathered around a large ceremonial pyre. The flames reached high into the evening air, releasing plumes of the black smoke and the smell of charred fish. There were no bodies in the pyre, just offerings from the days catch, laid amidst the timber in flower strewn baskets.

"A waste of bloody fish is what it is." Feldrin complained.

Shanga punched him in the arm and Feldrin gave him a sharp look that threatened violence.

"Don't be disrespectful. The families need to mourn." Shanga met the warriors eyes glare for glare until at last Feldrin relented and shook his head in disgust and resignation.

"Mohrgat should never have gone out so far in that tub of his. He died of stupidity not in the belly of a mythical whale god."

"There have been sighting." Shanga offered but the taller man was having none of it.

"Bollocks. We can not afford to worry about such nonsense. If the Blue Rock decide to raid we need every man and woman ready to fight, not standing on the dock trying to appease an imaginary fish god."

"Do you think they will?"

"What?"

"Raid... do you think the Blue Rock Gen will raid?" Shanga looked genuinely worried by the prospect, but in contrast Feldrin began to grin.

"Yes Shanga. Yes I think they will raid and my axe will drink deep."

The pair watched in silence for a time as the ceremony came to its conclusion and the families and friends of the lost fishermen began to drift away. At last only one of the widows remained, kneeling in the mud before the fire.

"That's Mohrgats woman." Shanga observed.

"That so?" Feldrin mused, "Here hold this."

The warrior handed his axe to Shanga and began to approach.

"What are you doing?" Shanga hissed.

"The woman needs consoling." Feldrin grinned back, "I'm gonna show her a beast from the deep that will make old Mohrgat feel like a distant memory."

Feldrin approached the grieving widow under the disproving glare of his companion and stopped a few paces short of where she was kneeling.

"What's you name girl." he spoke down to her from his towering height.

She turned and for a moment he was taken aback. It seemed here eyes were orbs of crimson red, but then she blinked and they were a dull brown framed in puffy tear stained lids. She considered him for a moment before speaking.

"Trienne." her voice was low and composed, holding nothing of the grief etched on her face.

"A beautiful name. It will be a cold night Trienne, what say we warm out blankets together and give you cause to forget this grief."

He expected her to be offended and prepared himself to become more persuasive but instead she laughed and locked her eyes on his own. He had a fleeting thought what he thought he had seen in those eyes but shook the doubts away. A trick of the failing light perhaps.

"What of your friend." she gestured toward Shanga, who was looking both surprised and flustered by the positive reception he was receiving.

"Oh he's not invited."

"Pity." Trienne licked her lips and stood slowly as she reached to snake her fingers into Feldrins thick blonde beard. Her other hand reached down to his manhood and squeezed hard.

"You will do nicely." she purred.

Her scent filled his nostrils and overwhelmed his senses, her voice consumed his whits and her body grew closer to his own. Once again her eyes became orbs of crimson penetrating his vision with their intensity. He did not care...

"I'll just hold your axe then shall I?" Shanga called after the pair as Trienna led him away toward her home.

Feldrin did not answer. He could not.