worldscollapse: (alfheim: the next generation)
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pre nia-war snips take place in the hundreds of years (nearly a thousand years?) period after the collapse, during which stone is reigning as king and emperor, etc. then there's the cataclysmic nia-war itself, which ends that reign AND they lose the heir as well. this leads into the "ever after" story stuff, wherein stone's and pi's kids are rulers fighting over the remains of the divided former empire. original prompt post is here; i'm still working on them if anyone else wants to add any. all done--the second page of snips is here.

pre-Nia War:

"an awfully big splash" || ingrid & alexi freyresson

"Ingrid, why are you down here again? Afa's gonna kill us."

"I like it." She said, peering down from her rock and poking the water with a stick. Only a few strands of her whispy hair had managed to escape being weighed down by salt-spray.

"I swear you're adopted." Alexi told her, from an awkwardly safe distance up the rocky beach. "Nobody in this family likes the sea, and the sea doesn't like us, either. Now come on, before it eats you."

"NO. We're fine." Ingrid snapped sulkily. "Leave me alone."

Ingrid was tiny; Alexi briefly considered dragging her away by force, but he wasn't exactly the brawniest of the lot himself, and Ingrid was a scrapper and a biter and he really didn't want to even take the chance of winding up to his neck in sharp black rocks and hostile freezing salt-water, not to mention whatever the Hel might be lurking in the foam. Better to call in reinforcements.

"Okay, fine, whatever." He said, as he turned away, mentally calling for whoever might be about, and getting an amused ping from Maks, followed by a much more exasperated response from Katerina. "Godsdammit Alexi, I thought you were supposed to be watching her! How did she get down there in the first place?"

"But! I was--and Gregori!"
Flustered and defensive, Alexi groped for a response, but was interrupted by an awfully big splash. Alexi froze. Then very slowly turned around. Ingrid wasn't perched on the rock anymore.




"what is that, and why are you eating it?" || devora "vela" audeamhan and an unknown fidei difensor

Vela didn't need to look far to find the source of the odor; the large man clad in dust, rough homespun, fur and leather. It took longer to detect the badge of law, nearly hidden under the partially dreadlocked blond hair.

"What is that, and why are you eating it?" she demanded.

He beamed up at her from where he was sitting, and answered through a mouthful of food. "Oog feech an-eech, en."

"What?"

He paused to swallow. "Beg pardon--ludfisk jelly sandwich, Ri'en."

And when she continued her steady stare, he volunteered a little more.

"It's from Guidun, by the sea. They take the fish that are trapped by the tide, hack'em to bits, preserve 'em in lye, and then crack the cans open later and spread 'em on bread, see? Want to try?" he offered politely.

"....Nil hea. But thank you." Vela answered. She made sure she was a fair distance away before she broke down and wiped her watering eyes.




". . . er. Was that. . .?" "I totally meant to do that. Shut up." || vela, piet & feodor audeamhan || iarnvid


Piet looked at Vela very solemnly as she circled around him in her wedding gown. "Well, Pedda? What do you think?"

"I think it's very..."

Vela preened.

"...backwards."

"What?"

"This?" He lifted the overskirts, ignoring the hiss and swat to his head, "is called a bustle, and it goes in the back of the gown, dear."

"Oh, for--tupinan ancient lowland fashion! There's too much of it, and very little of it makes any sense!" She hauled up her skirts indignantly and stalked away, brushing past Feodor as he wandered in, sleeves rolled, looking preoccupied.

He frowned suddenly, as he registered what he'd just thought he'd seen, and he looked to Piet for confirmation. "...er. Was that...?"

A closed fan was hurled with deadly accuracy through the doorway to smack the back of Feodor's head.

"I totally meant to do that. Shut up."




"the moment when you realise there is absolutely no way to salvage dignity" || piet & feodor audeamhan

Slowly dawning horror, as Piet realized, no, he wasn't going to be thrown, he was in for something far worse; the bastard horse promptly settled for a sullen, jolting, head-lowered trot, and was obviously planning to let gravity finish him off. Piet was already too far gone to recover his seat; he slowly slid down his mount's neck, head down, ass up, clutching with both arms and legs, cursing in both Sidhe and Drakthae alike.

The beast slowed to a walk, blowing heavily. Piet finally dared the awkward tumble the rest of the way to the ground, rolling away a fair distance, just in case, and then up to his feet--and his brother shoved past him.

"If she founders, I will fucking kill you, Pedda."

The neatly ordered ranks regarded Piet in ignominous silence, as Feodor led the mare away.

Muddy, sweaty and completely disheveled, Iarnvid's prince glared back at them. "Well? Go ahead. Laugh."




"is it supposed to do that?" || alexi & gregori freyresson, the dragon fafnir

The rumbling buzz was quite ominous. Alexi didn't want to interrupt, but if disaster was imminent, maybe it'd be best if he did.

"Um. Gregori?"

"Tá?"

"Is it supposed to do that?"

Gregori considered this for a moment. "I don't know? I didn't actually have anything in mind when I did it. I just wanted to see if I could, and what would happen if I did."

"...Ah." was all Alexi could say. There was a rustling and a scraping, a slow sluggish ripple of movement, a sulfurous puff of smoke.

"But," Gregori added, slowly rising to his feet from his comfortable sprawl in the grass, "now that I know I can, and I did, I have a few good guesses as to what might happen now, and I don't think we want to be here when it does."





War

"A smell that you can't decide whether it's lovely or awful. " || ingrid freyresson

Ingrid woke up slowly, and she dreamed. The air was smoky and there was scent hanging in it, and that made her smile, and her mouth water and her stomach growl. She dreamt of her father, over a firepit, charring sausages made of pork, that he called "hotdogs" to make her laugh. She hadn't had such in so long; not since the War. That's what they should do, she thought, idly, somewhere behind and above her dreaming--she would call them all together, they could build a fire and make the things their father and mother had made, and tell stories and.... The dream wavered as she came closer to waking, and the smoky scent wavered too. Something about it wasn't quite right; there were other scents mixing with it, and suddenly she couldn't figure out if it were lovely or awful.

Ingrid opened her eyes. It was hot--no, she was hot. The smoke drifted past her in lazy twists and billows, and all she could hear was screaming. Suddenly she recognized the charred meat smell, and her stomach began to heave.





post-Nia War


"fir trees, ice, and fire" || feodor audeamhan, pi & izzy || iarnvid

His brother's soul was in his studies, within the careful dissection of the cosmos and their place in it. His trees pounded to paper, his fire in the faraway stars, the coolness of ice in his thinking. His sister's soul flew with the dragons, now that there was nothing of the sidhe that could keep her--she lived far above the trees, with ice in heart, and fire in her blood.

Where did his soul belong? Feodor sat on the edge of empty, echoing Pit, and looked at the dark at the edge of the world. It seemed to look back.

"If it calls you, answer. Answer while you still can, or you will spend the rest of your days regreting it." That was what his father said, blind and still seeing everything. The wolf, lying panting before his chair, was his eyes, and they missed very little.

Three days later, Feodor got up and went, with only the clothes he was wearing and the weapons in his pocá. He walked as far as he could, in the dark of winter, and he missed the few hours of twilight, because he slept. When he woke, it was dark again, and he walked and ate and breathed and lived in endless night, under the fir trees, unable to tell any day apart from any other.

He'd stopped at a sheltered place, and his fire rather suddenly went out, and he could not raise it again. He did not know how much time passed, while he tried to coax the flame to life, again and again, when he walked further, and then found a new place to stop, and could not raise a fire there either. The cold began to touch him, and made his teeth chatter and his hands and feet go numb. The dark ate out his eyes, and crawled into his skull. Feodor began to wonder if he hadn't made a terrible mistake. Feodor began to wonder if he hadn't found Hel.

When fire returned, it was in the spark-glowing eyes of a wolf pack, circling in the dark. Feodor stared back at them for a while. Then he slowly reached up and with fumbling, nearly useless fingers, he forced his coat off and his collar open. Then he dropped to his knees, spread his arms and flung his head back, and surrendered to it all--the cold, the dark and fire, and howled. The wolves howled back.

He woke up curled under a low-hanging fir tree. It was day--or at least, the sliver of sky he could see through a the dense boughs was full of dodgy gray light. He got up slowly, testing stiff and aching muscles. No harm. He could see his breath spilling around him, but he didn't feel the cold anymore. Feodor stepped out from under the tree. There was not a wolf to be seen, not a patch of fur, a territorial mark, no scat and no prints. He was not entirely surprised.

Feodor made a small circle in place, and then set off for home.




"go away or i will taunt you a second time." || feodor, fredrik (presumably a neadhman), the olfridulfr || iarnvid

Fredrik knocked and opened the door before his king could tell him to enter.

"What now?"

"They're back."

"....Show me." Feodor said, abruptly forcing table and chair apart and reaching for his coat.

They strode out in the thin slanting sunlight together, but Feodor approached the edge of the parapet alone, folded his arms across the top, leaning over the cold stone, and again, he was struck by the violently incongruent image from an old, old moving-picture story his father had shown him, before the War. He shrugged it aside as he looked down, before issuing the same demand he'd made of Fredrik to those gathered below.

"What now?"

"Last chance, Audeamhan! Surrender this post or be taken."

"For fuck's sake, didn't you ass-whelps get the idea the first time? Go away, or I will taunt you a second time."




"crunchy" || maks freyresson || the unnamed eastern-most country of former alfheim

The buzzing brown cloud from the east was no dust storm.

Maks stood in the midst of the swarm--after a moment, he figured out how to arrange a layer of cold air with just enough force to keep the locusts away from him, and then he could remove the wielder's mask. He kept the goggles, though, just in case. He stared in silence, overwhelmed by the darkness, the sounds, the hunger, the sheer magnitude of it all, pressing down and around on all sides, their will given weight by numbers and like motivation.

"Freyresson? You still with us?"

"Yeah."

"What's it look like out there?"


There were no words for this, for his land being eaten alive. He looked down at his feet, the drifts of glinting glass wings, and the crushed bodies beneath his boots. "Crunchy."




"somebody realising that no, really, that's effectively a wingless drakthos on that there throne." || an unknown captaen, another unknown, and vela audeamhan || muspelheim

She did not order them to press forward and demand Vela's attention immediately; they all stood at ease and watched her for a while, before she abruptly turned about and walked out.

"We're not going to deliver the ultimatum now, Captaen?"

"No, not now or ever, it's pointless."

"...You spoke with her mind-to-mind?"

"No, but I'm starting to wonder if I'm surrounded by blind men and fools. Didn't you see her?"

"Ta. She looks of her father."

"And she speaks, moves and breathes like her other father."

"...Her other father, Captaen?"

"Drakonig Draega. She has claimed their mountain and her former husband's territory, and you can out-bluster the North Wind and she will not listen, and the only way Freyresson is going to take Muspelheim is if we drag her bloody blue corpse out of it first. And I don't have enough people with me or Pachbak in me to convince me to try it today."

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