The gods are laughing.

[seekingvinland]

WHO: Thorfinn Thorsson
WHERE: The Inn, House #8, The River.
WHEN:One Backdated to October 9th // The other for October 13th
OPEN TO: One thread closed to Sam, the rest OTA
WARNINGS: Some heavy cursing in Norse?
STATUS: Open

---

Backdated to the 9th: Closed to Sam
Once the rain had stopped, Thorfinn had been quick to get back to his daily tasks, he had days to make up for after all. When he came in the afternoon to drop off lumber he heard about the fact Kate and Margaery was missing, and he hadn't seen Margaery that morning, which in itself was strange but he didn't see reason for alarm when they were only out of sight a few hours at most. They had been seen at breakfast then gone after they went into the woods.

If it had been anyone else he would have rolled his eyes and gotten back to work, but it was both Kate and Margaery, and people were going off to look for them. So he watched and listened a few minutes before he looked to the person nearest him, Sam Wilson.

"You want me to go with?" He offered, though still he didn't look too concerned. If it had been a full day he'd be worried, but a few hours was not a big deal in his eyes. Kate was capable, and Margaery was learning.

OTA; Morning October 13th.

Thorfinn was making his way out the front door of House #8, he usually headed from the back door to the inn to collect and axe and get to work, today he was aching from a worse night of sleep than usual so he was going to skip out on collecting wood for the day and get to following the river. He made his way out finishing the last touch of his braids, twisting them into themselves to hold in place. While he messed with his hair he managed to trip on the box sitting on the porch and hit his knee in the process.

"Ríða! Stykki af skít, hvað í fjandanum!"

He had not expected something on the porch much less that heavy. The box was more or less crushed under his weight, and when he shifted off of it and realized there was a point sticking out dangerously close to where his leg had landed on the box. No wonder it hurt like it did. Thorfinn he realized it was the way the last box had displayed his name, of course the rest of his name was there. He shifted to sit cross legged despite the smarting pain in his leg. This was for him. Why were their captors giving him strange gifts, and leaving them in a place he could kill himself?

Tearing the box the rest of the way from the place the blade was sticking out he quickly realized what it was. An axe head it was unlike the ones he was used to, closer to the ones that came in the weapons crates but still strange in its hammer like end. He looked over the heavy item a few moments before he slowly looked up unamused. His face twisting to anger.

They gave him and axe.

An axe with no handle.

He was going to have to go fashion a handle and hoped it could support that weight. "Þetta er ekki fjandans fyndið." He placed the axe-head aside with a loud thunk. Looking to the rest of the crushed box, his eyes going wide. Wheat seeds.

He knew what they were by the sight of them. Looking up at the sky, then back towards the back yard…. He needed to make himself a little field and get these planted before it got to late, Einar had taught him Wheat could be planted in the fall. It wouldn't be able to be harvested in time for winter, but it might be good to do for next year if they are still here, if not maybe it could help someone else in the future. He just sat there staring at the box for a little while.

OTA: Following the river.
The axe-head was in his bag over his shoulder, but the wheat seeds had been left in his room. Thorfinn got to work quickly on moving to the river to start following it. He was looking for off orange coloring, for signs of bog iron. He wasn't an expert and his lessons on the stuff had been ages ago when he was in Medietas, but, it was something worth looking into. A possibility of getting the smith up and running. He didn't have high hopes on finding the bog iron, but, it was worth a shot to try. Worse come to worse he'd time to find a stick worthy of whittling down into a handle for the axe-head.

Comments

[tobeclosetohim]

There is very suddenly, very loud, Norse swearing out the window, but not far away at all from the house. Jo even manages to make out two of the words. She thinks. She's not sure. She knows the tone better than she knows the words. It's like the accent gets thicker and the sounds rush together, harder, like a knife strike, when they are yelled. She catches so much less. But maybe.

Not that it matter.

Not that she's thinking that when she dashing out of her room and heading down the stairs.

By the time she manages to open the door, there's Thorfinn next to box, pulling out an axe head. Her hearts still a little too fast in her chest, questions still there, even if the answers are right in front of her. "And here I thought it might be important."

the river

[thecatinahat]

Ever since Thorfinn had spoken of the possibility of using bog iron to help make weapons, Cougar has been interested in helping him to find it. With his hunting down for the day, time spent with Jake and the chickens through, he's borrowed Baby in order to take him on a walk and give him a stretch. He's also eager to find Thorfinn and check on his progress, so when he sees him by the river, he grins and sends Baby up ahead.

"Thorfinn!" he shouts joyfully, to give him fair warning that an animal is bounding his way. "Look out!"

[thekittenqueen]

She spied him on his deck, the familiar sight of a box between his hands as he tore it open and found whatever the specters had decided to leave him. Having just received something as well, she could empathize with his confusion and suspicion. At her side was her puppy, a sheepdog, that had apparently been left for her the few days that she had been lost in the woods.

Whether or not it was coincidence, she couldn't say. However, she wouldn't reject the gift, having needed everything that had been inside the box (including the needles and thread).

"What did you receive?" She called out to Thorfinn, approaching his porch, her dog hurrying ahead.

[notabirdcostume]

Sam had tried not to worry. People went exploring and people vanished -- like Kylo and Hux had, among others. But there were people and then there was Miss Kate. Sam didn't think it was possible for someone to get lost in those woods -- they'd been navigating them for weeks now. Still, she wasn't back when she'd said she would be. What was the point in trying to keep tabs on everyone and keeping an eye on one another if you didn't follow through. It hadn't taken much for Sam to eventually decide he was going out into those woods and he was going to get to the bottom of this.

Luckily, it seemed he didn't have to be alone in the endeavor. He shrugged on his pack, he never left without it. The packs came in handy for grabbing supplies and taking some essentials with him -- just in case. "If you don't have anything else going on...wouldn't mind it at all."

[itchtokill]

The sudden, loud swearing catches his attention above anything else he may have been in the middle of doing. Nothing that sounds exceptionally urgent, and yet, Kol still finds himself wandering from the back of the house toward the front at the exclamation.

"Oi! What happe--" His words are cut short as he gets closer to the front porch and the scent of blood hits him, right in all the wrong places, all the wrong moments.

He hasn't fed from anyone here, last thing he needs is the little huntress he lives with stabbing him in his sleep and actually succeeding in killing him because whatever's dampening his powers actually has made him weak enough to not need the White Oak to complete such a task--that's his current running theory, but he has no way to confirm it and isn't exactly in a rush to test it out. He's needed real sustenance since his arrival here, actual food, and he's stuck largely to Kate's mealtimes, here and there as required but never in excess, and, disgustingly, animals. The blood has a wicked horrible taste compared to human's, and it keeps him weaker, but it's worth the lack of stabbing in lieu of bloodbags like he'd become somewhat accustomed to in Lawrence.

But it's been a few days and he hasn't fed at all, so the scent of it hits him hard, like a brick wall.