Thread: First Past the Post (Hetero female with starters and plots)

Re First Past the Post Lit het female with starters and plots Plot III dom x my fiesty sub, unless you want to focus on court politics. Then feel free to sub. The norse plot is different, a commoner seeking revenge x noble commander type roleplay, though your role would be flexible. My character is from another Norse kingdom, which your character and his band of marauding vikings, under the orders of your own king, come to conquer, loot, and pillage. My character has no wish to be raped so she disguises herself as a male. Unfortunately, her younger sister is uncommonly beautiful and is not so lucky, and is taken as loot. My character could either get taken as a captive male, and is thrust into stewardshiptranslatorshipsome sort of something for your character, who eventually realizes her as female. Or else she could track them to the court, and wreak a more sinister, solitary havoc there or else be aided by your character. If you wanted to be a scholar or else someone exclusively belonging to that court, you're welcome to it as well. I won't force you into the maurading barbarian role, if you don't want it. In any case, your character realizes her identity, and either aids her or blackmails her. Gudrun wished she could stopper her ears with wax. Instead she had to settled for wincing her eyes closed against the screaming, and the even more horrible sounds of the voices she knew so well halting. Orkneybruk, shattered. Her beloved, safe little town torn to shreds like a hunted deer caught by vicious hounds, and King Heruld Bjornnissun??who even knew. But if Gudrun Svenisdottir and the rest of her family were mere farmers, with only her brother Kalfr lucky enough to be a Berserker of some merit in King Heruld??s guard??what were they inflicting on the king and his folk? The townfolk certainly suffered for it. Mensfolk slaughtered??her own father, for one. And women?? But Gudrun didn??t have moments to whittle away, reflecting. She needed to hasten, to act. She was here, in the storeroom for a reason, and that was to fish out Kalfr??s old clothes. Her violet-blue eyes, so common in these parts of Danesland, hardened determinedly as she rummaged through the right sack, digging out an old homespun tunic and pair of leather trousers. After unfastening the shoulder??s simplistic stick pin and clutching it between her teeth, she quickly tossed off her own striped shift and apron, tossing it well into the storeroom stacks. The fate of the womenfolk would not be for her. She??d rather be beheaded as a young boy. So she??d best hurry to it. The young woman??s heart raced as she drew the strangely familiar fabrics over her salmon-slick skin. It was her luck, the one bit gone right today, that these clothes were from when Kalfr was aged about fourteen summers, and were not ridiculously baggy on her frame. For Gudrun was somewhat tall for a woman, but not nearly so tall as her burly warrior brother. But not all of her fit. Breasts. She??d near-forgotten, and rummaged through the bin for a holier tunic. Finding an imported linen blanket instead, she used her little cooking knife, the one that she??d always kept on her belt, to slice it into strips. Somehow managed after some fumbling, distracted effort to bind her rather modest breasts somewhat flat, and jerked the tunic down, overtop. None would notice if they were scented a little of fennel and lavender, as they??d been packed away. Such subtle fragrances would hardly be noticeable over the carnage. The forest-green cloak??another stroke of luck??she fastened over her left shoulder with the stickpin, and she fumbled about again, seeking a belt. Hanging upon the wall, she found one. And a knife dangling from it. Her Uncle Snorri??s, in fact. It seemed a little irreverent to take the wrought dagger that had lain in storage so long, but what better purpose could it serve than to protect his own family? Surely Snorri??s ghost would understand. Her hazelwood, knee-length braid, of course, bumped against her elbow as she leaned to snatch the wall, and grimly Gudrun realized what she must do. As if to fire-polish her point, a screech arose, from somewhere in the direction of the stone well. Audr??s scream. The golden-plaited, fourteen-year-old beauty, and her little sister. Her hair and her sister??why that was no choice at all. It took far too many hacks to slice through the thick braid, stubbing it just below the level of her shoulders. She forgot to toss it back into the pile, to hide it, but left the long-cherished length lying forlorn on the dirt floor, like a coiled snake. Barely remembered to rake a hand through the rest of her hair, to shake the waves loose as Gudrun charged into the fire-lit night, square jaw set in determination, and a savage war-snarl simmering in her throat. Click to expand...