[ It is a sharp silence that hangs, accented only by the echoes of merriment around them. Ragnar watches her, studies her, gold and glittering and poised like a snake about to strike. Hides it well but he sees it nonetheless, sees the warrior in the lines of her body, her arms. Knows it too well. Knows you cannot dress the blood thirsty up in jewels and parade them like a harmless babe, there is a beast that sits underneath the skin that tries to claw its way out. A monster that thirsts for violence, for blood, for that place between life and death where you feel the most alive, the most real, adrenaline coursing through your veins with a fury known to none that still live. A drug more addicting than smoke or drink or sex. She will either be his bane or the most exciting thing to appear before him in the last hundred years.
He chuckles, hands gripping the back of the chair to push himself outwards, gravity shifting with the motion. Another life that belongs to another and so he exhales sharply, detaches from it, pulls back until it is easier to breathe. To dull the ache that settles in his chest, burrows down and down and down, hollowing him out until there is nothing left. The shell of a man, all violence and instinct, lesser than he was and more at the very same time. ]
He sailed west for new land, for opportunity, but all he gained was hands full of blood and bone. [ Distant screams echo, fill the room, his head. The sounds of swords clashing, infantry, the war cries of the dying. ] But it was not all for naught, the man would sail west time and time again, he would lead the dead into the heart of Paris. He would overcome obstacles that would break lesser men, and came to clash blades with valiant knights.
[ All too quickly he pulls himself forward and the chair grinds against the wooden floor, eyes wide and grin wide, manic almost. ]
They thought him little more than a barbarian, threat to be put down like a dog. To that end they tried to squash him and his northern warriors. Fierce was the fighting, many on both sides fell and stained the grounds with blood. But, he would not fall, no matter what they tried the man who sailed west did not fall. They sent warriors to strike him down, men clad in shining steel, men as formidable as him. [ The corners of his mouth quirk, eyes narrow, watches her face her body, the way she reacts and gauges. ] He struck down their warriors, the grandest of all wore a trinket around his neck with the queerest sort of water inside of it. A precious trinket the warrior fought so hard to regain before he was slain.
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He chuckles, hands gripping the back of the chair to push himself outwards, gravity shifting with the motion. Another life that belongs to another and so he exhales sharply, detaches from it, pulls back until it is easier to breathe. To dull the ache that settles in his chest, burrows down and down and down, hollowing him out until there is nothing left. The shell of a man, all violence and instinct, lesser than he was and more at the very same time. ]
He sailed west for new land, for opportunity, but all he gained was hands full of blood and bone. [ Distant screams echo, fill the room, his head. The sounds of swords clashing, infantry, the war cries of the dying. ] But it was not all for naught, the man would sail west time and time again, he would lead the dead into the heart of Paris. He would overcome obstacles that would break lesser men, and came to clash blades with valiant knights.
[ All too quickly he pulls himself forward and the chair grinds against the wooden floor, eyes wide and grin wide, manic almost. ]
They thought him little more than a barbarian, threat to be put down like a dog. To that end they tried to squash him and his northern warriors. Fierce was the fighting, many on both sides fell and stained the grounds with blood. But, he would not fall, no matter what they tried the man who sailed west did not fall. They sent warriors to strike him down, men clad in shining steel, men as formidable as him. [ The corners of his mouth quirk, eyes narrow, watches her face her body, the way she reacts and gauges. ] He struck down their warriors, the grandest of all wore a trinket around his neck with the queerest sort of water inside of it. A precious trinket the warrior fought so hard to regain before he was slain.