A WARRIOR'S END ||| GOD OF WAR

Chapter 1 - Normality

Leather soles crunched against the dew-covered grasses of the forest; its sparse but tall leafless trees stood tall at the base of the snow-covered mountain tall enough to reach the heavens. An early morning fog wisped gently around his feet as Bjorn navigated the well trotted dirt pathways, the only thing accompanying him being the soft clinking of the sheath fastened tightly to his side with Gramr resting safely inside. Along with the gentle breeze whistling through the branches of the forest.

The black bear skin weaved into the shoulders of his tunic held together by a ornate broach protected his broad shoulders from the elements, with his leather gauntlets and tunic doing the same. And just beneath the hem of his blue jerkin peeked from underneath, providing that little more protection against the undead and their rusted ancient weaponry. 

He continued on his way, the Aesir took a single long breath inhaling the many scents of early fall allowing him an odd sense of peace and serenity. Something which was broken as he reeled back in disgust, the revolting smell of sulphur and poison wafted up his nose as he glanced ahead into a small rock lined valley. Right were the path split into a fork sat a tall but rickety pole, a jumble of wooden effigies had been lashed sloppily right around the base forming a cage for the sickly yellow flame which burned hellishly within fuelling the noxious smog blocking his path.

Rolling his eyes in annoyance at the unfortunate blockade, Bjorn reached for his simple war bow strapped firmly to his back protected underneath his near unbreakable wooden shield. Taking the weapon ever graciously lent to him by Freya for his venture into the Foothills. He knocked one of his few remaining arrows, tugging on the thin string he pulled feeling the strain "reiða." he uttered as the sharpened tip of the arrow became encased in a thin coating of frost.

Lining up his shot with the monstrous blockade he exhaled through his nose unleashing the single arrow which planted itself dead centre of its target freezing the base solid, causing the smog to dissipate. Sheathing the bow across his back once again he grunted sauntering on as if nothing was out of the ordinary although still alert and fully aware of the dangers Midgard possessed, though a few Dragur were nothing compared to the glory and chaos of battle.

However, as he continued his corruption inflicted wrist throbbed with pain, A good indication the dead drew closer. Ignoring the inescapable pulsing the former general pushed forwards clasping his large hand around Gramr's handle and unlatching his round shield from his back, ready for the upcoming brawl which drew ever closer.

As expected when he came to an arena like clearing surrounded by small rocky outcroppings, a shrill cackling caused him to unsheathe his blade and twisting on his feet raising his shield and resting the edge of Gramr against its rim tightening his handle on the tools of war. Planting his feet firmly into the dirt all while the hidden assailant kept up its intrepid laughter, almost taunting him refusing to make its monstrous self known.

Suddenly, the cackles stopped as silence engulfed the clearing once again but the Aesir refused to falter knowing the revenants predicable ploys. All but a moment past when the the corrupted magic user appeared from thin air in a cloud of poison mist just behind him intent on ambushing the fully armed warrior.

But it did nothing as Bjorn twisted on a dime, the fine blade slashing through the air towards the beast slicing the feminine hell spawn across its spangled robe covered gut, half expecting the malnourished undead to collapse from the single strike. Although like most the dangerous foe dissipated into thin air cackling in some long forgotten language, reappearing just long enough to use its wretched magic to summon some of its damned brethren.

Now a fair fight had been ripped from him as grey skinned hands clawed themselves free from the dirt around him. The morning sun revealed their rotten corpse like bodies, encased in an almost bark-like layer of skin. The remnants of their war gear and clothing still hung from their bodies as the hissed and screeched towards the presumed mortal before them while their eyes burned a hate-filled orange.