A WARRIOR'S END ||| GOD OF WAR

Chapter 2 - A Journey Begins

The late Autumn sun beamed through the crimson leaves of the trees dotted across the Sanctuary. A peaceful silence hung in the air like it always did, a far cry from the realm which lay just outside the bounds of the magical barrier which prevented any undead trespassers from entering both Bjorn and Freya's hideaway providing them some semblance of safety for the pair, though on occasion a few opportunistic Reavers pierced their way through intent on scavenging anything they deemed useful. However, when they entered each of them found nothing but death as Bjorn quickly tracked them down and put them in an early grave.

Luckily for the Aesir, there had been no such raids in almost a month allowing the Witch and Warrior alike to enjoy their time in relative peace, only venturing out when they absolutely needed too for food or ingredients for one of Freya's many Salves or concoctions, mainly to help stave the blight which plagued the former God.

Now, he found himself on the small oak wood dock situated just behind the concealed lodge beneath the maple leafed tree, the blonde haired warrior dressed only in his blue jerkin and leather trousers sat firmly upon an upturned bucket with a small wooden fishing line propped steadily against a thin two tailed prong, awaiting the moment even a hit of slack strained the thin yet durable line. However, instead of simply staring idly into the freezing depths of the fresh water like a fool he sat with a small whetstone in one hand and Gramr in the other, scraping the legendary blade against the piece of scored and dented metal in a profound attempt to distract himself.

The only sound which filled the air, apart from the gentle trickling of the river was the shrill shriek of scraping metal as the minutes dragged on, wearing down the already frustrated Aesir even further. Turning to the unmoving line he set the whetstone against one of the many chipped planks beneath his feet sighing deeply to himself in boredom, turning Gramr's pointed tip to the floor he braced her handle against his shoulder as if he were embracing his beloved weapon closely to his chest, locking both his intricately tattooed arms together.

Silence hung all around him as the hours passed without a single bite, his eyes slowly began to sag shut while his head fell slightly forward allowing his loose hair to fall over his eyes engulfing them and his bearded chin. However, with a quick exhale of his nose he shot his head back up, widening his eyes in a vivid attempt to drive off the boredom induced slumber. Fully aware of the fact that Freya was somewhere further down the winding dirt path, spending some precious time with her friend and advisor Hildisvíni. The only other Vanir to be exiled alongside the pair.

Although unlike himself or Freya the poor man had been condemned to spend his sentence trapped in his boar form, doomed to arguably a fate worse than death in Bjorn's eyes as he watched his former enemy slowly but surely loose his humanity now beginning to resemble that of an animal than a man. Yet even as he steadily lost his way Hildisvíni still insisted upon being a thorn in the former generals side, continuing their bitter rivalry even under the circumstances they found themselves in, leading to Freya permanently splitting the two apart like a mother would two squabbling children.

Which lead them to less than favourable situations like the one he found himself in now. Sitting upon a dock, trying to stave off the tempting embrace of sleep while his lover gave herself some much needed space in the company of one of her own people. Something he himself was just a tiny bit jealous of, after all he would kill to be in the presence of another Aesir like himself again.

Strangely, at the mere thought of his life back in Asgard brought upon him an odd sense of loneliness and contempt. Garnering back to the days when he would share many a drink with Thor drunkenly vying for the affection of the beautiful yet mighty Sif, all of which ended with Bjorn flat on his back after the woman struck him to the ground, much to entrainment of his underlings. Or training Heimdall, Lagertha and Baldur in the courtyard in front of the Great Lodge, perfecting the full hardy students skills as best he could, moulding them into the warriors he thought they needed to be, under the watchful eyes of the traitor he once called brother.