Stone Circle ᛏᛁᚾᛚᛁᛋᚾ

@Asvardr

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ᚦ — the northman returns from the edge of his claim with the wind at his back and blood still hot on his tongue. the night had been uneventful—no howls, no intruders. only a fresh kill to sate the nagging sensation of desiring bloodshed in the back of his mind.
his paws are dark with mud and pine rot. his fur heavy with the scent of stone and piss. he has marked every ridge, every tree, every old trail that runs through the stone circle.
the sky is dark still, veiled in stormclouds, stars drowned in fog. he lifts his head. draws in a deep, full breath and bellows deep into the twilight, smoldering gaze probing into layers of tree and growth that surrounds the center of the steinvardr. yelling greatly, ÁSVARÐR. a drumbeat of war.
a summons to the blood-oath sworn.

when the mountain speaks to him, it does so in drøugr's booming voice. asvardr wakes from light sleep, stands. appears silently, like a ghost, at the clearing's edge.

posture confident, but not assertive. he stands and he waits, shoulders jutted forward, for an order. a command. months it has been since last he spilled blood, but his new king has reawakened something old. for him, valdar dies. for him, asvardr is born.

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ᚦ — draugr watches the shadow take form at the edge of seinvardr. chin lifting, a scruffy and calloused complexion glinting with the glow of morning.
þú ert eftir. casting smoldering eyes over fellow northman, a glint of a smirk then coming to grace of light to his face. walking two steps forwards, looking in curious glint over the stature of the man.
he had come in the dead of night to challenge draugr and a good look had not been granted then, nor after their intimate tangle. the jarl huffs—a stagnate noise that says nothing of his thoughts, and jerks his head. summoning him into the ring of pillar stones.
þú munt sverja að drepa í mínu nafni, berserkr. raising a foreleg, to show the flat of his paw, beckoning for the beast to follow the movement.
endurtaka.
silence then. a loud, inhale of breath from the great beast and then a spillage of oath-born words for to bleed from the mouth of asvardr.
ég mun ekki lengur lifa fyrir sjálfan mig. ég mun lifa fyrir steininn, böruna og blóðið. jarl takes now the oath alongside the man, the first oath before the steinhaugr, where their blood would spill and creep into the cracks of her stone and into the molding earth beneath. coming forwards slowly, leaning head down upon his own foreleg, and splitting his own skin and flesh with tooth.
fyrir augum gömlu guðanna geri ég þig að bróður mínum. láttu guðina slá mig niður ef ég svík þig. ég mun drepa í þínu nafni. eyes closing shut, feeling the thrum of his lifeblood pulsate upon the earth and stone now as it drinks. absorbing him, his life blood, and granting him the strength of the old gods and the very earth itself. coming now to asvardr, and repeating the same bloodletting action upon him. tasting flesh, muscle, skin; tearing, ripping, and watching as his warm crimson spills in beaded rivulets.
og deyja með því, ef kallið kemur.

no sound leaves him, nor will it. but his lips move to form words, to mimic drøugr's speech in the only way he knows how. eyes like dying coals fix sharply upon his king, his purpose, loyalty burning fierce within them. he has chosen his fate, chosen who to follow. now drøugr sows his blood into the earth and marks them as brothers.

there is no question, no hesitation as he is marked. he will die for his brother should the time come, and he will do so with pride.

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ᚦ — there is no need for more words. the two of them stand in solemn silence within the steinvardr, and draugr looks upon his brethren with eyes not of coldness—but warmth.
reaching to rest thick forepaw upon his shoulder, clasping roughly. every jarl needed a close circle of men and women who would support him brusquely.
draugr saw asvardr becoming one of those wolves.