Can't hide the truth

*Ragnar* · (This post was last modified: April 23, 2014, 08:24 PM by Ragnar.)

"It is the same," Ragnar interrupted her in regards to not being similar to Berserker. "No matter what you call it, blood lust, blood frenzy, drugged rage. It is all the same." He was not ashamed of what he had done to earn his rank as Berserker as a juvenile and then to become lead Berserker in his adulthood. It was hard for Ragnar to remember the time when he had been a green boy, apprehensive of the sacchine smelling mushrooms that they had collected and laid before them, telling them to eat. Meat had been mixed within the special “raid” meal to give them sustenance but the hallucinogenic had done it’s job making them the perfect and fearsome warriors of the tales. They felt no pain, did not fear death, and killed anyone who stood in there way and then some just for good measure. Though Ragnar was not aware the hallucinogenic in the mushrooms that put them into such a state, while had not become an addiction for him had came with it’s own lingering side effects. He had attributed his visions of Odinn to the Allfather’s favoritism towards him yet did not know that in the reality stripped of his beliefs it was simply a side effect to the effects of the mushrooms despite his discontinuation of their use (but Icly this isn’t that reality so he would never be any the wiser).

"I enjoyed it, my time as a Berserker. It is the only time my parents acknowledged my existence so caught up in Björn and Váli as they were," Ragnar told his wife with a forlorn smile tugging at the edges of his mouth, opening up to her willingly about the perails he had faced in the classic middle child syndrome. Ragnar while the tallest, best looking (before he was scarred), strongest of his brothers had been overlooked and passed up because he was quiet and cunning. "In the end my father realized that he favorited the wrong son as my brother stood over his dying body, covered in our father’s life blood." Admittedly, it was a very similar image as how Ragnar had stood over Björn’s quivering body as his brother bled to death at his paws, his face a bloody mask that had made Ragnar near recognizable except for his eyes. It had been vengence and selfish lust all wrapped up into a neat little bundle. At the time, Ragnar had only been interested in his stolen conquest, Tyra, but that had faded as quickly as it had came.

"They don’t look away," Ragnar responded to her question glimpsing down at her thoughtfully. "It is apart of becoming a man or woman, the trials are witnessed and judged by the pack as a whole, they are very important. By the time the Rites come around they are excited to join us. It is an honor to be accepted as apart of the pack." Ragnar had his many, many faults but he had always looked out for his pack and tried to pass righteous judgement, often times asking Odinn for help if the majority was at a stalemate. "Most Jarls have an executioner that does the executing but I always did it myself." Perhaps it was a hidden belief that the man that passed the sentence should swing the axe and lift the accuser’s soul to Valhalla or whichever Hall they wished to go too in the afterlife.

"Don’t worry, I will think of something," He did not wish to go easy upon her just because she was his wife but she was his wife and being married to him, by association, already made her one of them. The Rites merely made it official in the eyes of public and the Gods.