Blacktail Deer Plateau my spirit spurns control

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Kjalarr eyed the pallid stranger at the response of it depends who is asking. It was a fair enough response, if not a bit frustrating to Kjalarr who only sought to quench his own curiosity. A trait that ran in his family regardless of if Ragnar’s grand tales of their ancestry were to be believed. He’d heard that his father was a curious beast when he’d drawn breath on Midgard and Kjalarr supposed that he got it honestly. The scarred northman’s ears slicked back to rest at half mast atop his skull when the stranger mentioned that Odinn had slain his great-something ancestor and numerous others in the process. This news did not particularly shock Kjalarr but for once he was unsure of what to say. What was he expected to say to that? Sorry my claimed ancestor slain your great-something ancestor? He was not in the habit of apologizing for things he did actually feel remorse for. In fact, Kjalarr couldn’t remember the last time he’d uttered the words “I’m sorry” (to show how often he doesn’t say them). A soft snort of amusement left Kjalarr’s black, leathery nostrils when Birk generalized his clan, though no name was given whether they didn’t have one or he didn’t remember Kjalarr couldn’t say and supposed, in the end, it didn’t matter.

Odinnsson. Kjalarr could not deny he liked the sound of it, liked the way that it caused pride to swell in his chest. It was not a name he’d ever deigned to claim for in truth, he was Ragnarsson. Though his legacy had faded with his death it was the only name that Kjalarr knew he could claim. Yet, if the rumor was to be believed: that Ragnar and his children were descendants of Odinn then did that not, in a way, make him an Odinnsson? Was he not named for the Allfather himself? Kjalarr meant The Nourisher and had been one of the many monikers that the Allfather was known by. “I am Kjalarr.”

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