Stavanger Bay flying to the stars

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Ragnar had not forgotten about Stavanger Bay's newest captive, neither had he forgotten the promise of a punishment for disrespecting Thistle. Something that would serve as a reminder that Ragnar was not a man to be crossed. That each time he was charitable enough to allow life instead of dealing death like some kind of living, breathing reaper was a blessing. Killing was so much easier, but killing just because of disrespect was a pointless death and might stand to mar his chances of getting into Valhalla. Death with reason was acceptable and while disrespect was a reason it did not warrant death in the eyes of the Gods. Ragnar had been playing with the idea of leaving him with a scar to remember ...for there was nothing more lingering, nothing that served as a constant reminder than a scar something that Ragnar, riddled with scars, each of them bearing a story, some intentional, some from his near death experiences, some from death matches, some from raids was proof of that. He remembered how he got every scar on his body. His decision, however, was still up in the air, toying with the notion of asking his Queen Wife's opinion upon it considering her rise in position as his true second in command but also because it had been her that Kryillos had disrespected in the first place. As night fell over the Bay, Ragnar had began heading towards the Jarl den, housing his children and both of his wives, the Queen and the Priestess before on a whim he changed his mind and altered his course heading towards the small clearing in the ancient forest that he called Bandingjar Halda in his native tongue translating roughly to 'captives hold'. The translation wasn't a perfect match but it hardly ever was. It was the general holdings of the captives christened such when he had taken the Bay's first captives Ollie and Olor. As he expected, Kryillos was found there as Ragnar shrugged through the thick undergrowth, lingering in the shadows for a few moments, eyes of Caribbean ice studying him with a harbored stoicism. "Captive," Ragnar addressed the man in his naturally quiet, accented voice simply. He did not know the male's name though he suspected he might deign to learn it tonight if the male was on his best behavior, that was.