Ravensblood Forest black hole in the sky

Whether the child could speak Norse or not was of no concern to Draugur. It was his native tongue and he would speak it if he wished too, regardless if his company spoke it or not. He, too, spoke the common tongue with roughly honed fluency, his translations sometimes imperfect. Languages were so diverse to the Sigurvegarinn and though he'd learned many different languages in his never ending journey, accompanied by the never ending presence of Thor, he was selective about his use of those that he knew. Life had never been even remotely easy for him why was it that he was thought to make life easy for others? His mission from Eitri was to take them, and their lands in the name of Odinn's Cove, expanding them from a pack to something of a networked empire. Once, the ghost had, had a companion, a hawk that had grown rather attached to him and the Northman had allowed her to stay, to join him on his travels, until one day she did not return and he was left to assume that she had been intercepted by another as she flew to deliver his message and killed. The only life that was not his brother or his owns that Draugur could claim to have cared about, strange though the affection with the avian had been.

The child stared him down, and the wraith let out a small chuckle accompanied by a soft snort that pushed past black, leathery nostrils. The old man bit, particularly, made the wraith amused, for he was only just four years of age. An adult in his prime, full of experience. It was unusual that the child knew Norse but Draugur did not question it. It made sense that they had begun to spread out of the Cove: after all that was what their culture were known for: conquering other lands. Some preferred the nomadic life while others sought to colonize. “Foreldrar þínir ættu að hafa kennt þér að virða öldunga þínum, drengur,” Who did this child think that he was, speaking to the Sigurvegarinn in such a manner? Just because he, too, could speak in the tongue of the Northmen did not make him a Northman, and if he wasn't careful he would find himself in a sorry state. Draugur had no qualms about attacking the boy if he did not back down and recognize that he could not just throw his weight about around loners just because his parents were not there to stop him, or humble him.

Draugur had only met his nephews a handful of times, besides being present for their birth. There had been three of them: Björn, Ragnar, and Váli, and the last he had heard Björn had usurped Eitri because of his own greed and ambition. Ambition ran deep within their family, but killing blood, regardless of it being tradition or not was not something that the Sigurvegarinn could agree with. If he would have known that the presumed arrogant boy before him was a great-nephew his thoughts might not have been so dark, but he did not know. Even then, it might not have made a difference. The game had changed when Björn had spilled Eitri's life blood, who was arguably the only one that could control Draugur. Without the hold of his elder brother, without his guidance Draugur was left to make his own rules and continue his legacy of Conqueror, now in the name of his brother who feasted and fought in the hall of Valhalla.