ode to the fallen (m)

*Ragnar* · (This post was last modified: November 08, 2014, 09:46 AM by Ragnar.)

MATURE: Gore. Plot funsies and whatnot. For @Thistle Cloud ! <3 No need to match the length, I got very carried away and it felt good to write so much! :D

Night had fallen over the Teekon Wilds but Ragnar could not bring himself to sleep. Restless, he had risen with the thought of telling Thistle he was going to take another patrol along the borders in the hopes that the repetitive motion might help release the coil of anxiety that was gnawing at him as a dog worried a bone. It was ceaseless and unending, no matter what he did in attempts to remedy it. Instead he murmured only a soft I'll be back, do not wait up in his native tongue to her, unsure if she was truly awake or not before he had exited the den he shared with her, Gunnar, and their foster children. Death was something that was celebrated in his culture, but that did not mean that he did not grieve the deaths of Verrine, Julooke, (and the assumed death of) Kevlyn. Despite how Ragnar put himself out to the world the scarred Scandinavian was not heartless. The sorrow took hold of him, as well, but the thought that they had earned their places in the great All-Father's hall, in Valhalla with Pump was enough to soothe the demon of worry any time it attempted to rear it's ugly head within the Viking.

The moon was high in the sky, Ragnar's breath slipping from betwixt his parted lips in plumes of white steam that coiled and kissed eagerly at his black, leathery nose. A small kiss of warmth before the cold rushed in to nip mere moments later. Doubling the long way around the den, following a sudden and intense urge. The deep, unintelligible whispers traveling through the ancient trees of their bay home in his native tongue. Silently, the platinum Jarl sought out his secret stash of Berserker mushrooms and stole one from the cache before he kicked the dirt back over in, to close it, packing the dirt down as he chewed the tiny, dried, seemingly harmless fungi. Knowing it for what it was, that it was mainly only used when he needed to go to battle. Ragnar had always considered himself lucky to not have became addicted to it as some of his comrades had been; and though he sought the fix in that moment he still did not consider it an addiction. It was not as if he had to have one everyday, or even week, and most of the time he was good about conserving them for actual purposes. This, he considered, an actual purpose. He needed to hear his Gods, to see them with his own eyes: so he might ask them why they kept punishing him and his pack, his family.

Not that Ragnar expected any sort of real response.

Heading into the very heart of the forest, he could begin to feel the trickle of the Berserker mushroom taking effect not overly potent for the lack of dosage. To feel no pain, for a couple of hours even, to be able to commune with his Gods, Ragnar was confident, would give him the peace of mind that the Viking sought. How could a Jarl so wrapped up in turmoil and mourning lead his wolves through the tough times that they were currently suffering through? First, he had to tackle his own demons, solve his own problems before he could even begin to tackle the bigger problems. hagl, trúr mitt, The deep, celestial voice of Odinn floated around the forest and on instinct, Ragnar stopped, eager to obey as ever. To prove to Odinn that he was still worthy of the All-father's favor. “Odinn,” Ragnar murmured respectfully to the bodiless voice that would command a massive army of dead in the coming Ragnarök. Ragnar waited, head bowed, for Odinn to speak more but the All-Father did not. Slowly, the Lodbrok lifted his head and glimpsed around the small clearing he'd stopped within, expecting to see some corporeal form of the King God materialize before him. Ragnar glimpsed up at the trees when the sound of ruffling feathers broke the commanding and unusual silence of the forest all around him. “hvað myndir þú hefur frá mér, Óðinn? hvað þarf ég að fórna til að sanna hollustu mína?” Ragnar asked of Odinn in their native tongue, his voice barely more than a respectful murmur. Softer than his naturally soft voice, afraid that if he spoke too loud that he might shatter his God's presence.

The one eyed raven, the one that Ragnar felt confident was truly Odinn, the one that had led Julooke and him here to this Bay in the first place lighted down onto the debris littered forest floor, blink it's beady black eye up at him, head cocking to the side as if he were examining Ragnar. The believed to be Gods' stare was intense, and above Huginn or Munnin let out a shrill call from above as “Odinn” hopped closer. A eins fórn mun duga, Ragnar Loðbrók, Odinn's voice seemed to echo all around him rather than emitting from one place, such as the raven's beak, but still Ragnar did not believe in consequences. It was a one eyed raven that Ragnar very rarely saw, too rare for the Northman to believe that in such things. Ragnar took a step forward, attention grasped briefly by the fermenting corpse of rabbit that it appeared that the ravens had been pecking at. “Odinn” flew the short distance towards it and began to peck at the meat, tearing it from the bone. “Odinn...” Ragnar was not entirely able to make sense of what the All-Father wanted from him, nor what a “like sacrifice” was supposed to be. Lowering his head the Viking ghosted closer to his believed God, nearing the feasting creature.

Ég mun taka augað, hvernig Yggdrasil tók mitt! The hairs on the nape of Ragnar's neck bristled as the raven let out a loud battle cry and sprung into the air, talons slashing through the air as it dived at him, slashing deeply from brow to muzzle, slicing clean through his left eye. Adrenaline pulsed through Ragnar's veins, aided by the Berserker mushroom and at first Ragnar noticed nothing until he felt something warm seep from his eye leaving three bleeding gouges the perfect size of it's talons into his flesh, and a ugly, bleeding hole where his eye had been brutally gouged out. As the raven screech again, a deafening sound piercing through the sound of his rapid heart beat, though he felt no pain Ragnar realized that only his right eye remained functioning. Confusion was soothed out by the knowledge that Odinn had taken his eye as a sacrifice but Ragnar could not help the strangle cry of horror, despite understanding, and accepting the truth as it was.