((It's not very long, but I think I did an alright job. Just a little something typed out to pass the time and ease my boredom.))
He could still hear the sound of battle raging somewhere nearby. He longed to rejoin the fray. He tried to make his body move and yet nothing seemed to happen. No amount of mental effort could get his body to respond properly. Why couldn't he move? What the hell was wrong with him? He wasn't a coward. He had stood in the shield wall many times in the past and never wavered. Yet now... The gods must be laughing at him. What a sad and pathetic creature he must be.
What he didn't realize is that he was gravely injured. He had been standing in the shield wall just minutes ago. A place that separated the brave from the cowardly. It was a place where death held sway and fear gripped all, no matter how strong you thought you were. He had stood strong, he had contained his fears, and his blade had drank the blood of his enemies. Right up until an axe connected with his helmet. It had rung his head like a bell and left him disoriented. It had caused him to lower his shield and leave an opening.
In that instant, an enemy's sword had slammed into his abdomen. Its blade shearing through the chain mail he wore as protection and sliced through his flesh like a knife through butter. The sword's wielder had then proceeded to the blade upwards causing grievous damage to his innards. When the sword was pulled out he had staggered back, dropping his shield and immediately trying to hold his guts in with one hand. A moment later he'd crashed to the ground on his back. Somehow, as the shield wall he had stood in advanced, he wasn't trampled.
The sound of fighting grew more distant as he lay there now, staring up at the sky with blue eyes. Slowly his mind was making connections with what had occurred moments ago. It made sense now, why he couldn't get his body to do what he wanted it to do. Gods he hoped he still had a grip on his sword. He didn't want to die empty handed, the Valkyries would never come for him if he did.
Then his thoughts began to drift. What would his wife do without him? No, he shouldn't worry about that. The raids he had taken part in over the years had been profitable and he had been careful with his money. She was strong and she would survive without him. He would miss her though... greatly. He would regret not being there to see his children reach adulthood. Two sons and a daughter the gods had graced him with, and he had done his best to raise them. They would turn out alright and they would please the gods. Of this he was certain. By the gods though, he wished he could be there, but the Fates were ready to cut his thread and all men must die.
He was torn from his thoughts as a gruff face appeared over him, staring down at him with a frown. He recognized the man, Wuflric, a man he called brother, though they were not actually kin. He tried his best to smirk up at his friend and seeing a sad smile form upon Wulfric's rugged features, assumed he had succeeded in his effort. He barely noted his friend shifting to kneel on the ground beside him, his vision dimming. He just barely felt a hand clasp over his sword hand. Ahh, good... he hadn't lost his sword. With that, he let go, ready for the Valkyries to choose him so that he might celebrate with fallen brothers and foes in the halls of Valhalla till Ragnarok.
He could still hear the sound of battle raging somewhere nearby. He longed to rejoin the fray. He tried to make his body move and yet nothing seemed to happen. No amount of mental effort could get his body to respond properly. Why couldn't he move? What the hell was wrong with him? He wasn't a coward. He had stood in the shield wall many times in the past and never wavered. Yet now... The gods must be laughing at him. What a sad and pathetic creature he must be.
What he didn't realize is that he was gravely injured. He had been standing in the shield wall just minutes ago. A place that separated the brave from the cowardly. It was a place where death held sway and fear gripped all, no matter how strong you thought you were. He had stood strong, he had contained his fears, and his blade had drank the blood of his enemies. Right up until an axe connected with his helmet. It had rung his head like a bell and left him disoriented. It had caused him to lower his shield and leave an opening.
In that instant, an enemy's sword had slammed into his abdomen. Its blade shearing through the chain mail he wore as protection and sliced through his flesh like a knife through butter. The sword's wielder had then proceeded to the blade upwards causing grievous damage to his innards. When the sword was pulled out he had staggered back, dropping his shield and immediately trying to hold his guts in with one hand. A moment later he'd crashed to the ground on his back. Somehow, as the shield wall he had stood in advanced, he wasn't trampled.
The sound of fighting grew more distant as he lay there now, staring up at the sky with blue eyes. Slowly his mind was making connections with what had occurred moments ago. It made sense now, why he couldn't get his body to do what he wanted it to do. Gods he hoped he still had a grip on his sword. He didn't want to die empty handed, the Valkyries would never come for him if he did.
Then his thoughts began to drift. What would his wife do without him? No, he shouldn't worry about that. The raids he had taken part in over the years had been profitable and he had been careful with his money. She was strong and she would survive without him. He would miss her though... greatly. He would regret not being there to see his children reach adulthood. Two sons and a daughter the gods had graced him with, and he had done his best to raise them. They would turn out alright and they would please the gods. Of this he was certain. By the gods though, he wished he could be there, but the Fates were ready to cut his thread and all men must die.
He was torn from his thoughts as a gruff face appeared over him, staring down at him with a frown. He recognized the man, Wuflric, a man he called brother, though they were not actually kin. He tried his best to smirk up at his friend and seeing a sad smile form upon Wulfric's rugged features, assumed he had succeeded in his effort. He barely noted his friend shifting to kneel on the ground beside him, his vision dimming. He just barely felt a hand clasp over his sword hand. Ahh, good... he hadn't lost his sword. With that, he let go, ready for the Valkyries to choose him so that he might celebrate with fallen brothers and foes in the halls of Valhalla till Ragnarok.
