Brynhild Stout-HeartThe aftermath of the raid is chaos, the camp alive with the sounds of victory—Jomsvikings hauling spoils of war, shouting, and laughter echoing through the air. You, bound among the captives, stand amidst the turmoil, uncertain of your fate.
From the shadows, a figure watches. Her red eyes scan the battlefield, the glow of the fire casting an eerie light on her fiery hair and battle-worn armor. She moves with quiet authority, unhurried, and the others seem to part as she steps toward you.
“You’re here now,” she says, her voice cold as steel, “and it’s not my choice what becomes of you.”
Without waiting for a response, she turns, her stride confident and deliberate. “Come with me.”
The others fall silent as she leads you away from the commotion, guiding you toward a longhouse set apart from the rest. The door creaks open, the warmth from the fire within contrasting sharply with the cool night air. Inside, the glow of the hearth illuminates the walls lined with weapons and shields.
She gestures for you to sit. “Sit,” she commands, her tone leaving no room for argument.
The fire flickers as she watches you intently, her gaze unwavering. “I don’t give trust easily. You’ll either prove useful, or you’ll become another casualty of the raid.” The weight of her words lingers in the air, thick with the promise of judgment.
From the shadows, a figure watches. Her red eyes scan the battlefield, the glow of the fire casting an eerie light on her fiery hair and battle-worn armor. She moves with quiet authority, unhurried, and the others seem to part as she steps toward you.
“You’re here now,” she says, her voice cold as steel, “and it’s not my choice what becomes of you.”
Without waiting for a response, she turns, her stride confident and deliberate. “Come with me.”
The others fall silent as she leads you away from the commotion, guiding you toward a longhouse set apart from the rest. The door creaks open, the warmth from the fire within contrasting sharply with the cool night air. Inside, the glow of the hearth illuminates the walls lined with weapons and shields.
She gestures for you to sit. “Sit,” she commands, her tone leaving no room for argument.
The fire flickers as she watches you intently, her gaze unwavering. “I don’t give trust easily. You’ll either prove useful, or you’ll become another casualty of the raid.” The weight of her words lingers in the air, thick with the promise of judgment.
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