In life I craved a good death. One surrounded by the bodies of the fallen, the ring of metal upon metal, and the screams of battle. I craved to lay almost floating in a bog of blood, mine own and others. A death, that as I lay there, would come swift and screeching to snatch the last breath from me as a gift to the heavens, or the hells, whichever would have me.
I craved a good death, yet for years it was kept from me. Be it by the hefty blows from my axe that fell foe after foe, or the glancing blows that held little harm for me from those unprepared for the glory of battle, my death was kept from me. Time and again I plunged myself into the lines of those who stood against us. Time and again I emerged with wounds that would only leave scars, but give not the joy of the end.
In later years I sold my axes to any who would take them. My price, only the fight itself and all I needed to fight it. I eventually signed up for a grand war, one that would shake the land itself as though a titan were awakened. I sharpened my blades into the night on the eve of battle, awaiting a my last meal. Finally the food was doled out, and we dug in hungry more for the morn than the bread.
I craved a good death, yet the world of the living is cruel. As we drank the last a few of us dozed off, and finally the pain set in. My muscles seized and agony shook my mind from its base. I could form no thoughts, and after an eternity of torture my soul fled it shell. The food and water hadn't even been poisoned, it had been purchased from an underhanded trader who slipped his less desirable stock into the sale to increase his profit. My lifelong hunt for a good death undone by something so base as rotten foodstuff, and a merchants petty greed.
In life I craved a good death and was denied. Now in death I have been given a glorious purpose. I will be a grand mercy for this world, for the living deserve a good death, and I will not see them denied.
Vae Victus.
Revenant of Midgard
I craved a good death, yet for years it was kept from me. Be it by the hefty blows from my axe that fell foe after foe, or the glancing blows that held little harm for me from those unprepared for the glory of battle, my death was kept from me. Time and again I plunged myself into the lines of those who stood against us. Time and again I emerged with wounds that would only leave scars, but give not the joy of the end.
In later years I sold my axes to any who would take them. My price, only the fight itself and all I needed to fight it. I eventually signed up for a grand war, one that would shake the land itself as though a titan were awakened. I sharpened my blades into the night on the eve of battle, awaiting a my last meal. Finally the food was doled out, and we dug in hungry more for the morn than the bread.
I craved a good death, yet the world of the living is cruel. As we drank the last a few of us dozed off, and finally the pain set in. My muscles seized and agony shook my mind from its base. I could form no thoughts, and after an eternity of torture my soul fled it shell. The food and water hadn't even been poisoned, it had been purchased from an underhanded trader who slipped his less desirable stock into the sale to increase his profit. My lifelong hunt for a good death undone by something so base as rotten foodstuff, and a merchants petty greed.
In life I craved a good death and was denied. Now in death I have been given a glorious purpose. I will be a grand mercy for this world, for the living deserve a good death, and I will not see them denied.
Vae Victus.
Revenant of Midgard
