Author: Alex Tarzwell

Risk and reward, to forces that balanced Ragnar’s life pulling upon him like weighted stones, threatening to topple him in either direction, I life without reward was punishing and cruel, hardly worth living, while I life without risk was indolent and tiresome, and created nothing of value. Ragnar pondered what his life has been these past months, and he found an imbalance, he’d always readily accepted risk, but often refused reward, from pride, or from carelessness. It was while he was pondering this that Lady Fafnir approached him “I want to make you my knight.” The words themselves were shocking, the unsettling sensation upon his body as she said them even more so. He’d heard much about the Fafnir’s many unpleasant things, he knew their Maxim, Sven had told it to him long ago, “Everything is Ours” a declaration that rang throughout the world, frightening, powerful, it resonated with Ragnar. He spent many hours thinking of the offer he had been made, he did not believe Lady Fafnir to be a good person, but her offer had awakened ambition within him, a fire that had burned to embers within him. The maxim turned over in his head “Everything is ours” or could it be: “Everything is mine?”He needed more in order to be able to protect those he loved, he needed power and influence to create peace in his home, perhaps he was making a mistake, but Ragnar had never been averse to large risks. It was time for reward, it was time for Profit.

“Ragnar Stoneskin, it is a simple name, earned through an act of bravery, an act of defiance, defiance of death. But what does it mean to be Stoneskin, are you a shield to protect those around you? no in that you have certainly failed, Death follows you Stoneskin, a list of names soaked in blood sits at your feet, Rolf, Hakon, Halbjorn… Esparei? Some sacrificed themselves willingly yes Stoneskin, yet if you had been stronger would they have needed to? Though again, perhaps it is arrogance to assume you could have ever saved them, perhaps you simply do not matter Stoneskin, and when you die your name will become dust, as the river erodes the mountain so too will you become nothing. You say that as long as you draw breath then you will push onward, I hope that has served you well, for it is all you can do isn’t it? Keep pushing forward Stoneskin and perhaps someday-” Ragnar threw a rock into the still water of the river, disrupting his reflection and quieting his mind, he looked at his reflection, distorting in the water, turning away from it before the water stilled. He walked away, the never-ending pulse behind his eyes driving him forward, as always.

The bellows of the men shook the ground beneath Ragnar’s feet, moments ago his karls had spotted the enemy through the trees and he’d given his first and likely last command for the length of the battle: charge! The ground was uneven and their were trees all around them but Ragnar’s enemies where exhausted and still recovering from their defeat, all he had to do was finish them off. Ragnar’s bellows joined those of his men and their opponents as he ran towards them, leading his troops packed in shoulder to shoulder with his men. Soon their enemies where put a few paces away and time slowed Ragnar looked into the eyes of the men he was about to kill, he saw hatred, resolve… and fear. With a mighty roar Ragnar crashed into his foes, a wild swing of his sword connected with as head, crushing it beneath the weight of the swing. Ragnar felt weapons bite into dearly, not quite piercing his scarred and toughened hide, terror crept into the eyes of those that struck him as they realized what they faced, a Barzark. Ragnar’s karls crashed into the line just behind him, overwhelming their opponents and driving Ragnar forward into the fray, the ferocious bellows quickly turned into screams of pain and despair, a red mist descended over Ragnar as the screams all joined into one charnel chorus, quietly he let the rage take him. The bodies around him ceased being ally or enemy, or even human, they simply became objects to direct his wrath towards.

Later, Ragnar’s foes retreated into the forest, his own karls where too exhausted from their over-eager assault to give chase. Ragnar himself sat on a rock, looking over the bloody field he’d helped create, he felt sick but he knew that this was what he had to do, this was the path of a Branded man that he choose to walk, this was his destiny and his right, blood, battle and glory until the end of days. but was this really what he wanted, he wished to build something, though perhaps destruction is the first step to creation. Ragnar sat on his stone and thought deeply while his karls collected themselves, preparing to continue their march.

Ragnar strode into the deep wilderness coming into a clearing, a moss covered boulder sitting half buried in the ground at it’s center. Ragnar’s hands were wrapped in cloth and a gentle breeze rustled the leaves overhead, a picture of peace and serenity, a juxtaposition to the burning rage within. Ragnar squared up against the boulder, his longtime opponent, and threw a punch, the jolt from the impact ran up his arm and into his shoulder, regardless he threw his 2nd, then his 3rd, until finally he was screaming at the top of his lungs and pounding into the stone. The boulder of course, said nothing. When the cry finally died in Ragnar’s chest and blood fell from his knuckles to the cracked earth he collapsed to his knees and headbutted the stone letting his head rest against the cool rock, now slick with his own blood. The same blood that ran down his hands and mixed with tears. Ragnar thought of Luqa, and of Rolf, of his mother, and- oh god was his father even still alive? he had no way to know. Ragnar tried to find peace, but as was often the case, only found resentment and burning hatred, searing him from within. When the rage controlled him it burned so bright that compassion and love were left as cinders. He’d always felt it, but it was only recently he’d begun to call on it, and every time he did it got easier. The rage within Ragnar burning brighter, “how long” he wondered, “before there is nothing left but that Burning?”

Ragnar had finally recovered from his many injuries at the last forum, and just in time to visit Runeheim again. He chuckled slightly then frowned, how many times had he been through this very same song and dance? Fight, lose but live, recover, and repeat. His life had been a never ending series of battles, not unusual for someone like him, what was strange was how he kept surviving, he’d greeted death more time than he’d care to count, but somehow Ragnar managed to avoid taking that final step. At first he thought it was luck, but no one was that lucky, then he thought it might have been skill but his branding taught him that wasn’t the case, a skilled person wouldn’t have fallen as he did. And so it was then that Ragnar settled upon the reason, stubbornness, he was simply too stubborn to die, every obstacle in his life had been bested not by skill, or luck, or even divine intervention. No every problem Ragnar solved was solved with gritted teeth and painful repetition. Ragnar’s thoughts now drifted into the events at Runeheim the people he’d met and those he’d lost. Perhaps it was over stating to call Rolf a friend, but he supposed the man wouldn’t mind what he though anymore. He couldn’t stop thinking of his friends last request of him, “Do great things.” It was a request he intended to fulfill, but how? Rolf had fought the old gods and worked to slay them and free his people, and he’d done it better than Ragnar ever could have, there were others who would continue that work. But all of this was a farce, Ragnar knew what it was he would. He simply feared what it would cost him. There was more than one kind of Tyranny in the north, and just as there were those that fought the old there must be those who faced the new. Ragnar stood, letting the aches and pains of a life well lived settle into him, he would face it with a Broken body, but an Unbroken spirit